Hungry Oyster

Meyer Lemon Bars

2011-02-22T09:19:00.001-08:00

Recently I was given a spanking new copy of a well-known bakery's book. Already I was deeply familiar with a number of the recipes because I worked at there a few years back when I was contemplating becoming a baker myself. Behind the display case was a tray for employees filled with castaway tarts or cakes that had been dropped or dented, some accidentally, some not. The lemon bars were my favorite and all too easy for a sloppy fingertip to nick their glossy surface, thus whisking them away to the employee tray. I've never been someone to buckle over chocolate, but a nice lemon curd has always been worthy of a swoon.

I might be in the minority of former food-industry professionals who actually prefer home-cooking to taste like home-cooking. That could explain why I was a little disheartened to see the book's lemon bar recipe called for over 15 ingredients, including over a dozen eggs. The recipe is meticulously laid out so a cook of any experience level can follow them to the letter to achieve a bakery-quality result. It leaves one thinking, "These lemon bars must be totally amaze-balls, because it might take all of 3 hours to make these suckers."

I have a very small kitchen, unfriendly to recipes designed for an industrial use. I have the patience of someone half my age. If we're trying to get more people into the kitchen, recipes like this are not the way. I hear from friends all the time that they "can't bake" or worse, fear it, as though it's neurosurgery. It needn't be so scary. **Case in point: David Lebowitz's recipe for Whole Lemon Bars. Shortcuts get a bad rap. In some recipes, like macarons, they will never work. But when they do, I say take the money and run. Use good technique as your route instead of pre-made ingredients (much as I love looking at the jiggly jars of lemon pie-filling at Plaid Pantry, it's not really something I want to eat). Save your energy for a day where you want to make madeleines or more refined sweets. Let your lemon bars be simple, dead simple. They will still be delicious.

**Edit: Recipe belongs to Mr. Lebowitz, shown below with a few humble liberties taken on my part.

Meyer Lemon Bars
by David Leibowitz

I love this recipe because it uses the whole lemon, something I've always wished more citrus-based recipes would do. I have reduced the sugar, because meyer lemons are sweeter than a standard lemon and because I like desserts to be very tart.There's something really refreshing to me about not letting anything go to waste. The whole lemon lends the bar a very nice firm texture and their soft yellow color.

Ingredients for Crust:

1 cup all-purpose baking flour
1/4 cup unrefined sugar
1/4 teaspoon coarse sea salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 Tbs or 1 stick of melted unsalted butter

Ingredients for Lemon Curd Topping:

1 meyer lemon, organic or unsprayed
2/3 cup unrefined sugar
3 Tbs. freshly squeezed lemon juice (from a regular old tart lemon, not a meyer)*
3 large eggs, at room temperature
4 teaspoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon coarse sea salt
3 Tbs. melted unsalted butter, cooled

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 Farenheit.
2. Prepare an 8-inch square baking pan by lining it with tin foil, shiny side down.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk the flour, 1/4 cup sugar, and 1/4 tsp. coarse sea salt together. Drizzle 8 Tbs. melted butter and 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract over the mix and combine with hands until the crust dough has the consistency of crumbly wet sand.
4. Press the crust dough into the prepared pan and smooth into the corners evenly with your hands. You can also use a spatula to smooth the surface so its flat.
5. Bake the crust for 25 minutes, until it is nice and golden.
6. While the crust bakes, prepare the topping. Cut the meyer lemon in half and remove the seeds with a small, sharp paring knife. Divide the lemon into quarters.
7. Place lemon quarters in a food processor or blender (I used a blender), along with 2/3 cup unrefined sugar and 3 Tbs. lemon juice. Whiz it until the lemon is properly broken up, then add 3 eggs, 4 tsp. cornstarch, 1/4 tsp coarse sea salt, and 3 Tbs. melted butter. Process again until the mixture is smooth (but not too frothy!). It's okay if there's still a few bits of lemon here or there, that will enhance the texture of the bar.
8. Take the crust out of the oven, and pour the topping over the hot crust. Reduce the heat to 300 degrees Farenheit. Bake for another 25 minutes, or until the filling has barely set and doesn't wiggle when you give it a small shake.
9. Remove the pan from the oven and allow it to cool completely. Once cool, carefully lift the bars out of the pan. Cut the bars evenly into squares or smaller rectangles. Sift confectioner's sugar on top if you like and serve. **

Yield: 9-12 bars.

* I liked these best when I used regular lemon juice as opposed to meyer lemon juice, to give them a bit more acidity.
** The tarts can be stored at room temperature in a airtight container for 3 days, or stored for up to a month in the freezer and thawed before serving.

Chorizo Chickpea Stew

2011-01-22T13:12:00.000-08:00

A Portland winter can bring out the madness in almost anyone. I think it has to do with way the clouds hang low and rarely lift above street-sign level. Even on the rare sunny day we had last week, it felt so fleeting that I stayed outside as long as I could in the cold to wring out every moment of it. Once the rain returns, you never know how long it will drag out for.

Naturally, fortification is essential. In this season, I dose myself with color. I find comfort in the bolder tastes of far off places, preferably somewhere very warm and sunny. I can't really afford to hop a flight to Barcelona (is it even sunny there right now?), but if I root around in my cupboard very briefly I can come up with something that will allow me to escape there for long enough to lift me out of my winter blahs.

What I love most about Spanish cooking is the contrast of bold colors with complex, often gentle flavors. I like how ingredients are intended to taste like the best version of themselves. I recently had a plate of fideos cooked in squid ink that had the same rich complexity of flavor as a Mexican mole. Everywhere you looked was a new pop of color: a pink piece of octopus, the green shock of cilantro, a velvet swirl of creme fraiche. Its big, bad blackness played tricks on my eyes, yet its flavors were a sweet and subdued departure. It took me out of Portland, out of my own little world for the 10 minutes it took me to eat it. It completely arrested me, however quietly.

Lately, my go to spice of transport is pimenton. It's a bit hotter than the cupboard paprika we had growing up, and smokier too. And oh! its color is a deep, sienna red that happily lends itself to anything it's added to, in the same fashion of turmeric or saffron. In this simple chickpea stew, it unifies the flavor of the sweeter ingredients like shallots with the more acidic ones like tomatoes. I also find easy recipes like this which are packed with healthy and interesting ingredients are essential when the winter has challenged your spirits and you feel too tired to cook.

When I say I love to cook, I mean that I love to eat what I cook. I am, if nothing else, eater first and cook second. Most of all, I love that quiet moment when you first sit down to dinner and the day's events fall away. When everyone eats together we can be happy because there is good, honest food on the table and it is delicious. Or perhaps, as on a day like today where I plan to dine alone, I can have this little moment to myself before I continue on with everything else.

Chorizo and Chickpea Stew For Two

This recipe is intended to be flexible. It can easily be transformed as a vegetarian dish, and sometimes I add a little squid or shrimp if I have any in the freezer. I really enjoy the sweetness of sherry against the heat of the pimenton. This is enough stew for two people, or you can be greedy as I am and save the rest for lunch the following day.

Ingredients:
1 Tbs. olive oil
6-8 oz. chorizo
4 shallots, thinly sliced
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup dry fino sherry
1/2 cup crushed tomatoes
1 can chickpeas, liquid reserved
1 teaspoon pimenton (or more to taste)
Juice of a half a lemon
1 handful of cilantro or parsely, roughly chopped with a few sprigs for garnish (optional)
Salt and Pepper, to taste

Directions:
1. Over medium heat, swirl 1 Tbs. olive oil around a saucepan with a heavy bottom.
2. Add the chorizo to the pan and cook until browned, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
3. Add the shallots and celery to the pan and cook until translucent, about 3 minutes. Now add the garlic and stir once more. Add salt and pepper.
4. Pour the dry sherry into the pan, and stand back for it will throw out quite a bit of steam and make a nice hissing sound. Allow the alcohol to cook off for 2 or 3 minutes, stirring to scrape up any brown bits at the bottom of the pan.
5. Add the tomatoes, chickpeas and pimenton to the pan. Bring to a boil then simmer for 20 minutes. If the stew looks too soupy for your taste, add a bit of the reserved chickpea liquid to thicken it.
6. Add the lemon juice and cilantro or parsely. Taste the stew and adjust seasonings if you see fit. I often like to add a little more pimenton. Serve hot with rice or couscous.

Yield: 2 servings

An Illustrated View of Home: Sour Cream Coffee Cake

2010-12-26T16:25:00.000-08:00

We'ree nestled in for a giant winter storm compounded with an astronomical high tide on the coast of Massachusetts. This is my home. The home away from Portland. Ah, and how could I forget my other home? Here she is:

I can't even look at a coffee cake without thinking of my mother. Her recipe's origin, passed down to her from my grandmother, is a mystery. It may come from the scribbling written on the back of a sour cream carton, it may have come from her mother. With that end of the story in flux, the one thing that isn't up for grabs are the ingredients: real sour cream, vanilla, walnuts, and lots and lots of butter. She bakes it every Christmas morning, and it just doesn't feel like a holiday without it.

Once the cake leaves the oven we eschew the niceties of letting it cool. The walnuts are picked off the top out of a collective impatience, the cake is haphazzardly sliced and slathered with more butter and maybe even a little salt, and the entire cake disappears within the first 48 hours. Eating any other coffee cake feels almost adulterous. There just isn't anything more satisfying for me than this, as simple as it is. Try as I might, my heart is with this cake. Always has been, always will be.

Sour Cream Coffee Cake

By folding sour cream into the batter the cake gains a tanginess that plays against the vanilla and walnuts, keeping it from tasting too sweet. I like to sprinkle a little grey sea salt in the top of the cake, so you get a little bit of flaky zing in the mix. When I get restless, I might add a tiny bit of lemon zest. I view an extra pat of butter on my slice as obligatory, but you may omit it.

Ingredients:
1 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus 1 Tbs. extra for greasing
1 cup fine granulated sugar
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 tsp. vanilla
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup sour cream
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup whole walnuts

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven at 350 degrees F. Grease a bundt or angel-food cake pan with a Tbs. of butter.
2. Using a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream together the butter and granulated sugar at medium-low speed. Add the eggs, one at a time, followed by the vanilla.
3. In a separate medium-sized bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.
4. In three batches, add the dry ingredients to the wet batter, incorporating fully each time. Once done, fold the sour cream into the batter. I fold about 6 times, then stop. You should see a swirl of sour cream still. You just want it to lace the batter with that tangy flavor. Be sure not to overmix!
5. In a small bowl, combine the cinnamon, brown sugar and walnuts. I prefer to do this with my hands. Sprinkle half of the mixture into the bottom of the bundt pan.
6. Add half of the batter to the pan, spreading it over the bottom. Sprinkle the remaining half of the walnut mixture on top, then cover again with the remaining batter, smoothing the top.
7. Bake the cake for 45 minutes, until the exterior is golden and a tester comes out clean.

Yield: 8-12 servings.

Mrs. Booth's Famous Chili

2010-11-17T13:29:00.001-08:00

My mother is a fantastic cook. But it wasn't always this way. I don't know if she liked to cook when I was growing up. As a mother to two finicky young eaters, cooking was about getting something on the table. There's little I remember about what we ate day-to-day. I know there were a lot of Spaghetti-O's (Sorry, Mom!) and once in awhile this thing she called "quiche" which is nothing like quiche, really. I vaguely recall her filling a Pillsbury pie-crust with eggs, shredded white cheddar, and cream cheese. It was okay.

I couldn't have been less prepared for the first time I tasted Mrs. Booth's Famous Chili, which has since become My Mother's Famous Chili. Mrs. Booth, our next door neighbor, invited us over for dinner one evening when I couldn't have been older than eight. The interior of their home was starch-white and pristine, full of modern furniture and glass cabinets that housed collectible porcelain dolls. In the kitchen, the smell of cumin and savory beef billowed out of a crockpot, and the windows dripped with condensation. A plate of Pillsbury crescents had been deconstructed and reborn as pastry twists, sprinkled with chili powder. There was a large bowl of sour cream and a second filled with a pile of orange grated cheese. She told us to dig in and help ourselves.

I didn't feel up to it at first, but my parents gave my sister and I that look. The "don't you dare embarass us in front of company" look. Too proud to back down, I helped myself to a bowl that spoiled me on any other kind of chili forever. It was so hot and spicy my knee-jerk reaction was to cry, but the brown sugar and chili spices urged me on. I know children have very particular tastebuds but this chili was so packed with flavor from the peppers and tender beans and honest-to-god good ground beef that I was flown light-years ahead to the adult table where food was better than I ever could have imagined. This chili promised good, exotic things to come.

Mrs. Booth sent us home with the recipe, and every year since when the mercury drops (or maybe just afternoons where we wished it would), mom puts her soup pot on the burner. When I moved and set up my own kitchen, I took this recipe with me. I do a few things differently, but in the spirit of Mrs. Booth's original designs. I serve mine with a little creme fraiche dotted w/ chopped chives. I use a mix of dried beans and soak them the night before. A friend taught me to simmer my own beans so I can imbue them with even more flavor (bay leaves! celery!). It doesn't take that much more time, and if you simmer them when you're having your coffee, it really isn't an energy-zapper at all. Make this on a Sunday when the house is freezing. Start in the late morning so it can simmer all day. Call your friends over for a chili party. Have someone bring some cornbread and someone else bring the beer with lime.

Mrs. Booth's Famous Chili

Ingredients For the Beans:* (See below)
2/3 cup dried pinto beans
2/3 cup dried kidney beans
1 carrot, cut in half
1 celery, cut in half
1/2 white onion
2 cloves garlic
3 sprigs of marjoram

Ingredients for the Chili:
2 Tbs. olive oil
3 lbs. ground beef
1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes
2 large yellow onions, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 anaheim chile, seeds removed, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
3 Tbs. ancho chili powder
2 Tbs. dark brown sugar
1 Tbs. crushed red pepper
3 Tbs. red wine vinegar
1 tsp. ground cumin
salt & pepper to taste

Ingredients For The Toppings:
1/4 cup creme fraiche
2 tbs chopped chives
1/2 cup shredded cheddar

*NOTE: If you prefer to use canned beans, substitute those suggested above w/ a 15.5 oz. can each of kidney and pinto beans. Use the beans & their liquid.

Directions:
1. DO AHEAD: Soak the beans with enough water to cover overnight. In the morning, drain them and transfer to a medium-size sauce pan. Cover with water, add to this the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, bay leaf, and marjoram sprigs.
2. Bring the beans to a boil, then simmer uncovered for 2 hours over low heat, adding 1/2 teaspoon salt after the first hour. If the water goes too far below the beans, add more. Test the beans for doneness by scooping up a small spoonful and blowing on them. If the skins peel away, they are done. Discard the carrot, onion, celery, and bay leaf.
3. To make the chili, heat the olive oil in a 4 quart, heavy bottomed dutch oven over medium heat. Add the ground beef to the pan, stirring to brown, about 8-10 minutes. When all of the beef has been carmelized, drain off the excess fat.
4. To the pot add the undrained kidney and pinto beans, tomatoes, chopped onions and peppers, garlic, chili powder, dark brown sugar, crushed red pepper, red wine vinegar, cumin, salt and pepper.
5. Cover and simmer the chili for at least one hour, stirring frequently to prevent burning. The chili improves if simmered for 2-3 hours, and tastes even better the following day.
6. Serve the chili hot with toppings as you wish.

YIELD: 8 servings

Friulian Sourdough-Hazelnut Apple Torte

2010-11-14T15:17:00.000-08:00

Not all recipes are created equally. When October's Bon Appetit magazine came my way, I fell so hard for Lidia Bastianch's Apple Torte's backstory that I barely glanced beyond the ingredient list.. The torte comes from Italy's Friuli region, where German and Italian cuisine have coalesced over the generations. How resourceful the peasants of Friuli were to create a torte crust out of stale bread! How quaint and romantic!

Lest this blog be only a celebration of my kitchen triumphs, I submit to you one of my many errors. I'm so sorry to report that this recipe was a complete and total mess. There were so many glitches I was surprised it had made it so far as to snag the cover without so much as a proof here or there. Just goes to show you that you can't even judge anything, even a magazine, by its cover.

It wasn't until college when I began to cook regularly. At first, I relied so heavily on recipes from start to finish that I felt tired at the end of cooking a meal. The more cooking I did the more I allowed my eyes to stray, and to be honest, the better my food began to taste. It may come odd coming from someone who often writes her recipes down, but what these ought to be for the home cook are a jumping off point. Had I followed the original recipe for this Apple Torte to the letter, I might have been down one entire loaf of sourdough and up one hefty headache. Screw that.

As a cook, there is nothing more important than your gut. It is, afterall, where everything ends up. I taste nearly everything as I go to make sure it's coming along. When I make a stuffing, or a dough, or the base of a soup, I often season instinctively and in steps. My hands and eyes can judge whether things are the right color, texture, or consistency. It's so much less daunting than it sounds! By cooking more often, your instincts will develop. A tablespoon becomes familiar in appearance, when pate brisee needs more water or flour you will know this because it will just feel right. If a recipe looks janky and incorrect to you, odds are it is, and better you do what you can to ammend it. Don't lose your cool or throw it away. Stay calm and determine what can be done.

This torte found its happy ending, but not without some huffing and puffing on my end. I used all of the 8 cups of bread crumbs called for, in spite of the original recipe's suggestion you use only 3 cups after the lot has been toasted. When you toast the crumbs, the bread does shrink down some. When my apple slices simmering in hard cider turned into applesauce, I didn't get all weepy. In the end, the torte had a crisp crust thanks to the hazelnuts and sourdough crumbs, and the applesauce filling proved a silky counterpoint to this. It wasn't too sweet or buttery and I used very tart pippin apples in mine because apples in Oregon go gangbusters this time of year. I'm not certain it's something I would go back to again and again (a la David Tanis' Apple Tart recipe) but I do think this torte turned out very close to what Ms. Bastianich might have originally intended. How do I know this? When we sat down to dinner that night, several people (ahem!) helped themselves to seconds.

Friulian Apple Torte with a Sourdough-Hazelnut Crust
Adapted From Lidia Bastianich's Recipe

Ingredients

Apple filling:
2 pounds Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, cut into 1/2-inch wedges
1/3 cup sugar
1 cup hard apple cider or dry white wine

Crust:
8 cups fresh breadcrumbs made from a large loaf of sourdough bread, ground in a food processor
1 cup hazelnuts
10 tablespoons sugar, divided
4 teaspoons finely grated lemon peel
1/4 teaspoon (generous) salt
3/4 cup whole milk
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
Powdered sugar (for dusting)
Whipped cream

Directions:
1. To make the crust, preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Spread breadcrumbs on a large rimmed baking sheet. Bake until dried and light golden, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes. Cool completely.
2. Toast the hazelnuts for ten minutes on a separate baking sheet for 10 minutes while the breadcrumbs are toasting. Place them in a clean dishtowel and wrap them tightly. Allow them to sit for a minute or two and rub them together to remove their husks. Allow hazelnuts to cool completely.
3. Finely grind the hazelnuts and 6 tablespoons sugar in processor. Add the toasted breadcrumbs, working in batches if necessary; process 5 seconds. Transfer mixture to large bowl. Stir in 4 tablespoons sugar, lemon peel, and salt. Combine milk and butter in small saucepan. Stir over medium heat just until butter melts. Pour milk-butter mixture over breadcrumb mixture; stir until moistened (dough will be sticky). Let dough rest in bowl until liquid is absorbed, about 15 minutes.
4. Transfer 1 cup dough to floured work surface. Gather into ball; flatten into disk. Press out to 9-inch round; wrap in plastic. It's OK if it crumbles a little. It will help to put the round onto a plate for transfering to the fridge.Chill at least 1 hour for top crust.
5. Transfer remaining dough to work surface. Gather into ball; flatten into disk. Press disk onto bottom and up sides of 9-inch tart pan with removable bottom, pushing crust up to extend 1/2 inch above sides. Cover; chill at least 1 hour.
6. While the dough is chilling, make the apple filling. Arrange the apples in an even layer in a large heavy skillet. Sprinkle with sugar, then pour apple cider over. Cook and cover over medium heat until apples are tender, gently turning apples occasionally 8-10 minutes (for me this took only 6 minutes, so it depends on the variety of your apples). Some apples with fall apart, but this is alright. Uncover; cook until juices evaporate in skillet. Allow the apples to cool completely.
7. Preheat oven to 375°F. Assemble the tart. Fill crust with apple mixture. Place top crust over filling. Fold bottom crust overhang up over top crust edges, pressing together to seal. There will likely be some cracks here or there, but that is alright.
8. Bake torte until crust is deep golden and crust begins to separate from sides of pan (top crust may crack), about 1 hour. Cool in pan on rack at least 2 hours. Carefully remove sides from tart pan. Transfer to platter. Dust with powdered sugar. Cut into wedges. Serve with whipped cream.

YIELDS: 6-8 Servings.

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup

2010-11-04T19:18:00.000-07:00

Cold season is upon us in Oregon. I can't pinpoint why unlike years past Autumn decided to snap so suddenly into place instead of slowly settling over us. Maybe it's been doing so all along and I've been too preoccupied to notice it. One morning last week I looked out the window to find the birch leaves close to completely turned and my radiator rattling with steam. I put the ridiculously giant stock pot on the stove and filled it with whatever I had been saving in the freezer over the summer. This time several duck carcasses, (wings and back bones), and a giant bunch of leeks, thyme, carrots, and celery leaves. As luck would have it, I woke up the next day with a pinch in my throat and a raw nose. The cold my friends have caught and dispatched seems to have claimed me too. Damn!

Lucky for me, Andrew came by with a grab-bag of CSA vegetables, claiming there was so much he didn’t know if he could use it all. He unloaded an overwhelming plenty: one small but gorgeously wrinkled savoy cabbage, ivory turnips, brilliant-colored sweet peppers, a mystery white-fleshed squash, seemingly every sort of braising greens, and an onion so pungent Nancy’s eyes teared up at the first slice. Since it was such a perfect, crisp fall day we decided to make a soup out of the squash and a gratin of the cabbage and greens.

I’ve never met a butternut squash soup I didn’t like, but there’s really only one variation I love. One year for Halloween, a family friend brought over a giant pot of the stuff. Hers incorporated apples, fresh cider, and curry. It was sweet, velvety, with a subtle heat from a dash of cayenne pepper. The turmeric in the curry turns the soup a harvest-moon color and the apple gives the soup a gentle sweetness. For mine, I of course made adjustments. I use hard cider and homemade stock (because I'm a cheap little miser and refuse to let the errant bone or scrap go to waste), a little fresh thyme, shallots, and garam masala in addition to madras curry powder. Sometimes I use several different kinds of squash, in particular I love red kuri & cinderella squash for this. The soup only impoves in flavor the following day.

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup

1 medium butternut squash, diced
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
2 shallots, chopped
1 clove garlic, chopped
3 Tbs. butter
1 Tbs. olive oil
2 carrots, diced
2 tart apples, peeled and diced
3 sprigs of thyme, leaves stripped and chopped
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. madras curry powder
1/2 tsp. of nutmeg
1/2 tsp. garam masala
1 tsp. sea salt
1/2 tsp. white pepper (black is fine, also)
2 cups hard cider
2 quarts of good-quality stock (vegetarian or chicken)
1/3 cup of heavy cream (optional)

Directions:

1. In a large pot with a heavy bottom melt the butter and olive oil together over medium heat. Once the butter has begun to bubble, add the onion, shallots, and garlic, stirring with a wooden spoon frequently until the onions have begun to turn translucent, about 5 minutes.
2. Add the curry, nutmeg, and garam masala to the pot and stir to incorporate. Add the butternut squash, carrots, and apples. Stir again and allow the squash and apple to soften, about 10 minutes. Add salt and pepper to season.
3. Add the cider to the pot, it will steam. Stir once more, then add the stock. Bring the soup to a boil and lower the heat. Simmer the soup for 40-50 minutes, until the squash is very tender.
4. Carefully ladle the soup into a blender (or skip this step entirely if you have an immersion blender--lucky duck!), working in small batches. Return the pureed soup to the pot and season again with salt and pepper if necessary. Add the cream, if using, stir and serve immediately.

Yield: 6-8 servings.

Hazelnut Brown Butter Cake.

2010-09-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

Doesn't everyone have a ritual when they return from a long trip? Walking through the front door, I stoop to pick up my cat who sits with her tail curved at her feet, chirping, almost exactly as I left her. More museum than home, my apartment is redolent of my neighbor's cigarettes and settled dust and cat litter.

Now I make a beeline for the oven. My place is on the small side, all the easier to sage out empty odors with the scent of melted butter, clove, cinnamon, vanilla. When I feel lazy, I bake only what I know how to make by heart. When I feel extra-assertive (and game for all the whisking, grinding, and other specifics this recipe requires), I make this hazelnut brown-butter cake.

My hazelnut obsession began soon after moving to Portland. They were everywhere! I went overboard, putting them in everything I possibly could, smearing hazelnut butter anywhere I saw fit. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit I've taken to picturing their taste when homesick, just as I do the damp winters (weird, right?) or the turning clouds above my building at the end of a rare sunny day. They make anything they're paired with taste even better. Peaches, pears, pork, wine. Everything. But the best thing to come out of my hazelnut craze has been this recipe for brown-butter cake.

I concede the recipe is a tad involved but your efforts will be rewarded. Your friends will be happy to help you polish off any lingering crumbs. In a pinch you can purchase hazelnut flour, but to be honest it's not worth a dime unless you grind it yourself. Save your money and buy them whole, raw, and in bulk. The cake is even better next day, but rarely does it make it that far. It's great on its own or with poached pears and a dollop of creme fraiche.

Hazelnut Brown Butter Cake
Adapted from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers At Lucques, via Smitten Kitchen
Ingredients:
5 ounces hazelnuts
1/2 pound unsalted butter
1/2 vanilla bean
1 1/3 cups powdered sugar
1/3 cups all-purpose flour
6 extra-large egg whites
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 °F.
2. Spread the hazelnuts on a baking sheet, and toast 12 to 15 minutes, until they’re golden brown and smell nutty. If they still have their skins, put the hot hazelnuts into a clean towel and rub them to remove the bitter skins. Allow the hazelnuts to cool completely.
3. Cut out a circle of parchment paper to fit in the bottom of a 10-inch round cake pan. Brush the pan with a little melted butter and line the bottom with the paper.
4. Place the rest of the butter in a medium saucepan. Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise down the center, using a paring knife to scrape the seeds and pulp onto the butter. Add the vanilla pod to the pan, and cook the butter until the butter browns and smells nutty (this took about 8 minutes for me). Every so often, scrape the bottom of the pan with your spatula to make sure the butter browns evenly. Remove and discard the vanilla bean.
5. In a food processor, grind the hazelnuts with the confectioners’ sugar until a fine meal forms. Add the flour and pulse to combine. Transfer to a large bowl.
6. Place the egg whites in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Add the granulated sugar and mix on high speed 4 to 5 minutes, until the mixture forms very stiff peaks. When you turn the whisk upside down, the peaks should hold. Transfer the whites to a large mixing bowl.
7. Fold the dry mix and brown butter into the egg whites, a third at a time. The vanilla beans tend to sink to the bottom of the brown butter, so be sure to scrape the bottom and use it all!
8. Pour the batter into your cake pan, and bake for 50 minutes to 1 hour. Check the cake for done-ness at 40 minutes and continue every five minutes until a toothpick inserted at the cake's center comes out clean. Allow the cake to cool for 30 minutes. Run a small, sharp knife around the inside edge of the pan, and invert the cake onto a plate. Peel off the paper, and turn the cake back over onto a serving platter. Sprinkle it with powdered sugar.

Boulettes D'Agneau Aux Pruneaux

2010-02-19T05:59:00.000-08:00

Cooking to entertain is a separate culinary art from cooking for oneself. When I am alone, I'm the impromptu chef. I rummage through the fridge and the cupboard, picking out a few ingredients while I mill over what to do with them. Often, I don't even make up my mind until I flick the stovetop burner on. There's no pressure. When I cook for others, I like to direct my course. I want to be able to hang with my friends when they're over. I don't want to hide in the kitchen the entire time. The easiest thing to do is to bring everyone in and give them something to do, get them involved. I know I feel like a knuckle-kneed idiot when I'm over at someone's house watching them doing all the cooking. I feel like I should be helping out. Ah, there it is again, the sound of pressure.

When I first started cooking in college, I felt anxiety about people watching me make mistakes. Now I don't know that mistakes are all that bad. We all make them. Dropping an egg? Who cares? Burning toast? It's not the end of the world. I'd rather my kitchen full of mistakes and laughter than perfection and silence. In my kitchen, wine gets spilt on the tablecloth. People knock over containers of salt. Onions aren't minced uniformly. None of this is worth apologizing for. When you cook to entertain, it should be fun.

That's why I'm writing this week about Clotilde DuSoulier's lamb meatballs with prunes. I love this recipe for a few reasons. Ground lamb is one way to enjoy the luxury of a pricey, gamier meat at a fraction of the cost (because if you blow all your dough on one dinner party, you won't be able to have anymore for a long time). It's also a perfect dish for getting friends involved. You can make the mixture ahead (it's wonderful if left up to 8 hours ahead of cooking time to marinate), or you can enlist all of your friends to help with the chopping and rolling. Sometimes I think the more people involved, the better a dish can taste. What you'll notice is how astounding the flavors are. The orange zest teases the palette while the earthy sweetness of the plums plays against rich lamb, garlic, parsley and allspice. It's a playful take on Morrocan koftas, and every bite reveals another flavor that you may not have noticed at first. To serve, I prefer to keep it simple--with a bit of Israeli couscous, Greek Yogurt, and chopped homemade preserved lemon.

Boulettes D'Agneau Aux Pruneaux
by Clotilde DuSoulier

This is a wonderful recipe from my beloved and dog-eared copy of Chocolate and Zucchini.

Ingredients:
1 pound ground lamb meat, preferably from the shoulder
12 good-quality prunes, sometimes called dried plums, pitted and finely chopped
2 small shallots, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
1/4 cup (packed) fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves, finely chopped, plus a few for garnish
1 tablespoon (packed) freshly grated and finely minced orange zest, from about 2 organic oranges
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

Directions:
1. In a medium mixing bowl, combine the meat, prunes, shallots, garlic, parsley, orange zest, allspice, egg, the 1 tablespoon olive oil, the salt, and pepper. Mix well with a fork. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes, or up to 8 hours. (If you don't have that kind of time, refrigerate for just 10 minutes.)

2. Remove the bowl from the refrigerator. Wash your hands well, and keep them damp. Scoop out rounded tablespoons of the mixture and roll them into balls between your palms. Set aside in a single layer on two plates until you've used up all the meat. Wash your hands thoroughly again.

3. Heat 1 teaspoon olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add half of the meatballs in a single layer without crowding. Cook for 8 to 10 minutes, stirring the meatballs gently around the pan to brown them all over. Set aside on a clean plate and cover with foil while you cook the second batch. Return the first batch to the pan, cover, and reheat for 2 minutes. Transfer to a serving dish, sprinkle with parsley, and serve with couscous and Greek-style yogurt and preserved lemon.

YIELDS: 4 servings as main course, 6 as starter. keeps for several days in an airtight container in the fridge.

Kimchi Fried Rice

2010-01-28T12:01:00.000-08:00

Ain't nothing wrong with Quick Cooking when you're busy as I've been lately, but I should clarify what I consider quick. Given that I like to cook as a method of unwinding, I like to spend time in the kitchen. A quick dinner takes under 45 minutes to assemble from prep-to-table, and often it's a one pot dish (minimizing fish-washing time is equally important when I think of making something on the fly). It can be as simple as a soft-boiled egg on a bed of greens, or in this case, Kimchee Fried Rice. It's not as fast as nuking dinner, but I believe we can all afford to put 45 minutes towards what goes into our gullets, no?

Here is what Quick Cooking is not about. It's not about taking a can of something and pouring it over some frozen veg. I think pre-prepared sauces are a total waste of money. Look at the ingredients for a Pad-Thai sauce the next time you're at the grocery store. You'll notice that there's not much to it (tamarind paste, chilis, peanut oil), and there's also a bunch of stuff that doesn't need to be there (MSG, so much sugar!). My motto in the kitchen is "You can do it," because you really can, it will cost less, and you can use the money you saved and spend it on better ingredients.

Start with your pantry. All you need is a few basics. I always have these four ingredients around the house: fish sauce, soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and sesame oil. Keep around some different cooking oils. I like peanut, canola, grapeseed, and olive oil. If you've got any variation of these things, there is a lot you can do, and it won't demand much of your wallet or your time.

When I can't think of what to make, I go back to this version of Kimchi Fried Rice. I often make it for lunch and then go back and make it again for dinner. It's so good, so dead-easy, and very versatile to boot. The virtuous can use healthy brown rice, and the capricious can embellish however they see fit: crack an egg on top, throw in some chopped shrimp, garnish with chopped peanuts. It's not as fast as pressing "Start," but if you make enough for leftovers, that microwave may come in handy afterall.

Kimchi Fried Rice

I always use leftover rice. It's stickier than fresh, fluffy rice, and a good way to clear leftovers out of the fridge. Don't be afraid to use store-bought kimchi, a spicy Korean-style pickled napa cabbage. There's a ton of good varieties at Asian Markets, and if you feel up to it you can always make it yourself. This works really well with Daikon Kimchi, too. I garnish with some peppery watercress, and prefer to make it with a nutty short-grain brown rice.

Ingredients for Fried Rice:

2 cups leftover rice (from 1 cup uncooked rice), short-grain brown or jasmine

2 Tbs. canola or grapeseed oil

2-3 cloves of garlic, finely minced

1 inch finger of fresh ginger, finely minced

1/2 of a medium onion, diced

1 small stalk of celery, diced

1 Tbs. soy sauce

a splash of sesame oil (no more than 1/4 teaspoon)

a few splashes of fish sauce

1/2 cup of chopped kimchi, plus more for garnish

1/4 cup chopped scallions, plus more reserved for garnish

2-3 large eggs, lightly beaten

Ingredients for Garnishes:

a big handful of fresh watercress, washed and dried

a few sprigs of cilantro

1/4 cup roasted peanuts, chopped

(kimchi & and scallions, as mentioned above)

Directions:

1. Heat 2 Tbs. of oil in a wok or large non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Toss in the garlic and ginger first (yes first, so work fast), and stir about for 30 seconds until fragrant.

2. Add the onion and celery and stir, cooking for about 5 minutes until the onion and celery are softened and turning translucent.

3. To this, add the rice, using the back of your wooden spoon to break up the rice if it's sticky. Add the soy sauce and a few splashes of fish sauce and sesame oil, stir again to incorporate, then cover with a lid and turn the head down to medium and cook for another 2 minutes. Taste to see if it is too your liking, adding more soy sauce and fish sauce if it's not quite there yet.

4. Take the lid off of the wok and turn of the heat. Add the beaten egg and toss again, (if you're worried about the egg being raw, you can always leave the heat on...but do so on the lowest setting possible). The egg will help bind everything together, making for a nice sticky dish. Add the kimchi and scallions, toss again.

5. Divide amongst 4 bowls, and everyone can garnish as they like with the watercress, kimchi, cilantro, and chopped peanuts.

Yields: 4 servings. Keeps for a day, best eaten right away, but also quite good when it's cold (in the way leftover pizza can be).

Greek Yogurt Panna Cotta w/ Spiced Oranges

2010-01-21T13:31:00.000-08:00

Like many who love to cook, I go through periods where I just-don't-feel-like-it. I make excuses: too tired, too busy, too hungry, etc. Maybe I botched a cake or some mayonaise I was whipping into a frenzy wouldn't emulsify. Often there is no good reason for it, it just settles over me like the rainy season in Portand and the last thing I want to do is look at a whisk. When I succumb this deeply to sloth, the only way to out of it to try out something new or tackle an ingredient that's been intimidating me. This time I decided to head it off at the pass by addressing my fear of cooking with gelatin.

I know I am not alone. Anyone who ever looked in the face of a lunchroom tray to find a fruit salad suspended inside a quivering square of Jell-O may already know the various offenses gelatin has committed. Americans in general tend to shy away from anything that jiggles. In the 50s, molds and aspics were all the rage and my uneducated guess is that its faddishness contributed directly to it unpopularity today. These dishes were smartly given French names like 'Crab en Gelee.,' but one glance into a vintage Joy of Cooking reveals how dated these recipes seem. I doubt many parents of my parents' generation were boiling their own bones a la Julia Child. Let's do the math here: 1 Can of Tomato Soup + 1 Can of Beef Consome + 1 tin of crabmeat= a dish bordering on inedible. We're looking at over 40 years of abuse. If it's gelatin redemption you seek, those recipes are the last place you'll find it.

Clearly gelatin isn't the enemy here, it's the ways in which we're accustomed to using it. It has many advantages. Because it's flavorless, it won't overpower the flavor of your star ingredients. When used properly, it yields dishes that are light while lending a structural elegance that richer ingredients might typically provide. Panna cotta is a great example of this. It's light but just as smooth and decadent as any custard or pudding. What better place to tackle my gelatin-phobia?

Panna cotta is so simple to make that I wondered at first if it was noteworthy enough to write about, but when you taste it you'll see why I'm so crazy about it. It takes all of 15 minutes to cook, and sets up for a few hours in the fridge while you continue on with the rest of your day. Because it's so easy, let the ingredients do the talking. This is the time to splurge on that nice, local cream at the market and use your favorite honey. I prefer to keep it very simple: good cream, tangy greek yogurt, a little vanilla, some orange flower water. If you're extra lazy, you don't even need to unmold them to serve. Enjoyed alongside a small bowl of spiced oranges, this panna cotta is a bright and refreshing reintroduction to the new year.

Greek Yogurt Panna Cotta w/ Spiced Oranges

In an effort to keep with the lighter fare I've been cooking since the holidays (perhaps somebody overdid it at all those Christmas parties...) I use tangy Greek Yogurt here in place of more heavy cream. The point is to have something light, smooth, and barely sweet to play against the spicy sweetness of the orange compote. Very good with a little glass of prosecco!

Ingredients for the Panna Cotta:
1 cup good heavy cream
1 cup whole plain Greek yogurt
3 Tbs. honey
1 Tbs. sugar
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1 teaspoon of orange flower water (optional)
1 packet Knox gelatin
3 Tbs. cold water

Ingredients for the Spiced Oranges:
3-4 heirloom navel oranges (about one orange per person)
2 Tbs. cold water
2 Tbs. honey
1/2 cinnamon stick
2 black peppercorns
1 cardamom pod
2 cloves
1 star anise
1 1/2 inch nub of fresh ginger, peeled

Directions:
1. To make the Panna Cotta: In a small saucepean, heat the heavy cream, honey, and sugar until the mixture is dissolved and very warm. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla and orange flower water.
2. In a medium-sized mixing bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over the cold water. Allow it to set for 10 minutes.
3. Lightly oil 4 small cups or ramekins w/ a pastry brush and a bit of canola oil. You can get creative here and use pretty glass tumblers, champagne flutes, or teacups if you like. If you'd like to unmold them, I recommend using ramekins.
4. Pour the warm cream over the gelatin and stir to combine. You don't want to whisk it too hard or have any bubbles in the mixture (or the panna cotta will set with these bubbles), so stir lightly. Test that the gelatin granules have completely disolved by rubbing a bit of the mixture between your thumb and forefinger. Stir in the greek yogurt until the mixture is completely smooth.
5. Divide the panna cotta mixture evenly into your prepared cups and place in the fridge to set for at least 2 hours.
6. To make the Spiced Oranges, supreme the oranges with a sharp paring knife. Remove the white pith and peel, then cut out the segments carefully with your knife over a small mixing bowl to collect the juice. This is the only time-consuming part of the entire recipe, I swear! When you've removed all the segments, squeeze whatever juice is left from the orange scraps into the bowl. When you're done, you should have between a 1/4 and 1/2 cup of orange juice. Set the orange segments aside into a serving bowl and put the juice into a small saucepan.
7. Heat the orange juice over the medium-low setting along with the water, honey, cinnamon stick, black peppercorns, cardamom pod, cloves, star anise, and fresh ginger. Stir to dissolve the honey. Bring to a boil and allow the syrup to simmer for 20 minutes, until the mixture has reduced by half.
8. When ready, pour the hot syrup over the orange segments (you can strain it if you like, but I think it imbues the oranges with a nice spicy flavor as is). Allow to rest in the fridge at least 30 minutes or until serving.
9. After 2 hours the panna cotta is ready. If unmolding, run a small, sharp paring knife around the sides of the ramekin. Place a serving plate over the top and flip the ramekin upside down. The panna cotta should unlock from the mold and land onto the plate with a satisfying little plop! (If not, don't fret. Just run your knife around the sides again.) Serve immediately with the Spiced Oranges.
Yield: 4 servings. Keeps for up to 2 days in the fridge, perfect for making ahead of time.

Juniper-Scented Cranberry Gelée

2009-11-26T12:26:00.000-08:00

One year ago plus some change, I began this blog. It's fitting that I began this so close to my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving.

I have always loved talking about food, tinkering with recipes, testing things out, and yes, even failing on occasion. It's what makes day-to-day life interesting for me, and as I've learned, it's what makes day-to-day life interesting for a lot of people. This has become the best part of writing here. This blog has become a gateway into conversation with friends new and old. Nothing seems to get nearer the heart of things faster than talking about what you ate for dinner last night. I've learned that lot of us cook for the discovery of stumbling on something truly great. My mother, who's biggest culinary asset for years was a microwave, has transformed into the kind of person that dreams about what she's going to make for dinner that night. She's turned into a true food hobbyist, always in hot pursuit of the perfect roast chicken.

"This time," she explained to me on the phone the other day, speaking softly as though she was sharing a very shocking secret, "I put half a fennel bulb and an entire head of garlic in the cavity." When I asked her how it turned out, she didn't even resort to words. She made a low humming sound through the receiver. I knew exactly what she meant.

Like my mother, I'm on a quest of my own to find the perfect cranberry sauce. My palette loves anything tart, puckering, and sour. It's my favorite Thanksgiving dish, hands down, because it makes everything taste just a little bit better. Turkey, candied yams, stuffing, mashed potatoes. It doesn't matter. As long as there is cranberry sauce, I'm there. I've made chutney studded with cloves and orange segments, smooth gingery varieties, and of course, the version written on the back of the Ocean Spray bag. Every year, I find I've come up with the very best recipe, but this year I may have outdone all years prior with a simple take I found in the newest Canal House volume.

I love these women and their books so much. The writing is understated but beautiful, and the photography is mouthwatering. Every recipe I've tried has turned out incredibly. On my first look-see their juniper-scented cranberry sauce caught my eye immediately. Of course, I made a few adjustments. I don't really like a sweet cranberry sauce, so instead of using the port called for I subbed in a cup of dark pinot noir. The juniper softly mingles with the tart cranberries, without ever overpowering them, and I used a little white pepper to match the wine. I've got to say, she's a beaut. If there's anything left, I'll slather it on toast tomorrow, serve it with some duck confit, you get the idea.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Juniper-Scented Cranberry Gelée
adapted from Christopher Hirscheimer & Melissa Hamilton's recipe

You could use port in place of the pinot noir for a sweeter take on this. I love a tart, smooth, and ever-so-slightly wine-y cranberry sauce like this.

Ingredients:
1 cup pinot noir
1 cup sugar
1 Tbs. fresh or dried juniper berries
4 cups (or one bag) fresh cranberries
7 black peppercorns
3 white peppercorns

Directions:
1. Put the pinot noir, sugar, juniper berries, and peppercorns into a heavy saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat.
2. Add the cranberries and return to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer until the cranberries burst and are soft about 10 minutes or more.
3. Strain the sauce into a bowl through a fine-mesh sieve, pushing the solids through the screen with a rubber spatula.
4. Transfer to a pretty serving bowl, cover and refrigerate.

YIELDS: 2 cups.

Spaghetti Alla Carbonara

2009-11-21T14:24:00.000-08:00

Apart from cooking and baking, I love preserving. I've done a lot of canning and pickling, but recently, I've become really fascinated with curing.

The principle of it is what attracts me: take something tough and bring it back to life using nothing more than salt, sugar, and the patience of time. The Tails & Trotters stand at my market sells the very best pork. The pigs are naturally raised on a farm in Washington, where they happily graze on hazelnuts (they make a fantastic prosciutto, inspired by the acorn-fed Iberica jamon from Spain). Because their pork is such high quality, it can be pricey, but the "throwaway" cuts are what interest me. A month ago I bought a handsome jowl. They were kind enough to pick out a really fatty one for me, perfect for making guanciale.

Guanciale is cured and left unsmoked just like pancetta, but it's texture is more delicate and its pork-flavor slightly more pronounced. It's incredibly easy to make. You remove all of the skin and sinew from the cut with a good, sharp knife. Then you leave it to cure in packed sugar, salt, juniper berries, and thyme for about a week. At the end of that week, you hang it in a drafty, cool spot. The refrigerator is perfect but you could easily do this on a cellar rafter. It dries for 3 weeks, and then you have plenty of guanciale which you can use for Salade Aux Lardons, or my personal favorite, Spaghetti Alla Carbonara.

You've likely had this before, maybe it was made with bacon. Perhaps you've had it with a creamy white sauce. Forget those versions now. I promise you this way is better. The key to a perfect carbonara is to keep it simple. Use very fresh eggs (if you can splurge on the farm-fresh variety, this is the perfect time to do it) and a bone dry white wine. No cream is necessary, as the eggs & cheese will provide the richness you're craving. I add a little fresh thyme to draw out the flavor of the herbs in the guanciale. This is humble, no-fuss cooking at its very best.

Spaghetti Alla Carbonara
adapted from Gourmet Magazine

I like to serve this alongside a small bitter-greens salad, it makes a perfect easy meal on a chilly night. If you're worried about the eggs cooking all the way through, you can add them while the pasta is over the heat, but I prefer to use the freshest eggs I can find here so salmonella is less of a risk. My secret here is to grate a little bit of lemon zest over each serving, it's not traditional, but it's still excellent.

Ingredients:
5 oz guanciale (unsmoked cured hog jowl) or pancetta
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 lb spaghetti
3 large eggs
1 Tbs. fresh thyme, finely minced
1 1/2 oz Parmigiano-Reggiano, finely grated (3/4 cup)
3/4 oz Pecorino Romano, finely grated (1/3 cup)
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon coarse sea salt

grated lemon zest, to taste

Directions:
1. Cut guanciale or pancetta into 1/3-inch dice, then cook in a deep 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring, until fat begins to render, 1 to 2 minutes. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is golden, about 10 minutes. Add wine and boil until reduced by half, 1 to 2 minutes.
2. Cook spaghetti in a 6- to 8-quart pot of boiling salted water until al dente.
3. While pasta is cooking, whisk together eggs, finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, Pecorino Romano, minced thyme, black pepper and salt in a small bowl.
4. Drain spaghetti in a colander and add to onion mixture, then toss with tongs over moderate heat until coated. Remove from heat and add egg mixture, tossing to combine. Sprinkle each serving with more fresh thyme and the grated lemon zest. Serve immediately.

YIELD: 4 servings.

Pumpkin Brioche

2009-11-10T16:57:00.000-08:00

My friend Joan is a magician. Not the David Copperfield kind, but the redecorating kind. Give her the keys to your home and using only what you have on hand and a lot of her own ingenuity she makes it 1,000x better. She's fast too, accomplishing all of this in the span of a few short hours. When such a friend offers to help you reorganize your living space, and in doing so streamlining a lot of things in your life that aren’t making sense, the answer is always yes. You give her an emphatic chorus of yeses in four part harmony, and show her the way to your apartment. Then you think long and hard for a good way to say "thank you so much."

As we've established, I can’t decorate, but I can cook. So I stayed up a little later than normal last night to bake Joan a loaf of bread. This might not sound impressive at first but I wanted to make her something really special, so I got to work on making her a loaf of pumpkin brioche. I got the idea from Bakery Bar where they have pumpkin sticky buns made with a sinful, buttery, jack-o-lantern hued brioche.

Baking bread is time-consuming, no lie. I've had to get over my fear of baking with yeast (and I know I'm not alone), but what I've learned is that it doesn't have to be very complicated. The bread itself doesn’t require too much energy, just a little patience. While the dough is in its first couple of rises, you can read or catch up on your 30 Rock, and really before you know it those first 4 hours truly do fly by. I like to get started on bread dough the night before so it can proof while I get some much-needed sleep (kneading can be a little exhausting). In the morning, you shape and form the bread as you brew coffee, and the whole routine by now of wrangling the dough and sniffing yeast becomes really pleasant. You’ll feel like an accomplished baker when you put the loaves into the oven. You’ll feel really, truly proud of yourself when they emerge golden and glorious. Then, as if all this eg0-puffing isn’t enough to sweeten the deal, you get to eat it.

What you do with your brioche is up to you—I like to slice off a few pieces and leave them out overnight for french toast the next morning. It’s really something else if you take it right out of the oven and slather a piece with some apple butter and watch the cats next door terrorizing the blue jays outside your kitchen window. It's perfect. Trust me.

Pumpkin Brioche
adapted from Sherry Yard's recipe in The Secret of Baking

This recipe yields three loaves, or about 1 1/2 dozen rolls, and the result is a dough that's very buttery and moist. The pumpkin flavor here is quite subtle, but if you're looking for something more reminiscent of a spicier pumpkin tea cake, you could easily put a little bit of cinnamon, nutmeg, butter, and brown sugar on the top layer before rolling the dough. Then you'd have cinnamon swirl pumpkin brioche. Actually, that gives me an idea...

Ingredients for the Sponge (the yeasty mix you'll add the dough to later):
¼ cup whole milk, at room temperature
2 ½ tsp active dry yeast
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/3 cup sugar
1 cup bread flour

Ingredients for the Dough:
5 cups bread flour
2 tsp salt
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
½ lb(2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

Ingredients for the Egg Wash:
1 egg, lightly beaten

Directions:
1. To make the sponge, whisk the milk and yeast in the bowl of a standing mixer (a Kitchen Aid is ideal here) fitted with a paddle attachment until the yeast is dissolved. Let stand for 5 minutes, then stir in the pumpkin puree, sugar, and flour to form a thick batter. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let rest in a warm environment until bubbles form, 30-40 minutes. I like to let the sponge rise on the shelf above my radiator, which gets to be about 70 degrees F (perfect proofing temperature).
2. To make the dough, add the flour and salt to the sponge, then add the eggs. Mix on low speed for 2 minutes, or until the eggs are absorbed. Increase speed to medium and knead the dough for 5 minutes. At this point, the dough may slap around the bowl and you may need to hold on to the base of the mixer. My table was shaking like crazy!
3. On medium-low speed, add the butter, 2 Tbs. at a time. The dough may want to climb up above the mixing paddle, so occasionally stop the mixer and scrape the dough back down the sides of the bowl. Knead until the dough is shiny and smooth, about 5 minutes.
4. Scrape out the dough and transfer to a large oiled bowl, then turn the dough over so that the top is lightly coated with oil. Cover with plastic wrap and let the dough rise at room temperature for two hours or until it doubles in volume.
5. When the dough has risen, lightly punch it down to deflate it, and fold one half into the other. Cover again with plastic film and refrigerate the dough for at least 4 hours or overnight for what baker's call "The Second Rise." Remember, you are now a true blue baker.
6. Oil three 9 x 5 x 3-inch loaf pans with vegetable oil, or 1 1/2 dozen brioche tins if you're making rolls.
7. Remove the dough from the fridge and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Dived the dough into thirds, use a floured rolling pin to roll the dough into a rectangle that is equal to the length of the pan and double its widtch. Starting from teh short side, roll up the dough like a jelly roll. If you like, at this point you can add a filling. Pinch the seam together, and place the dough seam side down into the prepared pan. Gently work the dough with your fingers so that it touches all sides.*
8.Cover the dough with plastic wrap that has been brushed with oil, and proof it at room temperature until it has doubled in size and filled out the pans completely, about 1 1/2 to 2 hours.
9. About 10 minutes before the dough finishes proofing, preheat the oven to 400 degrees, making sure the rack is at the center of the oven.
10. Gently brush the surface of the loaves or rolls with the Egg Wash, then place in the oven for 10 minutes. After 10 minutes, reduce the heat to 350 degrees F. Bake for another 30 minutes, until the top is golden and glossy.
11. Cool completely on a rack, then remove from the tins. Store in the fridge, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap. Beast if used within 48 hours.
YIELD: 3 loaves, or 1 1/2 dozen rolls.

*Note: If you like brioche rolls (specifically, those handsome brioche à tête, with the tiny poufs on top), roll a golfball-size piece of dough, and pinch the bottom seam. Place the dough seam-side down into the prepared pans of your choice. You can make these easily in muffin tins, or in brioche tins like the ones pictured above. Bake them at 350 degrees F for 20-25 minutes.

Notes on Tour and Atlanta's Soul Veg.

2009-10-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

I wish all meals on tour look and tasted like this, but that's just not the case. I've been away from HungryOyster for the past month because my band is on tour in the US. We'll be home in 4 days.

I have a recurring dream where I'm back in my kitchen, apron-clad and happily plodding between stovetop and counter. I begin to miss many things, but really, none quite so much as my 10 inch chef's knife. Ask any avid cook, and I'm sure they'll get that misty faraway look in their eyes when they begin talking about their favorite knife. Oh yeah, I miss my cat and I definetely miss my plush bed. But what I really miss chopping onions, deboning a chicken, or really doing anything that amounts to simply feeding myself.

It sounds like a lovely idea to eat out virtually every night for 4 weeks, but it gets tiresome after awhile to be fed restuarant-food. Everything begins to taste the same. I find myself craving almost-ugly homespun meals, a craving that was partially sated by a trip in Atlanta to Soul Veg.

Soul Veg is a soul food joint owned by African Hebrew Israelites. It's set up like a cafeteria where servers dressed in blinding white caftans greet you as "brother" and "sister," lifting giant silver catering lids as you approach the counter and everything down to the banana pudding is completely vegan.

The food does not look good. Everything is buffet-style, and the catering pans display an array of baby-food colors, intended to be spooned easily in a massive heap or hunk onto a plastic plate for your gustatory pleasure. Did I mention that there's a big place in my heart for downright delicious ugly food?

The collards look greyish-green, but they're nicely lemony, and studded with garlic, perfectly stewed. The yams are probably the prettiest thing there, amber-hued and glistening in a deeply spiced syrup (maple syrup perhaps? we never could figure it out). There's jerked tofu redolent of turmeric and rosemary, balancing perfectly on the edge of charred and chewy. The best thing on my plate is a nondairy mac-n-cheese, which is perfectly creamy and cheesy, without any of the loaded heaviness that keeps me from ever ordering it. The cornbread is simple and honest, in fact everything is honest. It's a simple meal, but soul food seems like an understatement. A very jolly employee comes by to tell us that their secret is alkaline water, which they attain through a very elaborate filtration system. He asks us to taste the water, then tells us that everything needs to start with excellent, clean water. I know nothing of this, but keep eating like a happy pig, grabbing for the crazy-good tahini dressing on an otherwise throwaway green salad. This food tastes like love, like you're being taken care of. It's home cooking, but unlike any homecooking I've ever had. Maybe on the road, that kind of provisioning is something you learn to do without. Boy, had I missed it.

Of course, I have no photos to show you, because I was too busy eating, too consumed by how delicious it all was. Perhaps it had something to do with just being crazy-ravenous, or perhaps it's that food made that well forces us to stop everything and sigh with joy as I did when I tucked in to that mac-n-cheese. Not once did I stop to think "pretty good for a vegan meal," and again this is the thing that great food does best: it gives us a moment of pause. Everything was seasoned perfectly, and in spite of the Olympian portioning, I left feeling pleasantly full and happy. No hollow legs were necessary. Soul food indeed.

I'll be back next week with recipes, but until then XOX!

Chanterelles in White Wine w/ Herbs

2009-09-20T08:25:00.001-07:00

Fall is creeping back to us, and with it comes the rain and a deeply vibrant mushroom season. Whenever someone asks me about foraging, the most common question is "is it safe?"

Unlike many I met last year in Europe, my family elders were not foragers. They did not root around in the forest as children looking for the ruby-capped amanita muscariae, picking fiddlehead ferns and morels in the springtime. In this country, a lot of us were brought up believing the only mushrooms that are safe to eat are the ones in your grocery store. That's just rubbish. Afterall, those $14/lb. chanterelles had to come from somewhere.

When it comes to eating the best of what the world has to offer, there is always some risk and I wouldn't want it any other way. You take a chance when you eat oysters on the halfshell, steak tartare, or hell, even sushi. Adventure is what makes eating interesting. Just as I'm not ordering oysters from anywhere that looks dubious, when I go foraging I use common sense. I only eat mushrooms that are easily identifiable and leave the A-level stuff to the pros. For me, I'm more than happy hunting chanterelles, porcini, morels and the like.

I got into foraging through my best friend, and it's been love ever since. There's a primeval joy experienced while waking with the dawn to head out into the woods, and I can't even begin to describe the unadulterated glee of discovery when one spots that first mushroom underfoot (I almost always have to let out a giant shriek!). A couple of weeks ago, I ventured out with a few friends of mine to hunt the late summer chanterelles that crop up in the forests of Oregon. We came back with several pounds of beautiful golden trumpets filling our baskets.

Chanterelles are especially good eaten within a week of harvesting. They're a pain to clean, so it's best to trim the stems when you pick them and brush off as much of the dirt as you can. Put them in a paper bag (never plastic!), or better yet, a nice basket where they won't be too crowded.

Chanterelles with White Wine & Herbs

This is hardly a recipe, but what I like to do is melt a pat of butter with a drizzle or two of olive oil in a nonstick skillet. Let the butter begin to brown a bit, and in go a handful of chopped shallots and garlic. Once the shallots get a little bit translucent, I throw in the chanterelles. Once the mushrooms soften a little (after 5-10 minutes, depending on how many you're cooking), I like to add a splash of white wine and a handful of chopped herbs (parsely is good, thyme is even better). When it's done, I serve them over a slice of crusty bread that's been ever-so-slightly toasted. It's a simple, satisfying reward for tromping through the woods all morning.

Fig Frangipane Tart

2009-09-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

The season's almost done, but my market had a huge sale on kadota figs so I went a little crazy and bought 4 or 5 pints of them. I made Clotilde DuSoulier's fig ice cream, and then I made not one, but two fig-frangipane tarts. I justified this because I had two parties to go to; the first at my friends Chad & Cheryl's place, the second a farewell-surprise-party for my friend Nancy.

Nancy just moved to Spain and started this really sweet blog about what she's eating there. Nancy's one of the first friends I made when I moved to Portland, and one of my favorite people to eat with (we're talking many epic, gut-busting 3-hour meals). I knew Portland would be a little different, a little more subdued, once Nancy left. So what better way to bid adieu than with an extravagant fig tart?

When I worked at Flour, I OD'd on frangipane. It was in everything from the almond croissants to the twice-baked brioche. Frangipane is an almond custard, or pastry creme, which turns slightly cakey and oh-so-buttery once baked. The top takes on a pleasant crunch. As with many French pastry names, it's sounds much more difficult to make than it actually is, as it consists mostly of butter, sugar, eggs, and almonds. I was always intimidated of cooking with it at home, but as long as you've got a good food processor (or something similar that can give almonds a good blitz), you'll be in fighting shape. DISCLAIMER: Please be judicious when people come back around asking for second helpings of this tart as it can get pretty ugly.

Fig Frangipane Tart
adapted from a recipe by Jaime Oliver (yes, that Jamie Oliver)

This tart's original recipe was a bit more involved than I prefer, so I made a few adjustments. What I kept, however, was the lemony crust and the sprinkling of thyme on top to help bring out all the lusciousness that figs have to offer. The recipe below provides for two crusts, simply use half for one tart, and save the rest for later in the freezer (I like to freeze tart shells ahead of time).

INGREDIENTS:
12-15 whole fresh figs, washed
1 Tbs. sugar
1 Tbs. water
2 Sprigs fresh thyme, leaves picked
zest of 1/2 a lemon or orange

INGREDIENTS FOR THE SHORTCRUST PASTRY:* (see note above)
9 Tbs. cold unsalted butter
1 cup powdered sugar
a small pinch of salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
zest of 1/2 a lemon
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbs. cold milk or water

INGREDIENTS FOR FRANGIPANE:
5 oz. blanched whole almonds
3 Tbs. all-purpose flour
1/2 cup plus 1 Tbs. unsalted butter, at room temperature
7 Tbs. granulated sugar
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 vanilla bean, scored lengthwise and seeds removed
1 Tbs. light rum or grappa (optional)

DIRECTIONS:
1. Grease a 9-inch tart pan with a removeable bottom and set aside.
2. To make the pastry dough, cream together the butter, powdered sugar, and salt in a food processor with a dough blade. (You can do this easily by hand, too). Add to this the flour, vanilla seeds. lemon zest, and egg yolks. Pulse until the mixture begins to look like coarse breadcrumbs. Add the cold milk or water, pulsing a few more times until you have a ball of dough. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and pat it into a ball. Don't overwork the pastry, it will get too elastic instead of remaining nice and flaky. Once the dough has come together, pat it into a disk, flour it, and wrap tightly in plastic wrap. Place it into the fridge for at least an hour (can be made a day or two before). Remove the disc of dough from the fridge, roll it out, and line your tart pan. Place in the freezer for one hour (can be frozen like this up to a month in advance, if wrapped in plastic and foil).
2. Preheat the oven to 350 F degrees. Bake the pastry shell for 12 minutes, or until it is lightly golden. Remove from the oven and turn the heat down to 325.
3. Make the frangipane by grinding 4 oz. of the almonds in a food processor with the sharp blade until it becomes a fine powder. Transfer this to a large bowl with the flour. Now beat the butter and sugar in the food processor until it becomes light and creamy. Add to this the almond and flour mixture, along with the lightly beaten egg, vanilla seed, and run. Fold in the mixture until completely smooth and incorporated. Place the frangipane in the fridge for at least 30 minutes to firm up and set.
4. While you wait for the frangipane to set, remove the stems from the fresh figs. Score each one on the top in the shape of an X, then using your thumb, push up from the base to open the figs like little flowers.
5. Spoon the chilled frangipane mixture into the cooled pastry shell, then lightly arrange and push the figs into the frangipane with the score side up. Heat the tablespoon of sugar and water until dissolved and drizzle this syrup over the figs. Roughly chop the remaining 1 oz. of almonds and sprinkle over the top of the tart along with the thyme leaves and remaining lemon zest.
6. Bake the tart for about 40 minutes, until the frangipane has become firm and golden on the outside, while staying soft in the middle. For the last 5 minutes of baking time, I turned my oven back up to 350 to get that golden sheen on top. Allow the tart to cool for 30-40 minutes at least before serving.
7. Serve with a little creme fraiche or mascarpone, and sprinkle with cinnamon.
YIELD: 6-8 servings. Keeps for a day or two, but best eaten the same day.

Quick Sichuan Pepper Pickles

2009-09-05T14:59:00.000-07:00

I am a pickle person. If I see a pickle plate on a menu, it's impossible to steer me away. The more sour and vinegary the better. I like pickled everything: apricots, haricots verts, watermelon rind, but there’s nothing quite like a nice, crisp cucumber pickle.

I often make my own cornichons, using oak leaves like the old Russian ladies at the farmer’s market do to keep that snap! when you first bite into them, but I was adrift last week when I got that familiar pang for something tart and realized I was all out. I needed something nice and quick. I remembered hearing about these Sichuan-style pickles in the Canal House volume my mom sent me earlier this summer.

These refrigerator pickles are very peppery, and bright as all get out. There are even quicker pickles out there, but I love the gently sweet-and-sour brine on these lil’ guys. I used some of the Kirby and Japanese cucumbers from my garden and a few lemon cukes from the garden fairy who has been leaving veggies in the lobby from time to time. The original recipe called for over a dozen Japanese cucumbers, but I think it’s more interesting to mix it up a little.

Li's Sichuan Pepper and Ginger Pickles
Adapted from Li-fan Huang's Recipe featured in The Canal House series

I love the gingery, spicy snap of these pickles. I love lots of heat, so I added a few dried chilies and coriander seeds. They're great to snack on while cooking other things, or to tide over a few friends who have come over for dinner. They keep for two weeks in the fridge, but I finished mine within a couple of days, they were so good!

INGREDIENTS:
8-10 cucumbers, washed and sliced into 1/2-inch-thick rounds, enough to fit inside a quart-size container comfortably.
1 Tbs. kosher salt
1 1/2 Tbs. vegetable oil
1-2 large pinches of Sichuan peppercorns**
1 small pinch of coriander seeds
1-2 dried Thai birds-eye chilies (optional)
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1 fat finger of fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
2 Tbs. natural sugar
3/4 cup rice wine vinegar

DIRECTIONS:
1. Put the slices of cucumber in a large bowl, sprinkle with the salt, mix well, and set aside.
2. Heat the oil over medium heat in a large skillet, add the peppercorns and coriander seeds and sauté for about 3 minutes to release their flavor. (If you like a less spicy pickle, Li suggests that you remove and disard about three quarters of the peppercorns at this point). Add the garlic, ginger, and birds-eye chilies if using, and sauté for another 3 minutes. Add the sugar and rice wine vinegar and bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sugar melts.
3. Drain the cucumbers of any liquid, but leave the salt on. Then pour the hot vinegar, along with the garlic, ginger, peppercorns, and chilies, and toss to combine. Transfer to a quart-size container or mason jar with a tight-fitting lid.
4. Refridgerate pickles for a couple of days, turning at least twice a day to give everything a chance to marinate evenly. The pickles are now ready to eat.
YIELD: 1 quart of pickles. Keeps about 2 weeks in the refridgerator.

* This is a small batch, cut in half from the original recipe. If you’re curious to see the original recipe, go here and secure yourself a copy of the Canal House book. They’re printed in small batches by two women from New Jersey who used to work at Saveur. Each volume is written according to the season (the one I have is for summertime), and include beautiful shots of the unfussy, simple recipes. I’ve tried the poached peaches in wine w/ tarragon, the steaks w/ parsley butter, and fritto misto, all to great gusto and satisfaction.
** If you don't have sichuan peppercorns, a mix of black and white peppercorns will work, too.

Ground Cherry Tarts with Ricotta, Honey, and Pine-Nuts

2009-08-30T19:59:00.000-07:00

These ground cherries come straight from my garden. A member of the same family as gooseberries and tomatillos, I’ve been hooked since a farmer at the Union Square greenmarket thrust a tiny "strawberry cherry" into my hand. The reason why is that they taste exactly like Cap’N Crunchberries. I kid you not. If you find any at a greenmarket in your city, try them and see. If you were never a big sugar-cereal fanatic and perhaps desire a daintier description, their taste is reminiscent of pineapple with a pleasant tartness you might find in a plump, garden-fresh tomato. My point is that they're good. Really good.

Ground cherries can be expensive, which is one of the reasons I chose to grown them. They’re lovely if you peel the husk off and pop them as you’re cooking other things, but I’d never actually cooked with them before this week. I had some ricotta leftover from a recipe for stuffed zucchini-blossoms, and so I took out a leaf of puff pastry from my freezer and started playing around. I thought of what is ideal with ricotta: honey, pine-nuts, some lemon zest and a bowl of freshly-husked ground cherries.

This recipe is dead-easy and takes all of 30 minutes to complete, start to finish. It’s an elegant end to a dinner with friends, and if your guests are like me, they’ll be marveling about how much this dessert reminds them of Cap N’ Crunchberries.

Ground Cherry Tarts with Ricotta, Honey, and Pine-Nuts

I chose to sweeten these tarts with honey, as ground cherries are already quite sweet and I try not to add sugar whenever possible. The result is a subtly sweet tart, with blistered ground cherries, toasted pine-nuts, and nice, lemony ricotta.

Ingredients:
4 4x4 squares of puff pastry
1 cup ground cherries, peeled from their husks, with a few left out for garnish
3/4 cup of ricotta, drained
1 lemon
3 Tbs. of honey
1 pinch of salt
1/4 cup of raw pine nuts

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 425 degreed Farenheit.
2. Place the 4 puff pastry squares on a large sheet.pan.
3. In a bowl, whisk together the ricotta, honey, and salt. Grate the lemon zest over the bowl, then roll the lemon on the board to loosen the juices. Juice 1 half of the lemon into the bowl, and whisk again. Taste, and if it’s not quite to your liking, juice the other half. Be careful not to add to much liquid or the puff pastry will not rise!
4. Place a good dollop of the ricotta mixture in the center of each tart, leaving 1/4-1/2 inch border. You may have some filling leftover, just save it for breakfast the next morning. (I enjoyed mine with some peach slices).
5. Distribute the ground cherries among the pastry squares. Sprinkle 1 Tbs. of pine nuts over each tart.
6. Bake the tarts for 12 minutes, or until the ground cherries have blistered ever-so-slightly and the edges of the tarts have puffed, risen, and turned slightly golden.
7. When they’re ready, remove from the oven and transfer each tart to a cooling rack. Allow them to cool for 5 minutes before serving. Best if eaten the day of.
YIELD: 4 servings.

Back from San Francisco w/ Sherry Roasted Chicken and Peaches.

2009-08-24T19:52:00.000-07:00

I'm back from a short vacation in California's Bay Area. I've only passed through San Francisco on tour, when I'm typically rushing around to find parking for our mini-van, or lugging around unwieldy gear. When a few friends of mine told me they'd be in the area for a short spell, I jumped at the chance to visit. It's never been a place that opened itself to me easily, one geared more towards the intrepid traveler than the gear-addled touring musician. It took a day or two, but before long, I was riding around the bus and taking to the city like a fish to water.

A few things stuck out to me. I stayed in the Mission, where I'd never spent more than half an evening, and snacked on lengua tacos and the delicious donuts at Dynamo. I had a caramel del sel donut for breakfast; a glorified raised cake drizzled with sticky burnt caramel. I'm not usually a donut person--but the batter was light, fluffy, and slightly citrus-y. I've been craving that same donut ever since.

I brunched at the greasy-spoon on 24th called St. Francis, treked to a free farmer's market before hitting up a D-I-Y fair, and sampled the whirling-dervish flavors of ice cream like Peanut Butter Curry at Humphrey Slocombe. I wandered around Japantown at a J-Pop Festival, happily slurping ramen in pork broth (newly converted since my last go at it at Momofuku in NY), and somehow still found the time to eat peaches, tamales, and sip Blue Bottle Coffee at the Ferry Building Market. I people-watched over by the caviar bar, loitered about the Aquarium (which was obnoxiously touristy, but worth it just to glimpse those incandescent jellyfish).

But let's rewind a little. I said I had some peaches. I almost overdid it on the peaches. I was eating peaches every day. Since I've returned, I've incorporated some nectarines into my diet, too, but not without a few peaches here or there for good measure.

I made this dish for the first time just before I left town, and boy, it was something else. I can’t take complete credit. I was inspired by Melissa Clark’s article in the NY times. In it, she takes unripe peaches and roasts them with chicken thighs. Of course, I made a few adaptations. I chose to use the whole chicken, cut into eighths, as everything tastes better when cooked on the bone, and I wanted enough to serve 4. This is a perfect one-pot dish for the chillier summer evenings we’ve been having this week in Portland. The chicken is tossed with a bit of garlic and fresh ginger, roasted for a little while, and then in goes the sherry and the firm peaches, which are at turns buttery and juicy when everything's done. A little fresh basil adds an exotic brightness to counter the deeply savory gravy pooling at the bottom of the pan. It's a simple dinner, but one that celebrates everything that we love about summer, and one I'll be sad to bid farewell to once autumn returns.

Sherry Roasted Chicken with Peaches and Basil
adapted from Melissa Clark's recipe

Use peaches that are very firm if you can’t find green or unripe peaches.
I like using 4 cloves of garlic, as it adds the kind of punch I crave from such a savory dish as this.

INGREDIENTS:
1 3 1/2 lb. Chicken, cut into eighths (backbone can be reserved for stocks)
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 1lb. Firm or unripe peaches, cut into eighths
1/2 cup dry sherry
2-4 cloves of garlic, chopped
3 Tbs. chopped fresh basil
1 inch-long piece of ginger, peeled and grated
1/2 teas. salt
1/2 teas. fresh-ground pepper

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees, with the rack in the middle.
2. Toss chicken with olive oil, garlic, ginger, salt and pepper. Spread out evenly in a roasting pan, making sure the pieces of chicken are skin side up.
3. Roast the chicken until the skin begins to brown, about 20 minutes. Drizzle the sherry over the chicken, and roast another 8 minutes. Toss the peaches over the chicken, and roast another 20 minutes until the chicken is nice and golden brown. Scatter the basil across the dish and serve immediately.
Yield: 4 servings.

Peach Bellinis

2009-08-08T17:29:00.000-07:00

It's important to have a few tricks up one's sleeve, and one of mine is a bottle of champagne. Prosecco or cava works, too. It makes everything look a little bit more shiny, a little bit more special. It says "I like you, and I'm so glad you decided to come over to my house."

My sister's been in town for the past week visiting from Boston. We had so many plans, ambitious plans, which we eventually sidelined in favor of picking berries and staying home in the kitchen. You see, my sister is an extraordinarily good cook. I lucked out in the sister lottery, big time.

We spent one day on Sauvie Island lazing about the sunflower fields, snacking on overripe raspberries and picking peaches. Oh, the peaches! Walking through the orchard was like stepping into some honeyed, ambrosial fog. They were everyhere, the scent of sweet, fuzzy peaches lingering in the gentle gusts of wind that passed through every so often. It was a particularly hot day, and we came back with 6-8 pounds of stone fruit.

Peaches as ripe as this don't need any sugar. We used the firmer fruit in desserts and a roasted chicken recipe (which I'll be sure to post in the coming week), but this cocktail is a perfect use for peaches that are so ripe they're beginning to get moldy. On a lazy summer day, there's nothing better (or easier), than churning out a quick batch of peach puree, pouring a float of decent prosecco on top, and sitting back in the late-afternoon sun to relax. Cheers!

Easy Peach Bellinis

Use peaches that are very fragrant and musky. For this recipe, I prefer yellow peaches at the peak of their season, and it's especially nice if you have a bunch of peaches that are moldy in places and maybe not attractive enough to use in a tart or a pie. The puree keeps for up to three days in the fridge, and would be just as delicious with club soda in place of the prosecco for a non-alchoholic treat. Another variaton for leftover puree is to make a sweet chilled soup, garnished with dill or perhaps some white-chocolate sauce drizzled on top.

Ingredients for the cocktail:
6 medium-sized and nearly overripe peaches, pitted and quartered
1 Tbs. agave nectar (optional)
1 250 ml bottle of inexpensive prosecco or cava

Ingredients for the garnish:
6 slices of peach
12 raspberries
6 toothpicks

Directions:
1. Put the quartered peaches in a blender. If they're not overripe, add the agave nectar to sweeten the puree.
2. Blend until the mixture is completely smooth. Turn off the blender and strain the peaches through a sieve over a medium-sized bowl. Discard the pulp.
3. Into each champagne flute, place 1 raspberry, then pour 2 ounces (1/4 cup) of peach puree.
4. Top off each flute with the prosecco*.
5. Make a garnish by spearing a slice of peach and raspberry with a toothpick, the gently perch the garnish on the rim of the glass. Serve immediately.
YIELD: 6 servings.

* To save leftover bubbly, stick a fork in the neck of the bottle. It will keep the bubble aerated for a day or two.

Lemon Balm Ice Cream

2009-07-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

This summer I have started a garden. I’ve coveted them, dreamed of having one of my own, but never really sat down to plot one until this year. There’s a lot to learn, and I’m still in the process of covering the basics (like the way acidic oak trees can put a wrench in your dream of creating a mammoth tomato plant forest).

With every plus comes a minus and with gardening comes a lot of weeding. During my first round back in late March, when the bed looked like this, I found an awful lot of what looked like mint in the bed and let out a big, long profanity-laced groan. Mint, to all those who are not familiar with gardening, is a plague and a pest and very hard to get rid of. The only nice thing about weeding out the mint is that your hands become nicely scented with the stuff after a few spherical rounds of root-pulling. When I began weeding in the squash and melon bed, what looked like mint left my hands smelling like lemon-scented dish detergent. Turns out that my pest is from the same family but goes by a different name: Lemon Balm.

Lemon balm grows all over the yard, and it looks similar to catnip or mint. Often it crops up before mint in the early season, and when not on a mission to seek and destroy, its leaves make an insanely delicious tisane.

Ever since I started making my own ice cream two years ago, I’ve made a game of playing with new and unusual flavors. Lemon balm seemed like a natural choice, and on a day last week where I was weeding a bunch out anyway, I snipped some leaves and took them home to steep in the custard. The ice cream wasn’t soap-y tasting in the least, but does take on a subtle round citrus flavor that makes an elegant (and easy!) dessert served alongside a handful of fresh berries. It's been so hot here for the past week that I can't really do anything in my apartment but sit in a cool bath with a book and scoop of this ice cream. I'll manage.

Lemon Balm Ice Cream
adapted from David Lebowitz's recipe

INGREDIENTS:
2 cups fresh lemon balm leaves, rinsed & dried
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
3/4 cup sugar
6 large egg yolks
pinch of salt

DIRECTIONS:
1. In a medium saucepan, warm the lemon balm leaves with the milk,1/2 cup (125ml) of the cream, and the sugar.
2. Once warm, remove from heat, cover, and let steep for one hour.
3. To make the ice cream custard, pour the remaining cream into a large bowl set in a larger bowl of ice water, and put a mesh strainer on top.
4. Use a strainer or slotted spoon to skim the lemon balm from the milk and squeeze the leaves to extract as much liquid as possible back into the saucepan, then discard them. Rewarm the lemon verbena custard, then whisk the eggs together and slowing pour in the warm infusion, whisking constantly.
5. Scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan and cook, stirring continuously with a heatproof spatula or wooden spoon. Keep your eye on it so it doesn't curdle. When it's ready, you should be able to drag your finger across the back of the spoon and see a clear line.
6. Immediately strain the custard into the bowl of cream. Stir until cool.
7. Chill thoroughly, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. Enjoy!

YIELD: 1 Quart.

Sticky Balsamic Ribs

2009-07-08T13:23:00.000-07:00

Even with the glowing recommendation printed alongside the recipe (which rang something to the tune of “these ribs might be the best thing I’ve ever come up with…”), I didn’t anticipate exactly how much I would love these ribs. My first bite was nearly overwhelming. At first I tasted the smoky, crispy, charred edges of the ribs, followed by the perfume of roasted garlic and rosemary, finished off by the deep caramel flavor imbued by thick balsamic vinegar and dark brown sugar. They were smoky. They were sticky. They were a complete mess. I was in love.

I loved that first batch so much that in spite of being typically allergic to repetition, I made them again last night for a dinner party. Even as I type this, I’m getting hungry again and thinking about running to the store for more spare ribs.

All of the necessary components in a good BBQ lie in the rub. The better the rub, the less work is required of you. Take a rack or two of ribs, rub them down with a bold garlic and rosemary paste, then let them sit and work their marinating magic for 24 hours. This is the key to their success. The next day, cook them slowly at a high heat, using the brown bits sticking to the bottom of the pan to make a glaze which will caramelize on the grill (or in my case, beneath the glowering heat of my broiler).

I haven’t done much barbequing at home, as I am without a grill and my oven is tiny. Up until last week, it was one of those things I always believed were better left to those guys with Kiss-The-Cook aprons and oil-drum grill outfits. It seemed a sacrilege to think I could make authentic summer BBQ without a large fiery spit, but my friends, I’m living proof that it can be done even within the confines of a tiny oven. I’ve seen the light, and it tastes awfully good.

STICKY BALSAMIC RIBS
Adapted from Ian Knauer’s recipe

One of my favorite things about this recipe is that I already had most of the ingredients at home. I scaled down the original recipe to 4 servings and used spare ribs instead of baby back ribs. These are delicious and very rich. We ate 4 ribs apiece and were totally full. Marinating the ribs for 24 hours lends a herbaceous flavor to them that shines through the smokiness of grilling. I made them in my oven, and I can only imagine how much more delicious they would be given a turn or two over some hot coals.

INGREDIENTS FOR RIBS:
4-6 cloves of garlic
1 Tbs. finely chopped rosemary
1 Tbs. packed dark brown sugar
1 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
1/2 tsp. Cayenne powder
4 lbs. of pork spare ribs (about 2 racks)
1/2 cup water

INGREDIENTS FOR GLAZE:
1 cup hot water
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

DIRECTIONS:
1. Using a mortar & pestle (the back of a chef’s knife works well, too), mince and mash the garlic to a paste with 1/2 tsp. salt. Stir in the rosemary, brown sugar, vinegar, cayenne, 1/2 Tbs. salt, 1/2 tsp. pepper. Rub evenly over the ribs and transfer to a roasting pan. Marinate, chilled, from 8-24 hours.
2. When you’re ready to cook the ribs, preheat the oven to 425 degrees with racks in upper and lower thirds.
3. Put 1/2 cup of water into the roasting pan (or distribute evenly if using two pans). Cover tightly with tin foil. This will help keep the ribs tender.
4. Roast the ribs for 1 3/4 hours, switching the position of the pan(s) halfway through, until the meat is very tender. Remove from the oven once they’re done and transfer the ribs to a platter.
5. To make the glaze: Add 1 cup of hot water to the roasting pan and scrape up brown bits using a wooden spoon. Skim off and discard fat, then transfer the liquid to a sauce pan. Add balsamic vinegar and brown sugar. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, continue to boil until the glaze is reduced to 1/2 cup. This takes about 15-20 minutes.
6. Prepare grill for direct-heat cooking over medium hot charcoal (medium heat for gas). Alternatively, turn oven setting on to Broil.**
7. Brush some of the glaze on both sides of the ribs. Grill, turning occasionally and brushing with more glaze, until ribs are hot and grill marks or char appear. About 6 minutes.
8. Brush ribs with more glaze and serve remaining glaze on the side.
YIELD: 4-6 servings.

*Ribs can be roasted and glaze can be made 1 day ahead and chilled separately. Bring to room temperature about 30 minutes, before glazing and grilling.
**If you are broiling your ribs, place the racks about 3-4 inches from the heat. Broil for 8 minutes, turning and brushing with glaze occasionally.

Where Have You Gone?

2009-07-02T14:35:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that my favorite part of touring besides playing music every night is discovering new places to eat. We drove the entire haul from Los Angeles late yesterday morning and rolled into Portland around 3 AM. All of us came back feeling a little sunburnt, very happy, and very very exhausted. Rather than post a recipe this week, I thought I'd share some photos from tour.

As our van hugged the coastline, I managed to squeeze in many tacos from the trucks and crowded taquerias dotting the highways. In Los Angeles, we ate authentic Thai and El Salvadorian food. In Eugene, we were surprised with a huge spread by the folks at The Stonehenge. On one day I ate a total of 6 or 7 tacos, and still managed to sneak in one last lengua taco from a nearby truck before bedtime. I watched the mist stumble in off the coast of Big Sur and fell asleep that night to the sound of yelping sea lions. I'm leaving out so much, but maybe these photos will help fill in some of the gaps. I'll be back next week with a new recipe, cross my heart!

Strawberry Festival

2009-06-22T16:47:00.000-07:00

I eat primarily by the season, so that means strawberries come for me only once a year. It’s such a short window, but when they arrive it’s the best thing in the world. At this time of year their taste is stunning. A strawberry that’s ripe in its season is faintly musky, obscenely scarlet and mesmerizing without the sharper sweetness of the off-season varieties. In a season this brief, I’ve learned to appreciate every last berry that enters this kitchen. It becomes a very fun sport to see how many ways I can spin use out of them. Most often, I slice them into a bowl of milk for breakfast. I’ve made strawberry sorbet, smoothies, and muffins, but the scarlet couronne goes to this Strawberry Mascarpone Tart that I made with my friend Julienne last week.

You may have seen this before on the April cover of Gourmet. I wanted to make it then, but I had to hold out until Portland's berries came into full blush. It was worth the wait. It’s a winner, a stunner, all of the highest compliments you can pay. It was so good that I didn't really have the time to properly photograph it. Julienne and Kai were really kind to wait as long as they did to dig in. The mascarpone filling features a nuttiness that cuts the sweetness of the strawberries, and it's all rounded out by a little zingy lemon zest and a drizzle of port-based syrup. We ate it on its own for dinner. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?

STRAWBERRY MASCARPONE TART w/ PORT GLAZE
Adapted from Andrea Albin's recipe in Gourmet Magazine

I love the wine-y note of the glaze, reminiscent of strawberries with a drizzly of good balsamic vinegar. The crust and no-bake filling are a snap to make.

INGREDIENTS FOR TART SHELL:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
Rounded 1/4 tsp salt
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
3 tablespoons cold water

INGREDIENTS FOR FILLING:
1 1/2 lb strawberries (about 1 1/2 qt), trimmed and halved lengthwise*
1/3 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup ruby Port
1 lb mascarpone (about 2 cups)
1/4 cup confectioners sugar
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest
3/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

DIRECTIONS:
1. First, assemble the crust. Blend together flour, sugar, salt, and butter in a bowl with your fingertips or a pastry blender (or pulse in a food processor) just until mixture resembles coarse meal with some roughly pea-size butter lumps. Beat together yolk, vanilla, lemon juice, and water with a fork, then drizzle over flour mixture and stir with fork (or pulse) until mixture comes together.
2. Gently knead with floured hands on a lightly floured surface until a dough forms, then gently knead 4 or 5 times. Press into a 5-inch disk. Place in center of a 10-inch fluted tart pan and cover with plastic wrap. Using your fingers and bottom of a flat-bottomed measuring cup, spread and push dough to evenly cover bottom and side of pan. Prick bottom of tart shell all over with a fork and freeze until firm, about 10 minutes.
3. Preheat oven to 375°F with rack in middle.
4. Line the tart shell with foil and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake until side is set and edge is pale golden, about 20 minutes. Carefully remove foil and weights and continue to bake until shell is deep golden all over, about 20 minutes more. Cool in pan, about 45 minutes. This can be done a day ahead, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap and kept at room temperature.
5. Stir together strawberries and granulated sugar in a bowl and let stand, stirring occasionally, 30 minutes. Strain in a sieve set over a small saucepan, reserving berries. Add Port to liquid in saucepan and boil until reduced to about 1/4 cup, 10 to 15 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl to cool slightly.
6. Meanwhile, whisk together mascarpone, confectioners sugar, lemon juice, zest, vanilla, and a pinch of salt until stiff.
7. To assemble the tart, spread mascarpone mixture evenly in cooled tart shell, then top with strawberries. Drizzle Port glaze all over tart.

* If your strawberries are very ripe, like mine, let them sit in the sugar for 10 minutes instead of the 30 called for in this recipe, or else they'll get rather mushy. Or do as I did, reserving half of the strawberries for the sugar to help make the syrup, leaving the others au naturel to be strewn atop the tart just before you drizzle the glaze on top.

Yields 8 servings, best eaten the day it's made.

Madeleines with Orange Flower Water Glaze

2009-06-17T23:36:00.000-07:00

In Paris, everyone raves about the delicate, pastel macarons at Laduree. They’re worth a trip halfway around the world, for sure, but if I have the time I prefer to linger in the salon for a cup of café au lait and a mini-kugelhopf. The kugelhopf are just as expertly light as the macarons, but the icing on the cake (literally) is the orange flower water syrup that the kugelhopf are dipped in after they come out of the oven.

As Americans, we certainly love our sweets syrupy (Vanilla Latte, anyone?), but we don’t typically do perfume-y. The French are not shy about floral-accented confections. There’s an alchemical switch that flips when you’re in a strange new place and experiencing a foreign flavor for the first time. This is exactly why I love to travel. If I’d been back at home and taken my first perfumed bite of kugelhopf, perhaps I would have been more quick to dismiss it as something that tasted soapy. Wrapped up in the flutter of a new city, the orange flower water hit as a taste of something distant and new. Something I never would have gotten to experience if I hadn’t come all that way. Now, I can’t even smell the stuff without thinking first of France. It is forever burned in my brain, instant and inextricable.

I bought a bottle of orange flower water at May’s store, Nationale, a month or two ago. I had intended to go home and put it to use immediately, but like most intentions, it was left on the shelf and soon shoved out of sight by a jar of almond butter. I found it last week when I was in need of a staycation. I don’t have a kugelhopf pan (nor did I have the patience that day to work with yeast), but I did recently acquire a madeleine mold. Why quibble over the particulars? It was the orange flower water that I wanted. Yes.

Orange Flower Water-Glazed Madeleines
Adapted from David Lebowitz’s recipe

This recipe for buttery madeleines is based on one featured in David Lebowitz’s new book (which is a great read, by the way!) and the directions are not to be trifled with, but once you try them, you won’t feel you’ve wasted one minute in their preparation. Some will scoff at his inclusion of baking powder in the batter. Madeleine purists wouldn’t dream of using it, but I like the little humps the pop up as they’re baking, and baking soda is a reliable way of ensuring they rise.

INGREDIENTS FOR THE MADELEINES:
3 large eggs, at room temperature
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/8 teas. salt, rounded
1 1/4 cup flour
1 teas. baking powder (optional)
1 Tbs. finely grated orange zest
1 teas. orange flower water
9 Tbs. unsalted butter, melted and cooled to room temperature, plus additional melted butter for preparing the molds

INGREDIENTS FOR THE GLAZE:
3/4 cup powdered sugar
1 Tbs. orange flower water
2 Tbs. orange juice

DIRECTIONS:
1. Brush the indentations of a madeleine mold with melted butter. Dust with flour, tap off any excess, and place in the fridge or freezer for at least 30 minutes.
2. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, whip the eggs, granulated sugar, and salt for 5 minutes until frothy and thickened. Remove the bowl from the stand, and rest on the counter on top of a wet dish towel to help steady the bowl.
3. Using a strainer, sift the flour and baking powder over the wet batter. Using a spatula, fold the flour mixture into the wet batter every so often.
4. Add the orange zest to the cooled butter, then dribble the butter into the batter, a few spoonfuls at a time, while simultaneously folding to incorporate the butter. Fold just until all the butter is incorporated.
5. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. The batter can be chilled up to 12 hours ahead of baking time.
6. To bake the madeleines, preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
8. Plop enough batter in the center of each indentation to fill it 3/4’s of the way. Don’t spread it around, or else the humps will not rise.
10. Bake for 8-9 minutes or until the cakes just feel set. If you’re using the baking powder, this will take maybe 2 or three extra minutes for the cakes to just feel set.
11. While the cakes are in the oven, make the glaze. Using a whisk, combine the sugar, orange flower water and orange juice in a small bowl until all the sugar is dissolved.
12. Remove from the oven and tilt the madeleines out onto a cooling rack. As soon as they're cool enough to handle, dip each cake in the glaze, turning them over to make sure both sides are coated and scrape off any excess with a dull knife. After dipping, rest each one back on the cooking rack, scalloped side up, until the cakes are cool and the glaze has firmed up.

Yields 24 madeleines. Store uncovered or in a container for up to three days. They’re best when eaten the day they are made.

Garlic Scape Pesto with Basil

2009-06-07T02:27:00.000-07:00

I know I must come off as something of a culinary Francophile, but when it comes to everyday eating, I instinctively take a page from the Italian perspective. Pesto is the very best of Italian ingenuity: take something at its peak, like the garlic scapes that make their debut in farmer’s markets and gardens right around now, and do as little as possible to disrupt their already miraculous flavor. What I love about pesto, besides the bare-minimum of effort it requires, is that it tastes like summertime. It’s the verdant color, the anise aroma released by the basil piqued by the subtle heat of garlic. It reminds me of fresh-cut grass in the backyard, or a day at the beach. I can’t always rightfully explain foodie-synergy, but it just isn’t summertime without pesto.

The recipe I use is so easy that it’s likely you already have something similar. It takes 5 minutes to put together, can hold up in the fridge for two to three weeks, and keeps me cooking in the kitchen without having to flip on the stovetop. I can’t think of anything as annoying as toiling over a hot oven when the thermometer hits 90 degrees.

The scape is the tender young stem of the garlic, which eventually straightens and blooms. Unlike the sharp taste of raw garlic cloves, the garlicky-ness of the scape is mild and sweet. There’s a number of ways I like to use them, but my favorite method is to grind them into pesto with a few handfuls of extra-fragrant basil. A few pulses in the food processor, and it’s pesto crostini, pesto in potato salad, pesto on grilled black cod filets, pesto just about everywhere.

Garlic Scape Pesto w/ Basil

This pesto is easy to put together and highlights the sweet, bright garlic flavor of the scapes. When making a pesto, I prefer to make a chunky paste and thin it out as needed (with pasta water and the like). I use it with pasta, salads, or on top of broiled fish. This would also be amazing with parsley in place of the basil.

Ingredients:
2 cups fresh basil leaves, loosely packed
2/3 cup roughly chopped garlic scapes
1 clove garlic, peeled
2 Tbs. pine nuts
2/3 cup grated parmesan cheese
4 Tbs. unsalted butter, softened
2 Tbs. olive oil
pepper, to taste

Directions:
1. In a food processor, roughly chop the basil leaves, pine nuts, garlic scapes and clove. To this mixture, add the parmesan, butter, and olive oil. Pulse until smooth, about 30 seconds. Season with pepper to taste.
2. Yields about 1 1/2 cups of pesto. Store in airtight container in the fridge for up to two weeks, or two months in the freezer.

Hazelnut Sable Cookies w/ Cacao Nibs & Dried Figs

2009-06-03T15:33:00.000-07:00

I’m obsessed with the sable cookies that show up with coffee after a meal. At the tail end of a recent LePigeon sojourn, my best friend Rachael and I were presented with a near perfect crème brulee. The bronzed sugar-crust was paper-thin and gave the obligatory snap! when struck by our spoons, giving way to a warm vanilla custard that was simultaneously spicy and not-too-sweet. As if this weren’t already enough, at 10’o’clock on the plate was a demi-tasse of espresso pot-de-crème (restraint is not a word that comes to mind when describing a meal at LePigeon). Everything was great, but I was most elated to see the chocolate wafer beside the pot-de-crème. Actually, I would have been a happy camper with just the cookie. It was perfect: a little bit salty, barely sweet, and most importantly, bite-size. We had just polished off a rabbit-eel terrine and a revelatory duck confit. Did I need another helping of cream on top of all that? No. Just the cookie, please.

I’m always concerned that as I get older I’ll develop some weirdly garish affection for feline art. I’m pretty sure one of the common afflictions is a sudden appreciation of all things tiny. It started when my mother gave me a set of miniature colanders for my birthday and I didn’t shudder, but instead thought “awwww, how cute. TINY!” Strike me down now, almighty! It’s only downhill from here.

This tiny-obsession extends to more than just useless kitchen appliances. I’m infatuated with amuse-bouches. I like itty-bitty egg cocottes. When my old co-workers at Flour were rhapsodizing over the mammoth heart-stopping sticky-buns, I made a point to snap up any of the fruit tartlets that were banished to the mistakes-shelf. My biggest complaint about pastries in Portland isn’t that portions are too small, but that everything from the croissants to the muffins are way too big. Sometimes, I just want a little something sweet. A taste-teaser, if you will.

The recipe for these cookies is a mutation of a citron sable by Clotilde DuSoulier, but it is absolutely my favorite version yet. Last night, I went to a BBQ and towed a batch along for the ride. Think of these as a spiffed-up slice-and-bake take on a Sandie. Hazelnuts, my big weakness, are a natural match with figs and cacao. I love using toasted cacao nibs in place of chocolate because of the added woodsy nuttiness that emerges without sacrificing the chocolate overtones. The chewy figs add a surprising texture to the buttery cookie, acting as the crown on an already jam-packed punch. Of course, the variations here are endless. You could sub in chopped pecans, white chocolate, pistachios, dried cherries or plums. My only rule here is that all good things come in threes.

Hazelnut Sable Cookies
w/ Cacao Nibs & Dried Figs
Adapted from a recipe by Clotilde Dusoulier

Sable cookies freeze very well, and this recipe’s yield is hefty because I like to bake off about half and save the remaining dough for another day. It comes together quickly in a food processor, or you can go about it more leisurely, mixing everything together in a bowl with a fork. I like a good salty bite to my cookie, but if you’re not a fan of the salty-sweet combo, reduce the salt by half. If you use a food processor, be sure not to add the hazelnuts, cacao, and figs until after the dough has begun to come together, or they’ll get chopped into oblivion.

Ingredients:
2 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 t. sea salt
3/4 cup plus 2 Tbs. chilled unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2 egg yolks
2/3 cup chopped hazelnuts
1/3 cup toasted cacao nibs
1/3 cup chopped dried mission figs

Directions:
1. In a food processor or a large bowl, add the flour, sugar and salt. Pulse or whisk to combine. Add the butter to the dry ingredients, then pulse for 30 seconds or incorporate by hand using a pastry blender. Once the dough has a loose, granular texture, add the egg yolks, chopped hazelnuts, cacao nibs, and dried figs. Pulse or knead on a floured surface until a thick ball of dough forms. If the dough is too dry, add a little bit of ice-cold water, a teaspoon at a time. Conversely, if it is too sticky and pliant, add a tablespoon of flour.
2. On a floured surface, dump out the dough. Knead the dough into a ball, and cut the ball in half. Roll each half into a log, about 1 1/2-inch in diameter. Wrap in parchment paper or plastic wrap and chill in the freezer for at least a half hour.
3. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silpat. Take a log of dough out of the freezer, unwrap, and slice in 1/4-inch rounds with a sharp knife. As you go, rotate the log by a quarter of a turn after each slice. This will help retain a round cookie shape. Place the slices of dough onto the baking sheet, spaced by 1/2 inch.
4. Bake for 10-12 minutes, until the edges turn slightly golden. Transfer to a plate or cooling rack.

Yield: about 3 dozen cookies. Keeps a week in an air-tight container. Dough keeps for a month in the freezer.

*If you're having trouble finding cacao nibs, you can always purchase them through Taza. (Just make sure they're not the chocolate covered ones, although those are very good, too!)

Bastard Broth

2009-05-22T00:52:00.000-07:00

Summer's practically at my doorstep, and here I am writing about "hot chicken water," as my friend Nancy called it yesterday morning. I've been under the weather this week and my tastebuds have turned ascetic. It's weird what we end up subsisting on when the chips are down, and in my case, it's been: ginger ale, buttered toast, and cups of chicken broth. I never drink ginger ale when I'm healthy, and buttered toast is painfully boring. The only redeeming thing has been the broth.

It doesn't initially sound very impressive on its own. I don't blame you if you're staring heatedly at the computer screen, wondering what else I've come down with. Let me be explicit: Chicken stock on its own doesn't usually taste that great. Why? Because it hasn't been seasoned yet. Without salt or aromatics, stock takes on the metallic properties of dirty dishwater. The other reason why chicken broth has such a bad rap is that the stuff you get in the store is typically wan and flavorless, and not something desirably potable.

To strike a balance between healthful aliment and palette-pleaser, it helps to examine the differences between a stock and broth. I'm oversimplifying it, but essentially broth is what you get by boiling meat while stock comes from simmering the bones. There's a few other clarifications: a stock is usually simmered twice as long as a broth, which turns all of the connective tissue inside the bones into flavorful gelatin. This creates a raw stock, which looks a little bit like chicken Jell-O once it has cooled. It's not something you'd want to pour into a cup when you have a cold, but it's perfect for using as a base in risottos or soups. Because broth has a higher meat-to-bone ratio than stock, its flavor is much more delicate and nuanced. Usually a broth has a watery consistency, and once it's done, it's ready to be enjoyed on its own. So: stock is heartier, broth tastes better.

Personally, I like a bastard version of the two, and I'll tell you why. The gelatin in stock is great for a haywire immune system, but it's the soothing aromatics in broth that send off of my liquid gold taste receptors. As you can tell, I'm not one for compromising taste when it comes to my health.

I never use a recipe when I make my bastard broth--I use what's on hand, let it simmer for an hour, and add a generous amount of salt if I'm to use it immediately. If I'm making a batch for later on, I reduce the salt by at least half. I make a half dozen quarts on a day when I'm lounging at home, and then I shove them in the freezer. I'm a compulsive scrimper, and my freezer is full of stock-ready ingredients. For fish stock, I save shrimp shells. I save onion, celery, and carrot scraps in a bag in my freezer, along with fennel stalks, parsley stems, or parsnip peels. It takes about 3 hours, depending on what you like. If you're going for something more brothy, strain it then and there. If you like gelatinous stock, let the pot simmer for up to 6 hours.

Once the stock/broth is finished, it's easy to turn into risotto or soup like the one above (one of my favorite tricks: shredded chicken, tortilla, cabbage, and chopped onion.) But on days where you're having delirious fever dreams about a two-headed cyclops and can hardly lift a finger, it doesn't hurt to sleepwalk into the kitchen, remove a frozen quart of bastard's broth, and place it in a bowl of hot water. While you nap and try to ward of the cold chills, the stock will thaw, and once it's ready, all you have to do is reheat it and drink to your health.

Basic Chicken Broth/Stock
(AKA Bastard Broth)

Everything is interchangeable here. Add a little fennel if you like, or whatever you have on hand, maybe some chicken wings taking up room in the freezer. The curry is my secret ingredient--it brings out a nicely spicy, savory complexity (a little reminiscent of Lipton's cup-o-soup--yes, i said it). Omit the curry and reduce the salt if you want a more blank-sheet stock.

Ingredients:
1 4-5 lb roasting chicken, broken down, neck, wings, and backbone included
1 large yellow onion, quartered, skin on
2 carrots, cut into 2 inch pieces
3 stalks of celery, cut into 2 inch pieces
1 parsnip, cut into 2 inch pieces
6 cloves of garlic, in their sheaths
a handful of parsley stems
a handful of thyme sprigs
1 teaspoon curry powder (opt.)
1 bay leaf
6 peppercorns
1 1/2 teaspoons sea salt

Directions:
1. Place all ingredients in a large 10 qt. stock pot. Cover with 4 quarts of water.
2. Bring to a boil, then simmer uncovered for 3 hours, occasionally skimming the froth that bubbles to the surface. Don't worry about skiming the fat just yet, it will add complexity to the broth, and will be easier to skim once the stock has cooled.
3. If a more gelatinous stock is desired, remove the chicken from the pot after 45 minutes.* Shred the meat from the bones and set aside. Return the bones to the simmering pot, and to simmer for up 4-5 more hours.
4. Once it's done, pour the stock over a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. Divide amongst quart-size containers. Allow the stock to cool completely if you wish to freeze it, or use straightaway in soup or on its own.

Yields 4 qts. Keeps 3 months in the freezer.

*If you're like me and hate waste, remove the chicken after 45 minutes to collect the meat, then return to bones to the pot. It's a great way to pinch two meals out of one ingredient. The poached chicken is excellent in salads.

Cake-Eaters and Whoopie Pies

2009-05-01T15:23:00.000-07:00

Here’s the deal with desserts: there’s a time for those pretty oh-la-la affairs, and then there’s a time for something squidgy that you can hold in your hand. Recently, I was craving something in the latter category and turned to Whoopie Pies. They remind me of being a little kid on the swing in our backyard. They remind me of Hi-C moustache stains and hunting for crabs and clam shells on the beach. There is nothing nutritionally virtuous about a whoopee pie—they’re loaded with butter and sugar, which is precisely why I was so drawn to the recipe printed in the NY Times last month.

According to said article, whoopie pies are experiencing a trendy resurgence, hot on the heels of that other kid-friendly dessert called the cupcake (remember those?). I don’t understand food trends. Everyone freaks out about bacon for the whole of 2008, only to completely denounce it the next year. Worse than all the here-today-gone-tomorrow twittering is the wad of cash some are willing to shell out in search of the most perfect specimen, especially when all of the ingredients necessary are already at home in the cupboard.

For me, this article conjured up the best kind of nostalgia. We ate whoopie pies every summer on the beach. My sister and I used to pool our change together and run down to the candy store where they sold whoopie pies in plastic wrap by the cash register. Barefoot and covered in sand, we’d walk back to our towels with sodas and whoopee pies in hand to watch kids dive off of the rocks into the surf. Traditionally, I ended up sharing my whoopie pies with my little sister, for as genetics would have it, I turned out to be more of a cake-eater and she an icing-only proponent. This has always been ideal when it comes to birthday cakes, wedding cakes, and cupcakes. We weren’t typically keen on sharing, but when it comes to cake, we have always had a seamless understanding.

Now, as humble as these pies are, I should warn you that the Time's recipe employs the use of Swiss buttercream frosting. Don't be frightened! Although it is a bit more high-maintenance, it is the perfect counterpart to the firm chocolate cakes. Swiss buttercream stays smooth and shiny, and doesn’t taste as sugary as most frostings because the egg whites and butter lend the structural heft usually provided by confectioner’s sugar. It also holds up well to piping (if you're feeling fancy), but it is the kind of frosting that makes even a cake-eater like myself cross over to the dark side. I like to add a bit more salt to my frosting, but then again, I like salt on just about everything. In short, when it comes time to make the frosting, be patient, use a stand-mixer and it will all turn out fine. Lastly, do not be alarmed by the quantity of butter in the recipe. Yes, it is a whole lot of butter, but clearly this is not diet food. Trendy or not, bring these pies to a picnic and you’ll have no trouble with pesky leftovers.

Whoopie Pies
Recipe From Zingerman's Bakehouse in Ann Arbor, MI

INGREDIENTS FOR THE CAKES:
1/4 pound (1 stick) butter, at room temperature
1 cup light brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon sea salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cocoa
1 cup buttermilk

INGREDIENTS FOR THE BUTTERCREAM FILLING:
3 large egg whites
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 pound butter (2 sticks), at room temperature
3/4 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

DIRECTIONS:
1. For the cakes: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter and brown sugar. Add the egg and vanilla extract and beat until light and creamy. In a separate bowl, whisk together the baking soda, salt, flour and cocoa. Add dry ingredients to butter mixture in three parts, alternating with buttermilk, and combining well after each addition.

2. Using an ice cream scoop or a spoon, scoop out 12 1/4-cup mounds of batter and place about 6 inches apart on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake until tops are puffed and cakes spring back when touched, 12 to 14 minutes. Remove from oven and cool completely before filling.

3. For the buttercream filling: For best results, follow directions carefully, paying attention to required temperatures. Fill bottom half of a double boiler (or a medium saucepan) with an inch or two of water, and bring to a boil over high heat. In top half of double boiler (or a metal bowl), combine egg whites and sugar. Place over simmering water and whisk just until sugar is dissolved and temperature reaches 180 degrees on an instant-read thermometer.

4. Using a whisk attachment on a heavy-duty mixer, whisk egg whites and sugar on high until they double in volume and become thick and shiny. Continue to whisk until cool. Reduce speed to medium and begin to add butter about 1/2 tablespoon at a time, until all the butter is incorporated. Add vanilla and salt. If mixture looks curdled, continue to whisk until it is smooth. Increase speed to high and whisk for 1 more minute. Use immediately or place in an airtight container and chill for up to 3 days, whisking buttercream again before using.

5. For assembly: Using an ice cream scoop or spoon, place 1/4 cup buttercream on flat side of each of 6 cakes, spreading it to edges. Top filled half with another cake to sandwich the buttercream. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days, or wrap individually and freeze for up to 3 months.

Makes 6 pies.

Momofuku Extravaganza: Food Porn Part I

2009-04-23T17:50:00.000-07:00

I was hunting for fiddlehead ferns over the weekend when I lost my beloved Nikon camera. I always feel straight-up stupid whenever I lose something, even the small, inconsequential things. When I realized my camera was probably lying somewhere under a swath of nettles, my first concern was that I wouldn’t have anything to post this week. Let’s face it: half the fun of reading about food is getting to ogle the culinary porno that accompanies it. I can't just write about it. You need me to show you the money. I understand, and I couldn't agree more.

This is one of the many reasons its so important to have friends, especially when your friend is named Matt Tyson and he loves food as much as you do. It’s important because Matt has a beautiful camera and recently used it to capture one particularly rapturous meal at David Chang’s Momofuku while I was on vacation in New York. We’d been planning to have a blogger’s trade, and this would be the perfect way to gloss over my gross idiocy while supplying you, the reader, with ample food porn.

I met Matt last year when I was asked to do an interview for his website, Ear Farm. Interviewing is generally a meat-and-potatoes affair, where an artist phoenetically spells out their last name, discusses lofty things like who in the band has the worst morning breath, and 15 minutes later it’s all done and each party goes on about their day as though it never happened. During my Earfarm interview the subject of food surfaced, and that’s when we both veered completely off track. We were off in Paris, talking about Huitrerie Regis and Duxbury oysters, salivating over sweetbreads, and spilling about our favorite restaurants (mine: Ten Tables; his: Momofuku). I pretty much forgot why he’d called in the first place, and thus a friendship was born.

Cut to the first week of April: the two of us inside Momofuku, armed with a bottle of Momofuku Nama Honjozo at 2PM, ordering one of everything off the seasonal menu, gabbing about the finer points of North Carolinian BBQ and surprising things you can eat with Sriracha. When you realize someone else out there has an appetite that can match yours, you clear space on your schedule. You do whatever it takes to make it happen.

This was my first meal at Momofuku Noodle Bar, having previously been to Momofuku Ssaam. The approach was similar to Ssaam: take one part seasonal ingredients, a daily-rotating menu, and a handful of unbeatable mainstays (like the steamed pork buns, kimchi, or house ramen). The result was one incredible, memorable, and downright delicious meal. The attention to detail was as superb as the hefty presence of pork. Although I’ve been home for two weeks, I’m still jealous that Matt gets to call this a neighborhood haunt. The pork buns we ate were enough to convince me I ought to go pack up my bags for New York once more, that is until I remembered that I live right around the corner from here. All bouts of irrational envy aside, this was one of those meals. You know, the kind that get stored away in the dream center. The kind where you remember every subtle shift in flavor, every bite of pork belly that melted on your tongue. It's so good, you walk away thinking "did that really just happen?" For sports fans, there's the Olympics, or a pennant, or a Superbowl. For those of us who like to eat, there's Momofuku.

You can read all about my take on the meal at Matt’s site, but it wouldn’t be a trade if I didn’t share with you Matt’s thoughts and gorgeous photos (and yes, we did get to eat all of this after the pictures were taken--tough work if you can get it!) Onwards, here's Matt with the play by play:

Sake
Momofuku Nama Honjozo

"For my personal taste, which admittedly is still being defined in the sake realm, this sake was a bit too clean, not distinctive enough. Blame it on the bourbon I enjoy so much, but I like my drinks with a double-edged punch and this one didn't have that. None of Momofuku's sakes do anymore, now that they no longer carry the Funaguchi. However, there's a definite pro here: the sake we picked in no way overshadowed any portion of our meal and went well with each course. There's something to be said for that.

Steamed Buns
pork belly, cucumber, sriracha

"It's worth noting that the mushroom version of these buns are very good in their own right, but Momofuku's pork buns are truly a can't miss menu item. The buns themselves are one of the Seven Food Wonders of New York City: so perfectly pillowy and soft as silk. I believe this incredible bun technique was delivered to David Chang by foodie space travelers. As for the pork? All pork at Momofuku is food nirvana, and the pork on these pork buns, when combined with a touch of Sriracha is melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness. Chang's next restaurant should be a steamed bun slider joint that sells the three versions that are on this menu by the dozen."
Barron Point Oysters
pearl onion, jalapeño

"Oysters are one of my very favorite foods, and while I'm inclined to agree with Casey's assertion that they're generally just fine without any manner of accoutrements, I also will take them just about however someone would like me to eat them. Adding jalapeno and onion flavors to the mix helped wake up my tastebuds a bit, but the oysters themselves were a bit too small and not briny enough to really do it for me. My favorites are either really briny Duxburys or big meaty Apalachicola oysters. Listen to me acting as though I didn't thoroughly enjoy them..."

Bouchot Mussels
XO sauce, bok choy

"This is where I must confess to a simple fact: I'd be happy as a clam to have an entire nine course meal consisting solely of shellfish, so long as it's cooked well. Turns out these mussels were cooked perfectly. Texturally they resembled silky smooth flower petals of seafood excellency; and while the bacon and XO sauce were definitely very forward in the dish, I really appreciated the flavor combination. Casey seemed to disagree and felt the combo overpowered things, and she may be right. But I enjoyed it. Then again, I like strong/forward flavors, and that's three of my favorite things right there - bacon, XO sauce, mussels. To balance out the salty bacon/XO bits, the dish could've used more bok choy in my opinion; but I'd order it again regardless."

Roasted Cauliflower
pesto, boquerones, chili flake

"Because we'd ordered the entire Spring portion of the menu somewhat blindly, I didn't pay much attention to how this dish was described prior to its arrival. All I knew to expect was cauliflower and anchovies - yes and yep, sounds great to me! Then it arrived and it was all green with red touches of paprika sprinkled about and I paused for a second, considering that this was some broccoli cauliflower crossbreed. It clearly wasn't, which I realized immediately as the smell of pesto wafted forward and I re-examined the menu. My how delicious this was! This was one of those dishes that was a joy to eat every which way that's possible... equally enjoyable with your eyes, taste buds, and post-meal memory. It was the highlight of our lunch, perfect in every way. So good that I returned two days later to have it again - don't cry for me, but it wasn't on the menu. The memory of it, however, lives on in my food fantasy daydreams."

Beet Salad
sesame yogurt, ham, black pepper honey

"Beets aren't really my thing. But, for better or worse, I will eat anything. Especially when it's prepared by the folks at Momofuku. In this dish, another lustrous rainbowlike play of color on a plate, the beets were as good as beets can possibly get. Texturally they were tender while retaining a touch of firmness. The healthy dollop of yogurt on top was sweet, but not too sweet, and covered with a dusting of breadcrumbs that enhanced the overall experience by adding a well-needed textural element. I'd be very happy to have this again, and I still don't care for beets."

Smoked Duck Breast
cinnamon sour cream, pickled mustard seed

"Duck! Cinnamon! Mustard! Love love love, yet somehow these three things didn't work well in unison for me here. The cinnamon creme fraiche was overpowering, and would've been better left in the kitchen. In fact, though the mustard seeds did their job well, I'd have preferred the smokey duck breast on its own. It was delicious. As a whole, this one didn't work for me."

Sautéed Beet Greens
ham broth, chili flake

"It's always been obvious that David Chang has a love for Southern food, and as a result his restaurants serve some of the best shredded pork and greens you can find anywhere in the city. However, these greens were not some of the best I've had. The greens themselves were cooked well, I think, but the ham broth overpowered everything. As Casey and I joked then, and for the rest of time, this one was all about the hot ham water. 'It was so watery, and yet with a smack of ham to it!' (that's an Arrested Development quote... in fact, the greens had much more than a 'smack of ham,' and not in a good way.)"

Roasted Foie Gras
sautéed ramps, sherry vinegar honey

"I've been served large portions of foie before, but this was the most massive mammoth-sized foie gras I've ever seen. At least it felt that way after filling up on all of the prior courses. But it was unnecessarily large as well, not that I was complaining. Thankfully I had a teammate to tackle the task with, otherwise I'd have thrown in the towel. Anyway, to the point: the foie gras hammered shut any remaining bits of appetite that were still lingering. It was delicious and decadent, and now I don't need any more foie gras again for at least eight months to a year."

Cousin Leroy and Arlo’s Ice Cream
malted peanut butter/stout twist

"Cousin Leroy and Arlo make some mighty fine ice cream, and they tend to enjoy experimenting with savory flavors. Which can be fun, sometimes. Here, the stout ice cream was not very good at all - in fact it was outright sour, and a bit offensive on the tongue. The peanut butter ice cream, however, saved the day. At any rate, the ice cream isn't the reason to go to Momofuku, it's more like the hand of the kitchen gently nudging you out the door. After all, they have at least ten people waiting in line for your seat and for the same amazing dining experience you just had. Skip the ice cream, get another order of the pork buns!"

Thanks again to Matt for contributing! I have a feeling this won’t be the last we hear from Mr. Tyson. To read/see more from Matt, please visit his amazing site: EarFarm.

Rhubarb Tart Cake With Orange Glaze

2009-04-14T14:48:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I went to the market before having any coffee. Terrible idea. I was nearly mauled by a stroller traffic jam and was generally out of it until I saw the bright red stalks of rhubarb tucked away behind some potatoes. As if I’d just mainlined 5 shots of espresso, I woke up from my zombi state and began shoveling rhubarb into my basket. It seems I wasn’t the only one who was seduced. For the rest of the morning, women kept stealthily leaning over to ask me where I’d found the rhubarb sticking out from under my arm. I told them to go to the stand with the nettles, and they looked at me with a knowing expression, as though we were in on some giant secret. The Saturday market brings out a lot of psycho moms and pushy dads, but its those women that make it worth going (even if you’re like me and can’t afford to buy very much).

Rhubarb, at least in my eyes, is the first true sign of spring. It means there is no turning back, that summer really is on its way, and that there will be other brightly colored things to cook with soon (strawberries, tomatoes, lemon cucumbers…and on and on). Yes, it’s great to have ramps and brussel sprout shoots and all the other incredible things that come out right around now. But rhubarb is the brightest, and also, a hell of a lot of fun to cook with.

As the honored quest, I didn’t want to just mash the rhubarb up in a pie. I wanted to proudly showcase its color and (for lack of a better word) supreme rhubarb-ness, and what better way to do so than a tart? Then, my twisted mind began imagining a take on an apple cake recipe I read about on Orangette, along with a rhubarb tart recipe I’d read in this month’s gourmet. Before you know it, I was up to no good in the kitchen, rinsing my rhubarb down while devising my hair brained scheme.

A good baker will tell you that improvising is for the cooks, baking is for the precise. Being quite good at the former and quite unskilled with the latter, I try to forget what the good bakers say. All good rules were meant to be broken anyway. Go and pick the rhubarb in your yard and see for yourself. The cake is crispy on the edges, the rhubarb caramelized and glazed with orange juice, and if that doesn’t convert you perhaps this detail will: the dough is made in your food processor and there is no rolling to do. Out comes a beautiful tart-cake, and you’ll have barely broken a sweat. See?

RHUBARB TART CAKE w/ ORANGE GLAZE
Adapted from Molly Wisenberg, who adapted a recipe from Judy Amster’s friend

The trick here is to soak the rhubarb in orange juice before assembling the tart—which will help make the rhubarb tender while retaining its shape while baking (so you don’t end up with rhubarb mush).

For The Cake:
1 Cup flour
1 Cup sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
1 pinch salt
5 Tbs. cold unsalted butter, and cut into small pieces
1 egg
1 tsp. Vanilla extract

For The Filling:
2-2.5 lbs. of rhubarb, thinly sliced on the diagonal (1/8 inch slices)
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1 Tbs. lime juice
1/4 cup sugar
1 Tbs. apricot preserves (without any large pieces of fruit)

For The Topping:
1 egg
3 Tbs. melted unsalted butter, cooled slightly
3 Tbs. of sugar
1/2 teaspoon of ground cardamom

1 Tbs. of freshly grated orange zest, for garnish

Directions:
1. In a large bowl, combine the rhubarb, orange juice, lime juice, and sugar. Mix to coat and let it sit for 10 minutes.
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 9-inch springform pan.
3. In the bowl of your food processor, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Pulse to combine.
4. Add to the bowl of the food processor the butter, pulse until the dough has no large pieces and has a crumbly texture.
5. Add the egg and vanilla extract to the flour mixture, pulse again until a dough forms, about 30 seconds.
6. Dump the dough out into the center of the springform pan. Using your knuckles (if you use your fingertips, the dough is more likely to stick), nudge the dough into the bottom of pan. Work from the center to the edges of the pan, and once you’ve spread it pretty evenly, work your fingertips around the edges to create a slight “crater.” This will be the crust of your tart.
7. Strain the rhubarb into a small bowl, reserving the liquid for the glaze.
8. Arrange the rhubarb in a circular pattern on the dough—don’t worry about it looking crowded. Use as much of the rhubarb as you possibly can, because as it cooks down, you don’t want to have gaps.
9. Once the rhubarb is assembled, place in the oven for 45 minutes.
10. While the cake is baking, in a small bowl whisky together the egg, melted butter, sugar, and cardamom to make the topping.
11. After 45 minutes, the cake should be slightly set and puffy. At this point, remove the cake and spoon the topping evenly over the top. As Molly said, it will look like you’ve done something terribly wrong, but don’t worry. It will all be fine.
12. Bake the cake for another 20 minutes, and remove once the cake and topping looks set and the rhubarb has become slightly carmelized.
13. Let the cake cool for an hour on a rack. Take a small sharp knife to loosen the edges of the pan, then unlock the sides of the pan and transfer the cake to a plate or cake stand.
14. In a small saucepan, cook the reserved liquid for the glaze down until it has reduced by half, about 20 minutes. At this point, whisk in a tablespoon of smooth apricot preserves. Simmer for 5 minutes, then take it off the heat.
15. Using a pastry brush, apply the glaze to the rhubarb cake. Sprinkle with orange zest and serve immediately. Tastes even better the next day! Serves 6-8.

Spring Has Arrived: Salicorn w/ Pim's Seafood Sauce.

2009-04-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much this week as I've been on vacation in New York and Boston. Mostly, I've been trying to take a break from obsessively twittering/facebooking/e-mailing. It's too much. It sounded like a great idea, but I'm now looking at a couple hundred e-mails to sort through and a garden that needs radishes and mache to be planted. I fly back to Portland today, which I'm equally excited and sad to do. It's freaking freezing in Massachusetts right now, and nothing has blossomed here. On the other hand, it's been so nice to see everyone again, and a week was not really enough time to squeeze in all of the visits I wanted to. I always forget how much I miss Brooklyn until I visit.

I'll write more about the glutfest of a week I've had once I'm back on the West Coast (including my meal at Momofuku), but until then I wanted to write quickly about the sea beans I bought right before I left town.

Have you ever had salicorn? To me, it is the asparagus of the sea. I saw them at the market and remembered trying them for the first time at a stand in Normandy a few years ago. Salicorn is not easy to track down, but this is the time of year to find it. Look for its many aliases: samphire, sea beans, marsh weed, sea fennel. They don't actually grow in the water, but thrive in salt marshes (which is where these were foraged, according to the woman who sold them to me). Some varieties have a very tough, almost reedy center, which your remove as you eat. The salicorn I bought was completely tender through and through.

Sea beans are very briny and salty, which you can tame with a good soak in cold water before steaming them. I didn't want to do anything to them that might tamper with their beautiful color, so when my friend Ben came over for dinner I served them straight up. No cooking involved. Just washed them, stuck them in a bowl, and we dunked them in a little bit of Thai seafood sauce, based on Pim's recipe. Why mess with perfection, anyway?

Porcini & Chicken Pot Pie

2009-03-27T12:13:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was having a rash of flat-out bad days. I burned a batch of meringues. I tried to make mayonnaise, but it never emulsified (beating a single egg-yolk in a stand mixer is never a good idea). I was feeling sick and tired, frustrated with some lingering writer’s block and winter blahs. The feeling was akin to one I had often while growing up in Massachusetts. We lived directly on the coast and on the stormy wintry days the entire town was cast in grey: the sky, the churning water, the bare-armed trees. I’m dancing around using the word oppressive, mostly because since I moved away, I look back on that moody climate affectionately. In exchange for enduring the bleak weather, we were rewarded many beautiful, cerulean summers—but it was during the inclement days that I forgot about spring. Once I put my failed mayo in the trash (all that canola oil gone to waste!!), it was a challenge to remind myself that not all cooking results in disappointment; not all days have to be cold and grey.

The winters in Portland are not nearly as mean, but I couldn’t help remembering one ritual that got me through those grey days. After trudging home from school, I used to rifle through the freezer and pull out a Marie Callendar pot pie. You know the kind—the one with the tiny cubes of carrots, the unnaturally bright-green peas, the cornstarchy gravy. I’d puncture a hole in the plastic film, pop it in the microwave, and wait impatiently for the film to steam up and the buzzer to sound. The first bite was always the best: digging my fork into the pie, the savory steam fogging up my glasses and melting away the day’s blahs.

I no longer own a microwave and it's been a long time since I’ve had a Marie Callendar pot pie, but I wondered if that trick still worked. I’d never made a pot-pie before from scratch, and this recipe works off my memory alone. I had the most fun incorporating the dried porcini. In November, I went hunting for them for the first time. If you've ever eaten fresh porcini, you'll be acquainted with their slightly woodsy flavor. However, I've always appreciated how that woodsy taste intensifies when you dry them. Some mushrooms don't hold up well in storage, but porcini has the rare advantage of maintaining its assertive musky earthiness once dehydrated--a boon to any recipe in need of a little something extra. You can grind them with salt to sprinkle over soft scrambled eggs, or add them to a cream sauce to serve with linguine. In this instance, I reconstituted the porcini in hot water, and then used the leftover liquid as a mushroom broth to give the pie that homey savory flavor.

As for the pie itself, I didn’t use any cornstarch. I made a simple roux with butter, flour, and boullion. Then I chopped a little of everything in my fridge, including some spring vegetables like fennel, leeks, new potatoes, peas, and sweet carrots. I used puff pastry for the top, which required no effort other slicing a couple of steam vents. Really, it was a pretty lazy evening in the kitchen.

This is what comfort-cooking is all about. It's about that first bite, when the scrape of your fork releases a plume of hot steam. It's about taking a little time out of the day to forget about everything else outside of the kitchen. My verdict: this trick still works.

Porcini & Chicken Pot Pie
The porcini is the star of this pie, and the chicken can come from a leftover roast, or you can omit it completely. Porcini loves to be paired with spring herbs and vegetables, like thyme, leeks, and fennel.

Ingredients:
1/2 cup dried porcini
1 cup boiling water
1 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 Tbs. flour
1/2 cube chicken boullion
1/4 cup whole milk, plus 1 Tbs. reserved for brushing
1/2 bulb fennel, thinly sliced
2 medium carrots, choppedmedium
2 new potatoes, thinly sliced
1 leek rinsed, the course outer leaves removed, thinly sliced
1/2 cup string beans, fresh or frozen
1/2 cup frozen peas
1 1/2 cup cooked chicken, chopped or cubed
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 Tbs. chopped thyme (from 3-4 sprigs)
1/2 teas. sea salt
2 small bay leaves
2 pinches ground nutmeg
Pepper to Taste
2 5x5 squares of puff pastry, thawed if frozen*

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter two medium-sized ramekins or crock pots, (I just used two durable cereal-bowls). Set aside.
2. In a small bowl, cover the dried porcini with boiling water. Let steep for 20 minutes, covered. Strain to remove any grit, making sure to reserve the liquid. Rinse the porcini if there is any grit, and chop them finely.
3. In a wide skillet over medium heat, add the olive oil. To this add the fennel, carrots, potato and leeks. Cook this until the vegetables begin to soften for about 5-7 minutes, then add the chopped garlic, string beans, and frozen peas. Stir and cook until all vegetables are fork-tender (but not mushy), about 10 minutes.
4. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a saucepan or medium-low heat. Add the boullion to the butter, using a wooden spoon to break it up. To this, add the flour, and once the mixture turns into a bright yellow paste, begin to slowly add the heavy cream, whisking to incorporate. Add the reserved porcini broth, whisking again to incorporate. Bring to a gentle simmer, until the roux has thickened the broth significantly, about 10 minutes.
5. Add the cream mixture to the vegetables, stirring to coat them evenly. Add the porcini and the cooked chicken, stirring again to coat.
6. Divide the filling evenly into two ramekins.Tuck into each dish a small bay leaf, then sprinkle with a pinch of nutmeg. Top each ramekin with a square of puff pastry, pressing the dough gently on the edges of the dishes to secure them. Brush the tops with 1 tbs. of cream, and cut two steam vents in each pie.
7. Place the ramekins on a baking sheet, and bake for 45 minutes, until the pastry is golden and puffy. Serve immediately. Serves 2.

*I use store-bought puff pastry, but if you're feeling ambitious, this is one of the best recipes I've found for it.

Leftovers.

2009-03-16T18:10:00.000-07:00

I had intended for this post to be a sexy one. I planned to write about the braised lamb shanks I made a few weekends ago. Not only would they sound sexy, but they would look sexy too... It's not that they weren't delicious. Simmered for several hours in ruby port, the shanks were spiced with anise and cloves. The meat easily slid off the bone, and I dug out a little of the marrow to spread on toast. After sopping my third slice of bread in the juice, I left the rest to finish the following day. Then I fell in love with a decidedly unsexy-looking salad. Like rice pudding or all of those "everything-but-the-sink" dishes, I always find my affections drifting back to the humble plates. They are less photogenic, but no less satisfying--and that is really what I'm more concerned with at the end of the day. What is sexier than satisfaction?

I come from a long line of cooks who like leftovers. My mother always made more than enough for our family of four, much of which fed us the duration of the week. Based on recipes I’ve seen from her side of the family, my grandmother is the same. If you’ve ever read “How To Cook A Wolf,” it’s easy to see why; it’s not energy-efficient to cook in single-portions. I do not have a toaster oven, and my oven is electric, so whenever I do use it I try to maximize what goes into it. While roasting a chicken, I put a few sweet potatoes on the rack below (or better yet, sliced them & toss them in with the chicken). If I’m going to braise lamb shanks for several hours, I might as well make a few. Yes, it’s a lot of food, but it relieves my electric bill. Best of all, I get to reap the delicious rewards.

This is my favorite kind of cooking—no recipe involved, no running to the store, no fussing over ingredients. I realized I had no couscous, but there was a vat of quinoa from a few nights before. I mixed the quinoa with lemon zest, cinnamon, and cardamom—shredded some parsley while I toasted some slivered almonds. I shredded the leftover lamb shanks, dressed it with tangy yogurt and threw in the last of the good prunes I bought in Dublin. It took about 15 minutes to assemble, and then I was out the door.

The salad ended up being even better for me than the lamb shanks in their first incarnation—the nuttiness of the quinoa was especially nice with the toasted almonds, while the tangy yogurt dressing cut the richness of the spiced lamb. It tasted like a light prelude to Spring, a dish on the cusp of winter and the warmer months. It's right up there with the return of the blue jays in my window, the sun setting after 7 pm, and the crocus buds. I'm already counting down to next weekend, when the farmer's market reopens!

TAGINE-SPICED LAMB QUINOA SALAD

Couscous would be superb in this salad, but the nuttiness of the quinoa is what makes this salad interesting. Using leftover lamb kebabs are a nice alternative to stewing the lamb shanks for hours, but I’ve included an easy braising recipe below. This salad would be just as good without any protein, too.

Ingredients:
2 cups quinoa
2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
2 cups cooked shredded lamb (see lamb shanks recipe below)
1 tsp. ground cardamom
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 cup good extra virgin olive oil, some reserved
1 lemon juiced, and zested (about 2 Tbs. juice, 1-2 Tbs. zest)
1/4 cup plain whole milk yogurt
1/4 cup chopped red onion
1 14 oz. can chickpeas, drained and washed
1/4 cup chopped dried prunes
1/4 cup golden raisins
1/2 cup toasted almond slivers, some reserved
1/4 cup chopped scallions
1/4 cup parsley, with some reserved for garnish

salt & pepper, to taste

DIRECTIONS:
1. Put quinoa, broth and a pinch of salt in a 2 quart stock pot. Bring to a boil, stir, and then reduce heat to low. Allow the quinoa to cook for 20 minutes, until fluffy and tender. Cool slightly, about 5 minutes.
2. Transfer the quinoa to a large mixing bowl. Add the cardamom, cinnamon, and lemon zest and toss to mix. Add the shredded lamb, red onion, chickpeas, dried prunes, golden raisins, almond slivers, scallions, and parsely.
3. In a small bowl, whisk together the yogurt, olive oil, and lemon juice. Pour this over the salad mix, tossing to combine.
4. Taste, and adjust seasoning with salt & pepper.
5. Serve warm or cold, garnished with a drizzle of olive oil, chopped parsley and the reserved toasted almond slices. Enjoy! Serves 6-8 as a first course, or 4 as an entrée.

Anise-Braised Lamb Shanks

Ingredients:
2-3 lamb shanks (enough to fit comfortably inside an 8 qt. dutch oven)
1/4 cup olive oil, 2 tbs. reserved
2 1/2 Tbs. White Pepper Rub *
1 yellow onion cut into 1 inch pieces
1 carrot chopped into 1 inch pieces
1 celery chopped into 1 inch pieces
1 small leek chopped into 1/4 inch slices
2 garlic cloves minced
1 1/2 cups ruby port
1 qt. chicken or vegetable stock (preferably homemade)
1 star anise pod
3 whole cloves
1 bay leaf
1/4 tsp. dried chili pepper flakes

Directions:
1. Pat the lamb shanks dry with a paper towel, then sprinkle the White Pepper Rub all over the lamb. Massage the spices into the muscle, this will keep the shanks from getting too tough.
2. Heat 2 Tbs. of olive oil on Medium-High heat in a wide 8 quart dutch oven. Braise the lamb shanks in the dutch oven until browned and carmelized on all sides, about 15 minutes. Transfer the shanks to a medium-sized mixing bowl.
3. Add the rest of the olive oil to the dutch oven. With a wooden spoon, scrape at the browned bits at the bottom of the pan. Once the oil is hot, add the onion, carrot, and celery. Cook until soft and the onions are just turning translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, and cook for about 1 minute.
3. Add the ruby port to the pan, scraping again with the wooden spoon at any carmelized bits at the bottom of the pan. Let the ruby port come to a simmer and reduce by half, about 10 minutes. Add the chicken broth, and allow that to come to a boil before simmering for 30 minutes. At this point, the broth should have reduced and the sauce will be slightly thicker.
4. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Return the shanks and all reserved juice in the bowl to the dutch oven. Add the star anise, whole cloves, bay leaf, and red chili pepper flakes. Cover with the lid of the dutch oven.
5. Bake the lamb shanks for 2 hours, until they are fork-tender. Your kitchen will smell fragrant and unbelievable by this point!
6. Serve immediately, or allow to cool completely before transferring to the fridge. The lamb shanks will keep for up to 3 days. Serves 2-3.

* A quick recap of the White Pepper Rub:
2 tsp. White peppercorns
12 Black peppercorns
1 tsp. Fennel seeds
1 tsp. Coriander seeds
5 whole cloves
1 Cinnamon Stick, 2 inches in length, broken in half
2 tsp. Dark brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp. Fine-ground sea salt
Grind the first 6 ingredients in a spice grinder. Transfer to a small bowl & mix with brown sugar and sea salt. Keeps for a month in a small airtight container.

Birthdays Are A Time For Cakes.

2009-03-10T15:13:00.000-07:00

On Friday I went to Powell's for Molly Wisenberg's book reading. She's the author of Orangette, one of my favorite sites and resources for good recipes. Anyhow, congrats to Molly on the publishing of her first book, I hope it will be the first of many.

In other news, today is my birthday, and I'm happy to report that that this slice will be my first of many.

Orange Honey Sorbet

2009-03-02T22:43:00.000-08:00

There’s something very soothing about the way citrus appears with a bright vengeance every winter. It’s winter’s lagniappe to us, after our palettes have grown tired of the root vegetables and hardy greens that persist during the colder months. I ought to be writing more about brussel sprouts and beets, which are brilliant in their own right, but today I’m pining for summertime. I imagine eating a perfectly ripe peach on the stoop of my apartment building with the fondness reserved for first kisses, and all is right again with the world.

Silly me. There is still much to be appreciated in the winter outside of wistful daydreaming. For me, that ambrosia comes from heirloom navel oranges. There is such a wide variety at the market now: minneolas, blood oranges, tangerines, those pocket-sizes satsumas. All of them are captivating, but the heirloom navels seem to me the perfect combination of tart & sweet, and have that stunning bright orange color when you slice into them. It’s a little bit of a shock against the overcast sky (and I’m sure even more so for those on the east coast buried beneath a foot of snow). As a nice bonus, they also have none of the web-like pith which plagues other varieties. This makes it very easy for me to eat a half-dozen in one sitting like I used to do after little-league soccer matches. In fact, as I type I’m making a chimpanzee face with one of the leftover peels wedged in front of my teeth. A good orange has this effect on me.

I wanted a light recipe that showcases the brightness of the oranges, and my friend coming over for dinner that night was vegan, so I chose this sorbet. The recipe stems from a back-issue of Bon Appetit, and showcases the clean acidity of the oranges, boosted by the spicy sweetness of honey. Of course, I had to doctor it a bit. I used agave instead of sugar to create the simple syrup—adding to taste. The result was just as soothing as the oranges themselves, a nice pick-me-up in the dead of winter. Even though today has been unusually warm and sunny, almost a summer’s day in its own right, I tested the sorbet’s time-traveling effects by helping myself to the last few scoops in the freezer. As the last spoonful loomed, I was just as sad to see it go as that perfectly ripe peach.

ORANGE HONEY SORBET
adapted from Michael Psilakis' recipe

Remember that juicer I rhapsodized about a few weeks back? Here’s a recipe where it comes in handy. However, if you’re a luddite or don’t mind the extra elbow grease, a hand-reamer and a couple of friends will get the work done in no time.

2 cups water
1/2 cup clover honey
2 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
1 tablespoon chopped peeled fresh ginger
2 cardamom pods
2 whole cloves
1 small bay leaf
3/4 cup agave syrup
2 cups chilled fresh orange juice ( from about 6-8 navel oranges)
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Directions:
1. Combine the water, honey, orange zest, ginger, cardamom pods, cloves, and bay leaf in a 2 qt. sauce pan.
2. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Boil until the syrup thickens some and the mixture is reduced to 2 cups, about 12 minutes. Discard bay leaf; cool syrup completely.
3. Strain syrup into medium bowl. Add the orange juice, the lemon juice, and agave syrup to taste. Transfer to ice cream maker** and process according to manufacturer's instructions. Transfer sorbet to container, cover, and freeze until firm, at least 6 hours and up to 3 days.

**If you don’t have an ice-cream maker, don’t despair. You can transfer the sorbet to a wide Tupperware, and every two or three hours, stir the sorbet with a fork. Do this three times, until it reaches a slightly fluffy snow-like consistency. If you do this only twice, you’ll have a coarser consistency, in which case you’ve made granita, which is equally delicious!

Vanilla Fig Scones

2009-02-23T18:07:00.000-08:00

I’m always looking for ways to pawn off the older ingredients in my pantry. I haven’t lived in my apartment for very long, but you might never know this by looking in the cupboard. I don’t know how I do it. I’ve always been a very good collector, as evidenced by things like the pretty tins of Piment d’espellette, cans of duck confit, ad hoc sweeteners, delicate vinegars and nut oils, and lots of preserves gifted to me from friends or people on the road (see proof in the entry below!). I come home sometimes from tour with more jam in my suitcase than clothing!

If you’re a pack rat, too, then you probably know too well the chaos that comes with it. All of that stuff has to go somewhere, and if it’s permitted to go unchecked, my pantry turns into a hurricane of sea salts, wacky spice blends, etc. Since there’s less fresh ingredients in season to play with right now, I’ve been trying to use this time to clean out the cupboard a little. It’s not all hard work. Sometimes, I find buried beneath the za’atar and blackstrap molasses a forgotten treasure.

Case in point: dried mission figs. I don’t know how long they had been back there—maybe two or three months now. They were hiding behind the buckwheat flour. I opened the jar and sampled one, and unlike a lot of dried figs, it was still perfectly soft and slightly sticky. I knew I had to seize the opportunity immediately, while they were still this perfect and chewy. In my fridge, there was a little over a cup’s worth of heavy cream a few days past its expiration date* (I won’t tell if you don’t…) and quickly it all began to come together. My first thought was how much I loved vanilla and figs together. I tugged at the jar of vanilla sugar I’d begun back in the fall and stuck way back on the top shelf. I remembered reading this recipe a few days ago. Scones would be perfect. Fig scones! Something that would play with the figs’ rich flavor, and stand up well to a morning cup of coffee. I usually work off the same recipe--mostly due to laziness, and this is the one I've had memorized for a few years now. I love buttermilk in baking, too, but I just never have any lying around. I threw everything into a bowl, turned it out for a quick knead before I glazed the dough with some melted butter and vanilla sugar.

The scones only need 15 minutes in the oven, and they’re nice and light when they emerge piping hot, perhaps slathered with a little butter or jam. The figs remain nutty and chewy, and the vanilla sugar gives it a welcome sweetness without being cloying. No one will know you were just trying to clean out your pantry.

VANILLA FIG SCONES

Make sure to use dried figs that are still soft and fleshy, this way they won't dry out while the scones are baking. If your figs seem wizened and dry, soak them in a bit of hot water to reconstitute them. You could even throw a tablespoon of brandy or rum in with the hot water, to give it even more complexity of flavor.

INGREDIENTS:
2 cups flour
1 Tbs. baking powder
1/2 t. fine sea salt
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup very fresh dried mission figs, chopped
1 1/4 cup heavy cream
2-3 Tbs. unsalted butter, melted
2 Tbs. vanilla sugar **

DIRECTIONS:
1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
2. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar with a fork. Add the chopped figs and mix again.
3. Add the heavy cream to the flour mixture, and stir with the fork just until a shaggy dough forms.
4. Turn the dough out on to a flat floured surface, and knead it gently over itself 3 or 4 times. Don’t over-work it, the dough should stay pretty pliant and sticky.
5. Pat the dough out into a 10 inch circle. Glaze the circle with the melted butter, then sprinkle the vanilla sugar over the top.
6. Using a sharp knife, divide the dough into 12 triangles. Place each triangle about an inch apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.
7. Bake the scones for 15 minutes until they are just slightly golden, and let cool on a rack. Stored in an airtight container, they will keep for 2 days.

MAKES 12 SCONES.

*I am not encouraging you to use cream past its expiration date, but my rule is that if I’m going to bake with it and the cream doesn’t smell off—game’s on. To each their own. I know, it’s chancy, but I’ve eaten three scones on my own and I’m still living to tell the tale. Also, it should be noted that I used a local cream which hadn’t been pasteurized into oblivion, thus retaining the enzymes that help to ward off spoilage.

**Vanilla Sugar is incredibly easy to make. Take a split vanilla bean (fresh, or washed if it’s leftover from another recipe), and place inside a jar of finely granulated sugar. Let it rest for at least a week, it keeps indefinitely and can be used for all sorts of things: cinnamon toast, crème brulee, sprinkling on fresh grapefruit etc.

Look what arrived in the mail today!

2009-02-21T18:45:00.000-08:00

Seville Orange Marmalade from Dale & Julia

Oh yes, today was quite a lucky day!

LA SALADE FRISEE AUX LARDONS

2009-02-18T19:16:00.000-08:00

Conversion is not an overnight affair, especially when it comes to vegetables. I can’t pinpoint my hatred of frisée to one specific trauma, but anytime I encountered it I managed to eat my way around it before edging the fronds to the outer ring of my plate. It might have been because it never was conveniently bite-sized, or because it looked like it had been broken off of the coral reef…whatever it was, I couldn’t stand it.

As with most things formerly detestable to me, I had just been eating it the wrong way. First, a true healthy head of frisée isn’t nearly as twig-like as the bagged mesculn mix variety. It should be remarkably tender, smell slightly sweet, its leaves almost fluffy. Then there is the color--which, as you can see, is not the limp off-white you might normally see, but a rather bright spring green color. It reminds me a little of the first young crocus shoots, all hopeful, vibrant and bold.

Like radicchio, its bitter chicory crunch can be tempered easily when served slightly wilted. Suddenly, the friséee’s bitterness caramelizes a little, its fronds soften, and it becomes the perfect foil for the salty, sweet, or sour. It’s great with pomegranate seeds and prosciutto, or just lemon juice with a bit of ricotta salata sprinkled over the top. There’s a multitude of inventions I’ve tried, but somehow I always return to the first way I had frisee prepared for me, to my first revelation of its wonders: La Salade Frisée aux Lardons.

Tossing the frisée in the hot fat wilts the greens just slightly, so they retain their snap but lose that scratchy texture. Next, the vinaigrette! Oh, the vinaigrette! You take any kind of red wine vinegar, toss that in the pan while it’s still searing hot from the bacon fat, and use it to scrape up all the brown cracklings still stuck at the bottom. The vinaigrette reduces into a nicely sweet, almost viscous syrup—which plays well with the crisp lardons and the bitter greens and the runny yolk of a poached egg.

I had forgotten about how much I loved this salad until I was at the market and saw this beautiful bunch of frisée grown nearby. Spring must be on its way—the local produce is beginning to make shy appearances here or there, and I couldn’t be more excited about it. Not wanting to jinx the string of beautiful weather we’ve been having here, I’ll be timidly embracing the first signs spring and marrying them with more wintry dishes like this salad until it’s all asparagus shoots and strawberries again.

Salade Frisee Aux Lardons
Adapted from a recipe by Anne Willan

This salad is classic, and I rarely confer with any recipe when I make it. I taste and adjust as I go--which is the best way for all cooks, especially ones who don't like to mince too much time at the stove. Do it once, and I'm sure you'll remember this, too. The key is to make sure your friséee is extra dry and crisp after you've washed it, or it will wilt too much from the hot fat.

INGREDIENTS:
1 head of frisée, washed and thoroughly dried
4 eggs
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
6 oz. lean bacon, cut into 1/2 inch slices
1 Tbs. Vegetable oil
1-2 shallots, thinly sliced

Pepper, to taste

DIRECTIONS:
1. Bring a 2 qt. saucepan of water to boil, Add 3 Tbs. of the vinegar to the water, then crack an egg into a ramekin, lowering the egg into the water to help spin the egg-whites around the yolk. Repeat with all eggs. Lower the heat and poach the eggs until the whites are firm but the yolks are still nice and soft, about 3 minutes is al you’ll need. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the eggs to a plate (if you’d like them warm, like me) or a bowl of cold water. Once in the cold water bath, they can store in the refrigerator for up to 6 hours ahead of serving time.
2. Place the shallot slices and frisée, torn into bite-size pieces, in a large bowl.
3. Heat the vegetable oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook until crisp and golden, about 3 minutes. If there’s a lot of excess fat, pour some off, but leave 4 Tbs. behind in the pan with the lardons.
4. Now it’s time for the magic to begin. Pour the remaining hot fat and lardons over the frisée and toss quickly to coat and wilt the greens a bit.
5. Add the remaining 5 Tbs. of vinegar to the hot pan, being careful to stand back so you don’t singe your eyebrows. Bring this to a boil, and stir to loosen the pan juices and crumbly bits. Boil up to 1 minute to tame the acid of the vinegar, then pour over the salad mixture and toss again.
6. At this point, sprinkle the salad with salt and pepper, then taste to adjust. Divide the salad amongst four plates.
7. Use the slotted spoon to place an egg in the center of each salad. The yolk will act as a binder for the vinaigrette. Serve immediately.

Serves 4.

Finished Product.

2009-02-08T22:12:00.000-08:00

The proof is in the custard: a picture of last week's Lemon Custard Cake, with a slice of vanilla poached quince perched atop.

Pride & Joy.

2009-02-08T14:58:00.000-08:00

Behold! This is my new baby, a motorized citrus juicer. She (yes, she) goes with Esmerelda, who is my beloved KitchenAid Stand Mixer. (Cue the clamor of product-placement sponsors!)

This juicer isn’t what I’d call essential, per se, but she comes in handy when you want to juice a whole motherload of citrus at once, as I did last Sunday for an impromptu mimosa brunch. And best of all, it makes an exquisite whirring sound while it’s cranking out 1/4 cup of juice in under 30 seconds! Ok, so the whirring sound is a bit loud and maybe worth prepping in advance of your guests' arrival, if you like your lilting chit chat minus the hiss of machinery. Personally, I like to involve my guests in the prepping of things rather than to have everything all set up just-so beforehand. This is especially true when mechanics are involved. Give me a little champagne and something to plug into a wall socket, and it's officially a party.

Up until recently, I spent a lot of time working in coffee shops. Whenever I began feeling as though I couldn’t possibly make another soy macchiato or diplomatically ask a customer to get off of their cell-phone, I made a bee-line for the fridge to check on the lemonade. Every place I ever worked had homemade lemonade. In those short seconds between the register and the fridge, I’d hope that the lemonade was nearly 86’d so I could be the lucky one to replenish it.

When I worked at Flour, we had a magnificent vintage juicer—stainless steel, with a stocky build, and fast as a devil. It took only five minutes to extract almost a quart of juice. Those five minutes away from the counter were usually enough to restore me, enough to get me back into perky-barista mode. I think it had something to do with the methodical repetition. Slice, juice, slice, juice. Or sometimes just slice, slice slice, and so on, until you could juice, juice, juice. I’d be in a meditative state by the end of it (this same phenomenon occurs whenever I use a mandoline, or finely mince herbs). Then one day, the old juicer gave out in one pitiful whimper—the verdict was death by natural causes, brought on by old age. From then on, I only sliced lemons in half with a cleaver before handing them off to our chef to finish the job. No more lemonade reprieves for me.

Ever since, I’d been angling to get a juicer of my own, but they were always so pricey and my kitchen too small to justify bringing in another gadget to further clutter it. I’d been taking baby steps. First, I bought a hand-held wooden reamer, which was nice for juicing a single lemon for vinaigrette, or little projects like that. Even so, it didn’t put me into the meditative rapture that the Flour juicer had. My juicer-envy reached its zenith while we were driving through Germany last fall. All of the rest-stops on the Autobahn had these fresh-squeezed OJ machines which operated with the simple pull of a lever, and I started saving up my rest-room deposits so I could guzzle a big glass of the stuff.

Generally, I’m not really a gadget person but I never really stopped hoping I’d find the right one, and when I was ogling Elmerelda’s possible accoutrements in a window-display I found this attachment. I buckled. Then I moved on away from the window of impracticality. My mother was kind enough to gift the juicer to me over the holidays. After all my coveting and searching, I know I’ve found the right juicer for me. This thing is great! It’s affordable, takes up barely any space, and I now have a permanent Vitamin C machine to keep all winter colds at bay.

aha!

2009-02-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

Mark Bittman joins me on my souffle crusade!

More tomorrow...

Meyer Lemon Custard Cakes

2009-02-01T16:39:00.000-08:00

* Meyer Lemon Custard Cakes pictured above, with an impulsive batch of nocino meringues, recipe to come, I promise!

In the thick of the winter doldrums, I’ve decided to try a more resolutely sunny approach. When life gives you lemons, make tiny lemon custard cakes. Don’t they look resolutely sunny? How can you not smile looking at a soufflé? I'm in need of a little lift. Low bank account balance? Check. Stressing about bills? Check. Busy and yet, feeling completely sluggish? Check. When you're checklist starts getting longer than the number of fingers on your left hand, then it's not a bad idea to treat oneself to a little luxury.

The French know a thing or two about luxury—having ingeniously devised countless methods for turning out the sumptuous in the absence of rich, expensive ingredients (though they're not too shabby with those rich and expensive ingredients, either). Soufflé is my favorite Pygmalion story. I feel like it's developed a bad reputation amongst some as a snobby dish—which I've always thought was totally unwarranted. There’s nothing in a soufflé that you’re not already likely to have: some eggs, sugar, a tiny bit of flour, milk. Is soufflé like the prettiest girl at the party, her imperious looks detestable to half of the room before they’ve even spoken with her? Adding only further to my confusion, as you’ll see when you make these for yourself, is that soufflés are not very hard to make. So what’s the deal? Someone, please, give soufflés a break and invite them to the table.

The only epicurean splurge in this recipe is the meyer lemons, but regular old lemons would still be great. Meyer lemons are in season right now, and they have a wonderful ambrosial taste to them--and it was a small splurge because I only needed a few lemons. I found this recipe in Bon Appetit when I was searching for something to bring over to my friends' house for dinner. I volunteered to bring dessert, and needed something sort of frugal, simple, yet hopefully a little impressive in presentation. Shelley, our hostess, made these crazy delicious nori-wrapped tuna balls and a butter lettuce salad with pears, served with a bottle of dry Oregon cider. When it came time for dessert, her boyfriend Alexis poured us all little splashes of Drambuie while we took turns unlocking the custard cakes from their ramekins, watching them fall onto the plate with a satisfying little “plop!" The original recipe suggested they be served alongside some whipped crème fraîche. But I like them served the way they were, the way I prefer most of my luxuries, in the company of good friends.

MEYER LEMON CUSTARD CAKES
adapted from Josie Le Balch's recipe featured in Bon Appetit

These cakes are soufflés when they first come out of the oven—but as they cool, their little yellow top-hats slip back down below the rim of their ramekins. What happens next is the truly magical part. The top of the cakes retain their fluffy soufflé texture, but the egg yolks pool at the bottom to form a creamy lemon custard, all tangy and tart. They feel opulent, yet light as air. I like them just fine on their own with maybe a little bit of sherry, but they’d be great with some fresh berries alongside, maybe tossed in a little limoncello. The original recipe suggested they be served with a dollop of whipped crème fraîche.

INGREDIENTS
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar, divided
1/4 cup all purpose flour
Pinch of salt
1 1/3 cups whole milk
2 large eggs, separated
1/3 cup fresh Meyer lemon juice or regular lemon juice
2 tablespoons finely grated Meyer lemon peel or regular lemon peel

DIRECTIONS
1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter eight 3/4-cup ramekins or custard cups.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar, flour, and pinch of salt in medium bowl to blend.
3. In a separate large bowl, combine milk, egg yolks, lemon juice, and zest, whisking until blended.
4. Add flour mixture to yolk mixture and whisk the custard until blended.
5. Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites in another large bowl until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar to the whites and beat until they're stiff but not dry. They should have a slightly glossy sheen to them.
6. Gently fold 1/4 of whites into custard. Fold remaining whites into custard in 2 additions. The custard will still be a little soupy, and it's okay if there's small lumps of egg whites here or there.
7. Divide custard equally among prepared ramekins. Place ramekins in large roasting pan. Pour enough hot water into the pan to come halfway up sides of ramekins. Bake custard cakes until golden brown and set on top (custard cakes will be slightly soft in center), about 27 minutes.
8. When they're done, chill the custard cakes uncovered until cold, at least 4 hours, then cover and keep refrigerated.
9. To serve: Run a small knife around each custard cake to loosen. Invert each cake onto a plate. Enjoy!

SERVES 8. Can be made 1 day ahead of time.

Raspberry Victory Muffins

2009-01-20T23:34:00.000-08:00

Somehow I was roused from bed this morning at 7:30 AM for our impromptu Inauguration Day festivities. I had my doubts that I'd be up in time to see our 44th chief executive being sworn in on West Coast Time. A tiny part of me was hoping that "change" would just wash over me while still catching some z's. I know 8:30 AM isn't really that early for some of us, and usually when I'm on barista duty, it's not uncommon for me to be up long before the sun. But since the turn of the new year, I've been feeling sort of sluggish. My head has felt like a big pot of gelatinous gruel with burnt bits of grey sludge stuck to the bottom until at least 10 AM. It's the sort of feeling that makes one want to stay beneath the sheets as long as possible--even if it's terribly lazy and a little childish of me to say so.

Well, I know one person who wasn't having any of my patsy cop-outs. Mary insisted that I celebrate the Inauguration at the same time as the rest of the world. To coax me into a more patriotic state, she brought over a quiche lorraine and helped put the kettle on to brew in the french press while I stumbled through the pantry and made my contribution to the celebration: Victory Muffins. These same muffins were hitherto called Raspberry-Cornmeal Muffins with Hazelnut and Thyme. But that's quite a mouthful, and besides, today is a day of change; even for muffins.

This is a relatively old recipe of mine, but one of the ones that I’m most proud of. Like many good ideas, it began as an accident. I had started whisking together the dry ingredients for cornbread when I realized that I’d added more sugar than intended…so I quickly rounded everything out with a bunch of fresh thyme I’d been meaning to rid myself of anyway, some raspberries in my freezer, and chopped hazelnuts just to give them a little bit of crunch. I wasn’t anticipating anything miraculous when I took them out of the oven, but it was love at first bite. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself!) The thyme adds an unexpected savory twist, which contrasts to the sweet-tart raspberries and the buttery hazelnuts. They’re prefect as is, if I do say so myself…but my best friend, who is gluten-intolerant, has been known to switch out the flour for almond or hazelnut meal. I’ve been meaning to experiment with that myself. I have made many different types of muffins in my day--but I always seem to come back to these guys. It has a lot to do with the fact that they're very simple to put together, yet the holy trifecta lends them a pleasant complexity rarely seen in baked goods that take so little time to prepare.

Anyhow, I'm keeping things short today. It seems that I'm one of many among my friends who was caught by surprise at how inspiring and arresting the whole inauguration was. In my lifetime, there haven't been many momentous occasions that actually felt momentous. I'm happy to count today among one of the few that really touched me. I found myself squealing when President Obama put his hand on the Lincoln bible. And did anyone else get a little bit teary watching the President and First Lady having their first dance??? Even Beyonce looked like she was getting completely choked up. If anyone was near me now, I'd ask that they pinch me.

Victory, indeed.

Victory Muffins
(AKA Raspberry Muffins with Hazelnuts and Thyme)

Dry ingredients:
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon double-acting baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

Wet ingredients:
2 large eggs
1 1/4 cups plain whole yogurt
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled

1 cup fresh raspberries
1/2 cup roasted hazelnuts, their skins removed*
2 TBS. fresh thyme

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease well about 12 “1/2 cup-size” muffin tins. You can also use paper muffin cups, too.
2. In one bowl, lightly mix together the dry ingredients with a whisk.
3. In another bowl, whisk together the wet ingredients. Slowly mix in the dry ingredients into the bowl of wet ingredients, and make sure only to stir until just incorporated. It’s okay if it’s a bit lumpy—if you over-do it, the muffins won’t rise properly and will look frankly quite sad.
4. Fold into the mixture the raspberries, hazelnuts, and thyme.
5. Divide the batter amongst the muffin tins, making sure they’re each no more than 3/4 of the way full. They’ll rise a lot in the oven, and burning batter on your broiler isn’t fun for anyone.
6. Bake for 20 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick tester comes out clean.
7. Let the muffins cool on a rack for 3 minutes or so. The muffins will keep in an airtight container for about 2 days.

Makes 12-14 servings.

* To remove the skins of hazelnuts (or filberts, as they're so lovingly called here in Oregon), roast the nuts until fragrant and golden in a dry skillet. Next, place them in a dishtowel and rub them together until their skins come loose. Don't worry if you can't remove every last speck of the papery sheath, they'll do just fine as is.

Flatiron Steak With White Pepper and Lemony Escarole Salad

2009-01-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

I was a vegetarian all through high school, right up until the first summer in France. When I began integrating meat back into my diet, it usually arrived at my table by the hands of another chef—I think the idea of hacking up a piece of meat at home in the kitchen seemed too grisly and intimidating at the time. Even now, I often have to remind myself when cooking at home to prepare dishes with meat. In a lot of ways, the main event for me is more likely to be a vegetable. At the market, I’m more likely to be seduced by a bright jade-green brussel sprout, possibly still on its stalk along with its brethren, or a bunch of black walnuts in a wicker basket. Beef stew is a nice way to showcase the haunting earthiness of good parsnips. A roasted chicken is downright revelatory when there are potatoes cooking alongside it in the pan, as they are among the most noble of all vegetables—they need very little encouragement to become extraordinary. A little salt, some sort of fat, and voila! If only cooks the world over would stop abusing them in the kitchen!

Of course becoming omnivorous has helped balance out a lot of the unsightly holes in my diet (most notably my wicked sweet tooth), but I have to train my focus when it comes to protein. I love all sorts of protein: from oxtail to Cornish game hens, or prawns to pork shoulder. It’s more a matter of imagination. I have to really search for a plan of attack, so that way I’m not left with a giant pot roast in my fridge all week while I fret over what the hell to do with it. When I find myself confronted with a good cut of lamb or a nice clear-eyed barramundi—I often bypass it out of sheer intimidation. The only thing I detest more than a wasted vegetable is wasted animal protein.

My friends Mary and Ben came over last Saturday to have a movie-night, and I remembered that a few days earlier, I’d impulsively bought a flatiron steak. I had spied it sitting prettily on the top shelf of the case. It was one of the cheaper cuts there, and it had such a delightful ruby-red color to it, so I asked the butcher to wrap up one of them for me. It's in situations like this where I'm happy to know of a good butcher. The one I like the most is someone who gives me bacon scraps and chicken backbones for stock, someone who I can trust to help me get over the numbness that I find myself struggling with when faced with so many options. While the butcher did his best to lend some thoughtful encouragement my way—I wasn’t about to get out of my funk so easily. He capably wrapped the steak with brown paper and masking tape before thrusting it into my hands. Still intimidated when I came home, I let the 2 lbs of red meat sit for two days in the fridge while I debated my plan of attack. Images of sawdust steak danced in my head…

Because I’d been putting off devising an ingenious method of preparation, I didn’t have time to marinate the steak. The flatiron is cut from the shoulder, and part of why it was so inexpensive is because there’s a thick grey bit of connective tissue that runs through the center of it—that part isn’t tasty in the least, but most butchers will remove it for you if they haven’t already when you go to purchase one (another reason to have a butcher you trust!). Once that gristle is removed, the rest of the steak is texturally akin to tenderloin, and full of good marbled fat and flavor. The one I got was organic, from a steer that hopefully lived a happy grazing life in the southern part of Oregon. I know organic meat can cost a little more than what’s comfortable these days…but I think it’s better to have just one deliciously healthy, happy steak once in awhile than one limpid and unhappy sirloin every evening.

Mary called in the afternoon, and I started to jog my mind for ideas. I imagined fashioning a Chinese-inspired 5-spice rub to add flavor and tenderize the beef a little. I had to improvise once I discovered I was out of Sichuan peppercorns, but found a tub of white peppercorns sitting in the back of the cupboard. To that, I added a few black peppercorns. I wanted to offset the heat of all that pepper, so I rounded it out with some fennel seed, coriander and cinnamon. All it needed then was some salt and dark brown sugar, and once it had all taken a dash through my coffee grinder, it was done. I rubbed it into the muscle and let it rest while we prepared the rest of the meal.

Lacking a grill, I put the whole filet underneath the broiler, et voila! When you first smell it coming out of the broiler, you’ll think you’ve added too much pepper, but clear that thought from your mind at once. It’s tender as any other marinated steak could hope to be, and the cinnamon gives it a surprising sweetness. The rest was pretty simple to put together. Ben made a pan of red-skinned potatoes served with their nobility still in tact, complete with garlic cloves en chemise (a small but vital touch Mary added last-minute). I threw some chopped escarole into a bowl with a lemony vinaigrette.

We all descended upon the steak at the same time, releasing a collective sigh at once. It was everything a good steak should be—tender, rare, and capped by an exotic flush of heat from the peppercorns. White pepper has an aroma that strikes me as a little bit (how else can I put it?) barnyard-y, but mixed with the anise and round sweetness of the brown sugar is a perfect foil for such a rich and full-flavored cut of beef. The only downside to the evening was that there were no leftovers.

Flatiron Steak with White Pepper Rub

The rub recipe here makes more than enough for one steak, so hold on to whatever you don’t use for later. I have a feeling it would be especially good with lamb, or white fish. White pepper is an acquired taste for some--because of its funky flavor which comes from fermenting the peppercorns in water for up to two weeks. The outer-flesh of the peppercorns is lost in the fermentation, and then what's left is dried. This can attribute to the sometimes pastoral aroma of white pepper. I really love it for its funkiness, but If you're worried, you could substitute the white pepper with sichuan peppercorns.

Ingredients:
2 tsp. White peppercorns
12 Black peppercorns
1 tsp. Fennel seeds
1 tsp. Coriander seeds
5 whole cloves
1 Cinnamon Stick, 2 inches in length, broken in half
2 tsp. Dark brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp. Fine-ground sea salt

1.2-1.5 lbs. flatiron steak, gristle removed
olive oil for brushing

Directions:
1. Place the white peppercorns, black peppercorns, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, cloves, cinnamon, brown sugar, and sea salt into a coffee grinder or mortar and pestle. Grind into a fine powder.
2. Prepare the steak: pat the steak dry with a few paper towels on both sides. Massage the rub (about 2/3 of what you’ve made) into both sides of the steak—really work it into it! This will help tenderize the steak and later on, produce a nice crust while it broils.
3. Turn the oven’s broiler on. Brush a ceramic pan or metal sided-sheet pan with olive oil. Place the steak on the pan and set under the broiler, about 6-8 minutes per side for a rare steak. If you want to use a thermometer, a rare steak will be about 125 degrees Farenheit.
4. Place the steak, uncovered, onto a plate to rest for at least 10 minutes. This helps keep all of its wondrous rare juices in tact. You don’t want a sawdust steak!
5. After 10 minutes, slice across the grain with a nice sharp knife, and serve with escarole salad. Serves 4.

Lemony Escarole Salad

Ingredients:
4 cups escarole, chopped into ribbons 1 inch in length
1 apple, cut into matchsticks
1/4 of a red onion, thinly sliced
2 oz. pecorino cheese, shaved
2 Tbs. lemon juice (about the juice of one lemon)
3 Tbs. olive oil
2 Tbs. good balsamic vinegar
coarse salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:
1. In a large bowl, place the escarole, apple and red onion.
2. Drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar around the sides of the bowl. Squeeze the lemon juice over the salad.
3. Toss until well dressed, sprinkle with the pecorino, and serve immediately. Serves 4.