Friday, December 4, 2009

M.I.A.


What happened to my blog?!
I know, I'm asking myself the same question. I'm bummed (and honestly a bit embarrassed) that it has been nearly 2 months since I have posted any new tidbits or treats on here.

I don't know what to say other than I feel as though my job is sucking the life out of me as of late. The last couple months have been a period of great transition, having lost my rockstar assistant, my chef, and my fellow sous-chef all within about a month and a half, life at TCR has not been the same. Training 3 new people, overseeing 2 stores, and heading into the busy season has left me with little time or energy for sharing my passion.

This isn't to say I've been living on canned soup and take out alone though. There have been quite a few interesting things in my kitchen over the last 2 months, though I've been lax about documenting them, and more often just not taking the time to sit down and write them up.


Thanksgiving brought an opportunity to try my hand at several new recipes, the stars of which I think were pumpkin spiced nuts and leek and gruyere bread pudding. Unfortunately I think these are among the recipes that didn't get photographed, and are now nothing but a fond memory and a few inches around the waist!



I will try my best to get my act together and put my heart and spirit back into writing this blog for those few of you who read, and hope in the meantime pictures of the thanksgiving feast in which I partook will suffice.

In hopes of redeeming myself I will also throw in the recipe for pumpkin pie spiced nuts, even though there are no pictures to be had. I trust you to use your imagination!

Pumpkin Pie Spiced Nuts

1 large egg white

2/3 cup sugar

Kosher salt

1 tsp pumpkin pie spice (I looked up a pie recipe, mixed together the spices and then used a tsp of that)

1/4 tsp cayenne pepper

3 c assorted nuts

2-3 dashes Worcestershire sauce

Preheat oven to 275. Line large baking sheet with parchment paper.

Whisk egg white with 1 Tbsp sugar in large bowl until frothy. In small bowl combine sugar, 1 1/2 tsp kosher salt, spices, and cayenne. Toss the nuts in the egg white mixture, then stir in the sugar-spice mixture and Worcestershire sauce.

Spoon nuts onto prepared pan in small clusters and bake until golden, 30-35 min. (I baked mine about 20 minutes longer to get the toastiness out of the nuts that I wanted. Take one out and let it cool after the allotted time and taste it, if it is still soft and lacks crunch and toasty flavor, throw the tray back in the oven for a bit. It would be hard to overcook them at this low temperature). Cool then break apart.

Yields about 5 cups of nut clusters.

If you're like me you'll have to hide them in a dark corner in your kitchen so you kind of forget they are there and don't eat them in one sitting!!

Thursday, September 17, 2009

I think I might be in love . . .

Who's the lucky guy, you ask? I wish I knew. Until he comes along, I will be content to be in love with . . . plums. We started out in a love/hate relationship which quickly grew into a school girl crush and has now become a full blown love affair. The more types of plums I try the more smitten I become with them.


This week the object of my affection is a basket of prune plums I picked up in an effort to stock my freezer with summer fruit for the inevitable lack there of in the coming months. My plan was to quarter them and individually freeze them on a tray before tossing them into a zip loc bag to hang out in the freezer for a while. That was the plan. Then my friend (and neighbor) Yewande called me to arrange a cooking date. Knowing me oh-so-well she inquired as to what fruit, if any, I had lying around and was pleased to hear of my basket o' plums. She quickly appeared with a few cake layers she had lying around and two beautiful fresh figs from the tree in her yard (sigh, I wish I had a fig tree in my yard).


We proceeded to cube and toast the cake layers in the oven until they were golden brown and my apartment smelled sweetly of butter and vanilla. Then came the preparation of said plums. I assumed they were prune plums as they were a dark, bruised purple color and oblong in shape. I was quite surprised when I cut into them and discovered a vivid green interior. I was even more surprised when I timidly tasted a sliver and found them to be sweet, through and through. To my delight the skin was lacking the characteristic mouth puckering tartness I so dislike. However, I am now unsure as to what kind of plums they were. Hopefully I can snag another basket tomorrow and bend the farmer's ear for more information.



Since our cake was already baked (twice) we opted for cooking the fruit alone and topping it with the crumbs at the very end to prevent them from growing too toasty. We debated among spices, would it be clove or cinnamon? Allspice or nutmeg? Ultimately, after tasting the slivers of plum, we concluded it would be a shame to hide their flavor and simply tossed them with a little brown sugar, a splash of red wine vinegar for acidity, and topped each ramekin with a wedge of fig for good measure.


As the fruit bubbled away in the oven we sat, ogled over pastry books, and talked shop (I love that I have friends who are just as big of food geeks as I). In fact, we nearly forgot about our plums amidst all the chattering, though were reminded by the jammy scent wafting across the room. With a peek we assessed the plums were ready for the application of crumbs (that rhymed!) and with a few more minutes in the oven both were hot, toasty, bubbling, and crying out for a generous dollop of freshly whipped cream before being devoured with nothing more than the sound of spoons digging for more and the occasional sigh of contentment.



Plum Crumble
Yields 6 4-oz ramekins


1 pint basket of plums, pitted and quartered
3-4 Tbsp brown sugar, depending on the sweetness of the fruit
1 tsp red wine vinegar or balsamic vinegar
left over cake, such as pound cake or butter cake, cubed

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Scatter cubed cake on a baking sheet lined with parchment or a silpat (not mandatory, just makes clean up easier). Toast in the oven until golden around the edges and dry to the touch. Set aside to cool.

In a medium bowl mix your plums, brown sugar, and vinegar. Taste for sweetness. Pile fruit into individual ramekins, or a casserole if you are making one large crumble. (Top with figs if you are lucky enough to have a fig tree in your yard, or know someone who does.) Lower the oven temperature to 375. Bake the fruit, uncovered, until tender and the juices are bubbling. Remove from oven, top with cake crumbles, and pop back in the oven for a few minutes, just to rewarm the cake and let it soak up some of the juice. Top with a generous blob of lightly sweetened whipped cream and savor the moment.

(I had 1 crumble that sat in my fridge for a few days before I got around to eating it and it had a decidedly more pronounced plum flavor, so if you can wait to eat at least part of your crumble, you will not be disappointed. It is best re-warmed in the oven for a few minutes to take the chill off the fruit and re-crisp the cake.)

Thursday, September 10, 2009

All good recipes start with butter.


Ok, not all, but most.


The weather in Brooklyn as of late has felt more like fall than end of summer. This has caused my roommate and I to crank up the oven on occasion in hopes of a hot meal. He has been particularly keen on baking frozen gourmet pot pies, and was so excited about his pot pie one night he urged me to pick one up at the store the next time I was there.


There are times that I stand in the frozen food aisle of the grocery staring through the frosted glass and dreaming of a pot pie, a spicy enchilada, or a single serving of macaroni and cheese. I stand and look wistfully at the enticing pictures on the box but deep in my heart I know it will not taste nearly as good as I hope. So I close my eyes, turn, and march on gathering the rest of my groceries.



This week I decided I've endured enough pot pie abstinance and set out to make my own. A real pot pie. Made in a pot. Ok, in a casserole dish, close enough.


I figured Fanny Farmer would be the place to find a good old fashioned chicken pot pie recipe, but alas there was no such thing under "pot pie". Then I thought to look under chicken, for I think the woman has a whole chapter of things to do with chicken and was sure there had to be a recipe to glean from. Sure enough, under "chicken pie" there it was. I guess hers wasn't made in a pot either.


It was, in fact, easier than I anticipated. Granted I made my pie dough earlier in the week at work. Still the assembly was quick and the pie was delicious! I have just added a new dish to my winter reportoire and I can't wait to make it for a couple friends who are expecting babies in the near future. I imagine it would be great "new parents" food for those times where you are exhuasted and starving and there is not a crumb to be had.



The following is a good rainy day project, although I made it on a perfectly good, somewhat sunny day, the cool temperature and breeze was all the inspiration I needed for this warming dish. I realize it is a little involved because it calls for making pastry, but this is why a rainy day is ideal. For really, what else do you have to do than stay indoors and piddle about the kitchen? Or, if you are really on top of things you can prepare your pie dough in advance and pull it out of the fridge or freezer when the mood strikes.


Fanny's recipe calls for pre-cooked chicken and vegetables stirred into a bechamel-like sauce, covered with pastry or biscuit dough and baked. I wanted to save a couple steps by not individually pre-cooking my vegetables and went a different route.



First I poached my chicken in lightly salted water. As it cooled in order to be cut, I made my bechamel and then tossed in all my vegetables and cooked them gently in the sauce until they were al dente. Together the cubed chicken and sauce went into a casserole and were hidden under pastry, although I like the idea of biscuits on top and plan to try that next time. Into the oven for a mere 30 minutes and voila! A homemade pot pie! Puts my roommate's little store-bought pie to shame . . .



Chicken Pot Pie


1 recipe of The Best Pie Dough (below)


2 or 3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

2 small carrots, diced

3 ribs celery, diced

1/2 yellow onion, diced

1 yukon gold potato, peeled and diced

3/4 c frozen peas

1 1/2 Tbsp flat leaf parsley, minced

1/4 tsp dried thyme leaves

salt and pepper to taste


6 Tbsp butter

1/4 c plus 2 Tbsp flour

2 c chicken broth

1 c heavy cream


Prepare pie dough and place in the fridge for at least 90 minutes to chill.


In a small pot place chicken and cover with water. Add a pinch of salt, cover and cook over medium low until cooked through. Remove and let cool.


Preheat oven to 425 degrees. In a large skillet melt the butter, add the onion and cook just until tender. Sprinkle in the flour and stir. Cook over medium, stirring occasionally, until golden brown. Slowly add cream and broth while whisking so it stays creamy and doesn't lump. (I only had 1 cup of chicken broth and 3/4 c. cream on hand so I made up for the rest of the liquid with water from poaching the chicken.) Once it is creamy add your remaining vegetables and cook over low until al dente. They don't need to be fully cooked, but they do need to be somewhat soft. Season with salt, pepper, thyme and parsley. Cube cooked chicken and combine with the sauce. Pour into a 3 quart casserole dish and set aside.


Roll your pastry out on a floured surface so it is large enough to drape over the sides of the casserole. Fold it in half, brush off any excess flour and transfer to top of baking dish, then unfold. Trim off any excessively long portions of dough. Fold the edge under and crimp. The edge of your crust should be inside the walls of your casserole, not on the rim. Brush with a little egg beaten with a pinch of salt. Cut a few slits in the top to allow steam to escape. Pop in the oven and bake for 25-30 minutes or until golden and bubbly.



Best Pie Dough

This really is the best pie dough recipe I've found in my years of baking. It is from a little cookbook out of the Northwest called the Alice Bay Cookbook.


1 1/3 c all purpose flour

1 stick (4 oz.) unsalted butter

1 tsp salt

1/4 - 1/3 c water


Cut butter into 1/2" pieces. Mix flour and salt in a bowl. Place all ingredients in the freezer for about 15 minutes. If you have a food processor I recommend using it as it makes this dough a breeze. If not you can cut the butter in with a pastry cutter or two knives.


Pulse flour, salt, and butter until the butter is in small pieces, about the size of a lentil. (I know other recipes say "the size of a pea" but I actually think that is a little too big.) Drizzle in water as the food processor is running just until the dough begins to clump and move around the bowl. If you are doing it by hand pour in a little water, mix with a fork, pour a little more, etc. You just want the dough to come together into a ball without over working it. It will be easier to roll out if the dough is slightly wet and tacky as opposed to dry and crumbly. Cutting the butter in sufficiently will also help in bringing the dough together with less water.




Flatten into a disc and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate for at least 90 minutes or up to 3 days. If you plan to make it further in advance just wrap it well and throw it in the freezer. Pull it out a few hours before you want to use it and thaw in the fridge. You want the dough to be cold when you roll it out. Yields 1 single crust pie.







Wednesday, August 19, 2009

If life were really a bowl of cherries . . .

. . . I'd make these brown butter cherry bars every day. Seriously. They are that good. I love me some cake, as you know, but this takes the cake so to speak and puts it on a whole other level.

On the note of cakes, I baked the third plum torte today and I declare it is the best one yet! I lured my co-workers into the kitchen by wafting a cinnamon/plummy breeze in their direction. It worked.



Now back to the topic at hand, brown butter cherry bars. There is quite possibly nothing simpler to make, yet people will think you toiled day and night over the stove once they taste these morsels of goodness.

The genius of this recipe is that it combines a tart and a cake, two of my (now) favorite things. The tart part comes in the form of a crunchy sweet crust that lines the bottom of the pan. Once that is par-baked you pile in the fruit and pour over it a speckled brown butter batter. Throw it back in the oven, wait what seems like a tremendously long time as you are tortured by the delicious scent cast off, and finally after much pacing and willing them to cool, chopping off the corner (the best part; guard them with your life) and devouring it.



As with the plum torte, I can't seem to get enough of these bars. I first baked them a couple months ago after spying the recipe on SmittenKitchen.com. I used a sweet cherry from the greenmarket, though it was a type other than Bing and I'm not sure what it was. This was the best batch of bars made with cherry (one batch made with blackberry, I'll get to that in a minute). The cherries were sweet but very firm and somewhat acidic which held up nicely against the sweet batter.


The second batch I made for my family while in Colorado. I used western slope Bing cherries for this batch and though it didn't keep me from eating just as many of them, they were not quite as good as the ones made with mystery east coast cherries. The Bings were a little unremarkable after being baked, lacking the tartness or acidity of their predecessors.

The third batch I baked last night, thus recieving the stink-eye from my roommate for turning on the oven when it was already 90 degrees outside, and possibly hotter inside. This time I used about a pint of blackberries that had been hanging out in the fridge, just a little too tart for eating on cereal or in yogurt. The stink-eye was worth it. Though quite different from their cherry counterparts they are quite delicious and taste like a summer day cloaked in a bit of cake.

The key to these bars it to par-bake your crust until it is nice and golden so it provides the desired contrast between crust and cake. Don't worry about it becoming too dark while baking the rest of the ingredients, it will be just fine.


Brown Butter Cherry Bars

Crust:
7 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1/3 c sugar
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1 c plus 1 Tbsp all purpose flour
pinch of salt

Filling:
1/2 c sugar
2 large eggs
pinch of salt
1/4 all purpose flour
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 stick unsalted butter
8-10 ounces of pitted cherries or other fruit

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line an 8x8 inch pan with two strips of parchment running opposite directions so that you have lined the bottom as well as the sides of the pan. Leave an inch or so poking up above the pan on all sides so you have "ears" to pull the bars out of the pan when cool.

Melt the 7 Tbsp butter in a small pan and pour into a medium bowl. Add the rest of the crust ingredients and smash it around with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon until combined. Crumble into your prepared pan and press the crumbs to form a solid crust. Bake for 18-20 minutes, or until golden all over.

In the same pot place 1 stick of butter. Cook over medium low heat. You will hear the butter begin to crackle and make hissing noises, this is normal. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, scraping the bottom of the pan, until it foams and you see dark brown specks floating around. This is brown butter. Turn the heat off and let the butter cool as you mix the rest of your ingredients.

In the same bowl you made your crust in, whisk the sugar, eggs, and salt. Add the flour and vanilla and whisk until smooth. Gradually whisk in the brown butter, scraping all the tasty bits off the bottom of the pan and into the bowl.

Arrange pitted cherries, or other fruit of choice evenly on top of the crust. Pour batter over the fruit and place back in the oven for 40 minutes or so. When it is done a tester may not come out clean because of the juice in the fruit, so the best way to check is look for an even golden color across the surface of the cake; you can also press on a patch of cake with your finger to see if it springs back. If it does, chances are it's done.

Cool the bars completely in the pan. Gently lift out by the parchment "ears". I find they are easier to cut neatly after they have chilled in the fridge, though they taste best at room temperature. If you are not going to consume them all within a day I recommend refrigerating them so you don't have to sacrifice them to the trash can as I sadly did with the meager remnants of my first batch.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Let them eat cake

I feel a bit foolish as I sit here preparing to write this post. As you may recall a while back I spouted off about not being a cake person, prefering other vehicles for my consumption of calories. However, it seems since I said that all I can think about (and make) is cake!




I have been going crazy as ever at the greenmarket, hauling home loads of stone fruits and berries like they are going out of style; which they kind of are, considering that though it's hotter than blazes, summer is on it's way out the back door. As I've previously mentioned I tend to get drawn in by their vibrant colors and come hither shapeliness.




And so I found myself a couple weeks ago with a large basket of plums in my bag when I arrived home. I don't even like plums. I take that back. I like the sweet, fleshy inside but the tart skin makes my mouth pucker and ruins the whole experience. I've always marveled at this because the skin's deep ruby color is what draws me in but it is also the very thing that deters me from eating them by the handful. What to do with this basket of plums?




Where better to find a recipe for plums than my hefty New York Times Dessert Cookbook? Filled with recipes from famous chefs and infamous food critics, I knew I was on to something. I happened upon a recipe for Marion Burros' Original Plum Torte, which has been published in the NY Times food section every year since the 80's due to it's immense popularity (and as I later learned, it's deliciousness). A simple cake studded with fruit sounded like the perfect foil for my basket o' plums.



I've made this cake twice in the last month and have another basket of plums sitting on my counter waiting to make cake #3. I can't get enough. I ate it for breakfast, as an appetizer before dinner, and also as dessert (sometimes all in the same day). The sweetness of the cake is the perfect balance for the tart pockets of jammy fruit.

The first cake I made was a (delicious) disaster; I mistakenly read 1/2 c. as 1/2 # of butter, thus doubling it! But rather than turn sodden and inedible like my blueberry slump, somehow this cake managed to pull through and remain light and fluffy. I also made the addition of toasted hazelnut flour in place of some of the all purpose flour for a little twist. The crumb was too light and airy so it was hard to tell how the hazelnut flour would affect the cake with the appropriate amount of butter, but I find it hard to imagine it would be anything but divine.

The second cake I made was a smashing sucess. I used small, brilliant red sugar plums; in the first I used plain purple skinned/red fleshed plums, and in the third one I will be using italian prune plums. Such prune plums are what the original recipe intends, but I find each different plum equally delicious.

Along with my plum cakes I have also managed to make a summer fruit bavarian cake for my friend and boss Naomi's birthday as well as a lemon chiffon cake layered with lemon curd and caramel and draped in whipped cream for my former co-worker Lora's going away day. All I want to do is make (and eat!) cakes. I bake all day at work and what do I want to do when I get home? Bake some more!! Someone call the pastry police . . .

Marion Burros' Plum Torte

1/2 c unsalted butter, softened (not 1/2 # like I mistakenly used)

3/4 c sugar, plus more for topping

1 c all purpose flour, sifted

1 tsp baking powder

pinch of salt

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

12 Italian prune plums, halved and pitted

1 tsp ground cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cream butter and sugar in a bowl. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to creamed mixture. Add eggs and beat well.

Spoon the batter into an 8, 9, or 10 inch springform pan (I used a 9" regular cake pan, buttered the bottom only and lined it with a round of parchment paper and it came right out). Place the plum halves skin side up on top of the batter. Sprinkle lightly with sugar, sprinkle with cinnamon to taste (I mixed about 1/2 tsp cinnamon with about 1 Tbsp of sugar and sprinkled that on).

Bake for 40-50 minutes. Remove and cool to lukewarm, remove the sides of pan, and serve. Or refrigerate or freeze if desired - first double-wrap in foil, then place in a plastic bag and seal. To serve a torte that has been frozen, defrost and reheat it briefly at 300 degrees.

Because I used a regular cake pan I let mine cool to room temp then ran a knife around the edge to loosen the cake. Then I placed a flat plate on top of the cake and flipped it over, pan and all to release it. To right the cake again, place a cooling rack on the bottom of the cake (which is facing upward at this point), flip the whole thing over again and remove the plate from the top of the cake. I ate my cake at room temp and also straight out of the fridge, which is where you will want to keep it if you plan on keeping it for several days so mold doesn't start to grow on the fruit. Also if you would like to add a nut flour such as almond or hazelnut, simply toast it in your oven for about 5-7 minutes, or until you start to smell it, then set aside to cool as you prepare the rest of the recipe. I substituted 1/3 c nut flour for 1/3 c all purpose flour.

I'm sure this could be made with other fruits such as peaches, apricots, nectarines, or even berries and it would be delicious!

Thursday, August 13, 2009

If I were a food . . .

If I were a food . . . I think I might be a noodle. I love noodles. When given the choice of rice or noodles I always choose noodles. Maybe it's their shape, or flexibility, or because they are so fun to twirl around a fork. Mostly I think it's because they are so versatile.




They can be served hot or cold. Long or short. Sauced or nearly naked. They can be baked, boiled, and even fried. They hail from many countries, from Asia to Italy. They are a universal food. They can warm you up on a chilly night or cool you down in the heat of summer.

I just came off a 7 day work week and had not gone grocery shopping for even longer, leaving me with 1 slice of deli turkey, left over rice and beans takeout, two fried eggs, and toasted ciabatta with grape jelly to eat for dinner last night. It is not surprising that I didn't sleep well.

Finally with a day off I headed to the store for nourishment. As I wandered the aisles I felt completely uninspired. I go through periods of total uninterest in eating; I know, this must seem shocking. It is shocking to me. But when I don't have alot of time or energy I find myself living on protein shakes and take out, not the makings for a happy body.



Fortunately this summer has been quite cool by NYC standards, and though today was cool enough to wear some sleeves, the last few hot and muggy days have left me craving cool, smooth, refreshing foods. Insert the idea of cold noodles with peanut sauce here. Partly inspired by the macrobiotic (?) box of cold noodles I bought for 6 plus dollars at the store a couple weeks ago and by a previous post on Orangette of noodles with peanut citrus sauce I set out to create my own version of the cool meal I was craving.


I started with some unsalted peanut butter, a little lime juice, a splash of sesame oil, and some fiery sambal oelek as the base for my sauce. A little tweak here and a splash there and I had a creamy, nutty, tangy and spicy sauce to dress my salad. To pack in some much needed freshness and fiber I added lots of veggies, including some broccoli, red bell pepper, and carrot.For a little protein I sliced up a few chunks of seitan and tossed that in. I stirred and tasted and stirred some more, sprinkled on a chiffonade of fresh basil and was good to go. I now have enough cold noodles to last perhaps the entire coming week!

Cold Soba with Veggies and Peanut Sauce

1 pkg buckwheat soba noodles
1 small head baby bok choy, sliced
1/2 red bell pepper, halved and sliced thin
4 scallions, cut in 1/4 inch pieces
2 small carrots, sliced in thin coins
1-1 1/2 c broccoli florets
3-4 pieces of seitan or other protein, sliced thin
6 basil leaves, sliced very thin

Peanut Sauce:

1/4 c. creamy natural peanut butter
1 Tbsp rice wine vinegar
1 Tbsp canola oil
1 Tbsp water
2 tsp toasted sesame oil
2-3 tsp soy sauce
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1-2 tsp sambal oelek
juice of 1 lime

Bring one small pot and one medium pot of water to a boil. Salt both pots generously. In the small pot blanche the broccoli until bright green and slightly tender. Immediately place in ice water to stop the cooking process. Drain. In the medium pot cook the soba (be sure to remove the paper band around the noodles before dumping them into the water, unlike someone that rhymes with gamy) and boil until al dente. Drain and rinse with cool water. Set aside. Prepare the remaining vegetables and place in a large bowl with the drained noodles.

In a smaller bowl mix all sauce ingredients and taste for seasoning, add more water if it is too stiff. Pour sauce over salad and toss. Lastly add the chiffonade of basil. These noodles are delicious right away, but even better after the sauce has time to permeate the vegetables and the flavors meld.

Serves about 4, or 1 hungry girl for a week

Saturday, July 25, 2009

You say "Tomato", I say "Oh yeah!"

Well, I am back in Brooklyn and back in the rut, in a major way. I managed to scrounge up the makings for more BLET sandwiches and green bean and cherry tomato salad at the greenmarket before dragging myself to the train, making it home just before a bout of oatmeal induced vomiting ensued . . . don't ask me, I don't know either.
The good news is I am once again feeling fine, though a little wary of the leftover oatmeal staring at me everytime I open the fridge, and feel inspired to share with you perhaps my most favorite summertime meal. The BLET. Sounds a lot like "blech", though I assure you that is NOT the sound you will be uttering as you eat this sandwich.
In order to assure an appropriately enjoyable sandwich eating experience I feel I must give you some guidelines.
First, the bread. The bread is simply a vehicle of transport for the sandwich filling; less is more. It is wise to choose a bread such as ciabatta, preferably one that has a nice chewy crust but soft, airy interior. This will give you the optimal bread to filling ratio. If you cannot find such a loaf (for those who live in NYC I highly recommend Bread Alone's ciabatta panini, available at their greenmarket stand) I think slices of a nice country loaf or perhaps even a soft centered baguette, split down the center may be appropriate.
Second, the tomato. This sandwich is highly seasonal. It is the mecca for homegrown tomatoes which taste pleasantly of the dirt and sunshine in which they were grown. It would be blasphemy to use a tomato that has travelled the world and is hard and pithy. You would be better off not eating anything at all. Sounds drastic, I know, but take my word on this one.
Next, the egg. The key to this sandwich's success is the egg. Fried until crispy on the bottom, yet maintaining a soft yolk is the secret. Unfortunately as I documented the making of a sandwich for this post I got so caught up snapping photos that I forgot I was cooking eggs on the stove, leaving me with borderline hard yolks. When done properly there should be a gush of egg yolk that runs onto the plate as you cut your sandwich in half, seconds before devouring it. This gives you a nice little sauce to mop up with each bite.
The last piece of advice is this: Before you begin, be prepared to eat. This may seem silly but it is sound advice. Once you have achieved the proper bread to filling ratio, have a nice juicy garden tomato and a runny egg you better be prepared to just let loose and dive in. If you happen to be looking for a recipe to serve a prospective other on your first date, I suggest you keep looking. This sandwich will leave you sighing with pleasure, but it will also leave you slurping up bits of cheese and bacon, draped in tomato seeds, as little rivulets of egg drip down your forearms. Enjoy!!
(I don't know why the format is so bad today, but I assure you it is the website and not me who does not know how to create proper paragraph structure!)
BLET (Bacon Lettuce Egg and Tomato Sandwich)
Yield 1 sandwich
1 ciabatta panini, 2 thin slices of country bread, or 1/3 baguette, split
1 garden fresh tomato
2 strips bacon (turkey bacon works well too)
1 leaf crispy lettuce
2 thin slices cheddar cheese
1 or 2 eggs
mayo
salt and pepper
Fry bacon in a small skillet. While it's frying, toast your bread and spread it with a very thin layer of mayo. Place a thick slice of tomato on the bottom piece of bread. Remove bacon from skillet, drain on paper towels and pour off all but 1 tsp. or so of fat. Crack eggs into the pan, return to heat, and season lightly with salt and pepper. When whites are just cooked and yolks are still runny remove eggs from skillet with a soft rubber spatula, place on tomato. (If using two eggs, fold them in half like an omelet so that it fits on your bread.) Top with cheese, bacon, and lettuce. Finish with top piece of bread. Give it a good squish down, cut in half, grab a couple napkins and get ready for a good time.


Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Christmas in July

Last week I had the pleasure of going home to Colorado to take in a bit of mountain air and spend some time with my family.

The air was perfect; lightly warmed by the sun and infused with the scent of pine trees, I'm pretty sure that's what heaven smells like. My family's appetite was just the inspiration I needed to get out of my BLET (Bacon, lettuce, egg, and tomato) sandwich (more on that later) and green bean cherry tomato salad rut. Although I made them eat both of those things while I was there, so I guess one foot is still firmly planted in that rut.

In Brooklyn I cook alot, though I tend to make lots of desserts and sweets which I neither can nor should eat all by myself. And unfortunately for me, my roommate has a sweet tooth the size of a pea. So it is with glee that I take any opportunity to use my family, and those who find themselves in the general vicinity of my oven, as guinea pigs and recipe testers.

Among the week's contenders were: Lemon Herb Chicken, Smitten Kitchen's Lemony Goat Cheese and Zucchini Pizza, a new and improved version of my Southwestern salad (to be discussed later), Blueberry Sorbet, Blueberry Scones, Brown Butter Cherry Bars, and Banana Bread, but the winner in my mind was the Rhubarb Crumble with Buttermilk Ice Cream.


One of the great things about living in a little town is that friends and neighbors bestow gifts of unwanted produce upon you. When I peered into my parents' refrigerator I spied a bag filled with rhubarb stocks given to my dad by a guy he bought a tractor from.
As stated in an earlier post, I am thoroughly opposed to using sub-par strawberries and thus was a little perplexed when it came to options for pairing with said rhubarb. Apple? Nah. Blueberries? Not feeling it. Peach? Maybe . . . Then it hit me. Why pair it with anything? Why do we all think of rhubarb as the underdog? Why do we try to couple it with a distracting mate?


And so it came to be. Rhubarb would be the star of my dessert. I thumbed through numerous cookbooks, seeking a simple recipe that would highlight and complement the natural tartness of these ruby red stalks, but to no avail. Next I turned to my new found recipe library, my fellow food bloggers. There were several delicious sounding recipes to be had and I settled upon a variaton on Molly's (of Orangette.blogspot.com) rhubarb crumble.


Next the quest for the perfect ice cream to top the crumble (or if you're me, to sit nicely beside the crumble). Don't get me wrong, I love vanilla. I advocate that it is it's own flavor, and is NOT the opposite of chocolate. But, alas, it is a little ordinary.
I browsed recipes for cream cheese ice cream, lavender honey ice cream, creme fraiche ice cream, and many more. As I ran the gamut of ice cream flavors I've been wanting to make I remembered the quart of buttermilk in the fridge leftover from making scones. If you're anything like me you buy a quart of buttermilk, use maybe a cup of it if you're lucky, and then let the rest sit in the fridge to mold so you don't feel so guilty when you throw it away.
With this I could kill two birds with one stone; tangy ice cream to pair with my crumble and no science experiments in the fridge. It was a win-win combination.

The crumble was quick, easy, and in the oven in a matter of minutes. As it baked the kitchen filled with the scent of orange and cinnamon sweetened with a kiss of brown sugar. It smelled delicious, but tasted even better. The tart rhubarb played nicely off the brightness of the orange zest and the comforting warmth of the cinnamon; it tasted like Christmas smells. The buttermilk ice cream was smooth and rich, with just the right amount of tang to make your taste buds wake up and say "howdy". The cool creaminess of the ice cream, the tang of rhubarb showered in buttery crumbles, for my mouth it was definitely Christmas in July.


I have to add that if at all possible, take your ice cream to a picnic in the mountains and churn it in an old fashioned hand crank ice cream maker just before you are ready to spoon a dollop over your crumble. I'm pretty sure this makes it taste at least 50% more delicious than it already does.

Rhubarb Crumble
1 1/4 c All Purpose Flour
3/4 c packed brown sugar
1/2 c rolled oats
6 Tbsp melted butter
pinch of salt
1# rhubarb, cut into 3/4" pieces
scant 3/4 c sugar
zest of 1/2 an orange
1/2 tsp cinnamon

Mix 1 c flour, brown sugar, oats, salt, and melted butter until combined and clumpy. Refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Combine 1/4 c flour, rhubarb, sugar, zest, and cinnamon. Pour into an 8x8 or slightly larger baking dish. Sprinkle crumble mixture evenly over top of the rhubarb and bake at 375 for 35 minutes or until crumbs are golden and fruit is bubbling. Allow to cool and serve warm or at room temperature.


Buttermilk Ice Cream
Yields approx. 1 1/2 Qt.

2 c heavy cream
1 1/4 c sugar
8 egg yolks
2 c buttermilk
2 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of salt

In a heavy bottom pot bring cream and 1 c sugar to a simmer. In a medium bowl whisk egg yolks and 1/4 c sugar until lightened in color and slightly fluffy. While whisking, slowly pour half of the hot cream into the yolk mixture. Pour yolk mixture back into the pot with the rest of the cream and whisk constantly over medium-low heat until it registers 180 on a thermometer or coats the back of a spoon. Take off the heat and strain into a clean bowl. Whisk in buttermilk, salt, and vanilla extract. Refrigerate until cold, preferably overnight. Freeze in ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instruction.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Multi-faceted Fruit



I must admit I've been lazy in the kitchen lately. Why is it that I feel least inspired to cook during the time when the most ingredients are available? Over the last few days I took a highly scientific poll and the results are overwhelming . . . I am not alone in this.


So, I've decided to take this laziness and turn it into an opportunity to take you on a tour of my beloved greenmarket. I figure you eat first with your eyes, so it can't hurt to start looking in the right direction.



I find that I'm a bit of an impulse shopper. No, not the kind of person who buys gum and trashy magazines while in line at the bodega. My impulse buys generally involve produce. (I am fully aware of the nerdiness contained in that statement.) I find myself wandering from end to end of the farmers market, peering to see who has the best tomatoes, the crunchiest cucumbers, the leafiest greens. I forget that there is only one of me and that all I really came to pick up today was a dozen eggs and some blueberries.



Each time I show up with only one bag, sure that it will be nearly empty when I leave, and later find myself hobbling awkwardly down the sidewalk so as not to crush the peaches, tomatoes, salad greens, blueberries, black raspberries, bread, and eggs in my now not-empty-at-all bag. My shoulders slump under the weight of the honey, maple syrup, new potatoes, fava beans, fresh squeezed juice, and compost. How does this happen to me?



How do I so easily get drawn in by the colors and shapes and forget that I am only one person, with one stomach? What am I going to do with all this food?! It's times like these that demand a little creativity. They say necessity is the mother of invention. I think they had my shopping trips in mind when they came up with that.

Last week I found myself overloaded with peaches and strawberries and nothing interesting to eat for dinner. In the freezer I had some salmon, and on the counter a few little new potatoes that hopped into my bag at the market, begging to be smashed with a bit of butter, salt, and pepper. I needed a way to liven this meal up.



As is often the case, I happened to have the food network on as I was preparing to cook. As luck would have it the host of the moment was making a mango salsa. I had no mango, but I did have berries, peaches, and some fresh cilantro. It was worth a shot.

I diced up the fruit, along with a shallot, threw in half a jalepeno, some cilantro and lime juice. Voila, the perfect acompaniment for fish, and (this is the best part) a clever way to disguise my impulse purchases!


Fruit Salsa

2 small peaches, peeled and diced
1/2 pint ripe strawberries, hulled and halved or quartered (depending on size)
1 good handful cilantro, chopped
juice of 1 lime
1 large shallot, minced
1/2 to 1 jalepeno, seeded, ribbed, and diced (vary amount depending on how spicy you want your salsa)
pinch of salt and pepper

Toss ingredients in a bowl. Taste for seasoning. This salsa lasts one day in the fridge; after that the fruit gets a little slimy. Don't hesitate to use whatever fruit you have on hand, such as pineapple, mango, kiwi, blackberries, etc. This recipe is just a little encouragement to get your creative juices flowing.
(I apologize to anyone who may have made this recipe in the last two days; I mistakenly wrote that I used a whole red onion, when in fact I used a shallot. Didn't mean to give you a recipe for onion salad with a little fruit mixed in!)

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Stuntman Strawberries

They lurk under shortcakes. They cloak themselves in chocolate. They stare up at you in the supermarket, screaming "Put me in your basket, take me home!" They try to convince you that you can't live without them, without their brilliant red costume and little green cap. They are the key to romance, decadent dessert, and fruit salad. They are . . . . Stuntman Strawberries!

Let's face it people, those things called strawberries in the supermarket are just giant, tasteless, albino-cored blobs masquerading as something much more desireable. Not only are they clever in their disguise, they also tend to be extremely talented.

When I lived in Vancouver I had the fortune of meeting a good friend, who doubled as a stuntman. In movies, the main actor is not the one you see flying through the air and hitting a wall with flames shooting out behind him. No, no, he is much too fragile and valuable for that. So, in his stead is a stuntman; a guy (or girl, of course) who generally resembles the actor, is tough, and trained to do crazy things and not be scared. The real actor would never survive being catapulted across the set and lit on fire; here is where the paths of actors, stuntmen, and strawberries cross.



The shiny red orbs we see in the supermarket, 2 for $5.00, are actually stuntmen. They look like a strawberry, they may even smell or taste faintly of a strawberry, but they are not the real thing. They have been plucked early, catapulted great distances, and endured many bumps and tumbles. Yet they remain perfect in their little plastic mobile homes. This is something a real strawberry could never survive.


Now don't go getting your back up about this. I, too, only recently discovered this hidden truth. I grew up eating stuntmen and have to admit I enjoyed them. And then I moved to the big apple. Ok back up a second. In all honesty, I was exposed to real strawberries as a child, thanks to my mom and her backyard garden. Though it is fair to say that I didn't gain a true appreciation of them until I was 25 and moved to New York City. It wasn't until I stumbled across the Union Square greenmarket on a hot July day and was intoxicated by a sweet perfume wafting on the breeze that I discovered what a real strawberry is.

A real strawberry is small, bright red throughout, soft to the point of being crushed by it's neighbor, and perhaps the sweetest natural thing you will ever taste. As you bite it, the thin skin gently bursts and juice fills your mouth. Your tastebuds scream "don't stop" and a little sigh of pleasure escapes your lips. Then you reach into the basket and grab another.

Fruit this good deserves to be the star. On most occasions I eat the better part of the basket before I even get on the train to go home. On a good day, the berries will travel the few minutes with me to Brooklyn and wind up as jewels adorning a bowl of granola or the swath of color across a dollop of thick greek yogurt. Once in a while though, dessert is in order.


In my opinion nothing frames a perfectly ripe berry quite as well as a custard or cream of sorts, with perhaps a bit of sponge cake thrown in on occasion. One of my favorite desserts of all time is the italian panna cotta, meaning cooked cream. It is basically cream, warmed, lightly sweetened, and set with a bit of gelatin.
The recipe I am including in this post is my twist on the version found in one of my favorite cookbooks, Sunday Suppers at Lucques, written by chef and co-owner of Lucques, Suzanne Goin. Though I have only eaten her food and briefly met her once, she is one of my mentors and icons in the world of food. In this version she includes a bit of creme fraiche, which lends a subtle tang that nicely compliments the sweetness of the berries.
Run to the nearest farmer's market, follow your nose, grab a spoon and let the good times roll.


Creme Fraiche Panna Cotta with Strawberries

yields 8 4-oz. servings

2 c. whole milk
1 1/4 oz. package unflavored gelatin
1 1/2 c. heavy cream
6 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1/2 c. plus 2 Tbsp. creme fraiche

1 1/2 pints fresh farmers market strawberries

In a small bowl place 1/2 c. of cold milk. Sprinkle gelatin over and stir to combine. In a medium sauce pan bring the cream, remaining 1 1/2 c. milk, and 5 Tbsp. sugar to a boil. Turn off the heat and allow to sit for a couple minutes. Whisk in your gelatin mixture and then the creme fraiche. Strain and divide among 8 4-oz. ramekins or pour into a large gratin dish if serving family style. Allow to cool to about room temperature then cover with plastic and refrigerate for at least 3 hours. A few minutes before serving, slice strawberries, and toss them with the remaining Tbsp. or so of sugar to taste.


If unmolding the panna cotta, run a hot knife around the edges or dip the bottom of the ramekin briefly in hot water to loosen, and invert it onto a chilled plate or platter. Serve with the strawberries and their juice.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Oh give me a crumb . . .

Several years ago I overheard two women discussing (what I assume were failed) relationships, and couldn't help but eavesdrop just a little. What caught my attention was one admonishing the other to stop accepting crumbs; the men in her life ought to be feeding and nourishing her spirit with their love and affection, not merely throwing her enough crumbs to avoid starvation. I've thought about this many a time since, and concluded when it comes to relationships, of all sorts, I will accept nothing less than the whole cake.











Now, if that cake happened to be a crumb cake, well . . . I might just have to make an exception. Which brings me to the real point of today's post. I am not a cake person by any means. It is not my preferred vehicle for the consumption of flour, sugar, and fat. When it comes to dessert you can count on me to choose a custard of sorts or a fruit laden treat such as a cobbler or a crisp. I would even venture to say that I prefer a good cookie to a nice thick slice of cake. So it came as a surprise during the last couple weeks that whenever I considered a baking project all I could think about was crumb cake. This is even more surprising because, to my knowledge, I've never even had a crumb cake. What on earth brought this on is still beyond me. But when the oven comes calling, I've learned it's best to heed the call. I set to work, poring over my cookbooks and searching the internet for a worthy crumb cake recipe.

My first attempt was a blueberry slump recipe from the SF Chronicle. Now, I realize that the words "crumb" and "cake" are nowhere present in the title. However, it sounded delicious and as I read the recipe I had visions of a moist cake pitted with blueberries and covered in crumble. How could I go wrong?

I'll tell you how. The article said the recipe came about as an accident when the pastry chef mistakenly used only half the flour called for. The result was so delicious, however, that she stuck with the new version. My results were less satisfactory, though I do have to make the disclaimer that I used frozen rather than fresh blueberries, which I am sure had some influence on the outcome. What I ended up with was a soggy, butter sodden, raw in the middle lump of "cake" on top of which the crumble practically dissolved into an oily, lacy crust that burned and stuck to the edge of the pan. It was so bad I couldn't even bring myself to take a picture for evidence.
I jabbed my knife in, dug out a wedge, and started to eat. I managed to choke down one slice before I felt my arteries beginning to harden. I knew I couldn't go on and was then faced with the dilemna of all cooks of failed recipes: 1. struggle through and eat it, even though it isn't very good or 2. bite the bullet and throw it away. I stood in the kitchen and stared at it for a long time, hoping it would miraculously get better as it cooled; that perhaps all the butter that made it soggy would evaporate and it would emerge the cake it was intended to be. I have been known to eat for many reasons. Guilt is not one of them. Into the trash can it went.

My desire was only fueled further by the blueberry flop and I immediately returned to troll the internet. The cake I found claimed perfection; dense, moist, lightly scented with cinnamon and vanilla, and piled with crumbs deeper than the cake itself. I feared it might be too good to be true.


I melted, I stirred, I spread and crumbled. I waited patiently as the oven worked it's magic and my apartment filled with sweetly spiced air. I had to leave the room as it cooled on the rack so I wouldn't pick off all the crumbs and eat them before the cake itself was ready. Then the moment of truth was upon me. Gently I lifted the cake out of the pan by it's parchment ears. Tenderly I layed it on the counter and retrieved a knife, promising the cake this wouldn't be as painful as it looked. As I jiggled the corner wedge free and lifted it onto the waiting plate crumbs scattered across the counter and onto the floor. I grabbed my press pot of coffee for one, snatched up the cake, and headed to the couch to sit and indulge. The first bite was uneventful. Despite my sheer disappointment I gave it another go. The second bite whispered cinnamon and sugar, the third beckoned with crumble, and before I knew it my plate was empty and I was headed back for seconds. The cake was moist and dense with a very fine crumb. The mountain of crumbs on top were crunchy and faintly spiced with cardamom. Put them together and you have a very fine cake.

After getting over the initial bite, which I now chalk up to my tastebuds just needing a little wake up call, I can't say enough good about this cake. It is extremely subtle. The hint of spice is so discreet that several friends couldn't pin point what they tasted. One in fact said it tasted wheaty and wholesome, which generally when referring to cake is not a compliment, but in this case it is, and I couldn't agree with her more. It screams for a cup of dark strong coffee, a rainy morning, and a good book. Go forth and bake this cake. You will not be disappointed.

Cinnamon Crumb Cake
(adapted from Cook's Illustrated)

Crumb Topping:
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/8 teaspoon table salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and still warm
1 3/4 cups cake flour

Cake:
1 1/4 cups cake flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon table salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 tablespoons unsalted butter (3/4 stick), cut into 6 pieces, softened but still cool
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup buttermilk

1. FOR THE TOPPING: Whisk sugars, cinnamon, cardamom, salt, and butter in medium bowl to combine. Add flour and stir with rubber spatula or wooden spoon until mixture resembles thick, cohesive dough; set aside to cool to room temperature.
2. FOR THE CAKE: Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Cut 16-inch length parchment paper or aluminum foil and fold lengthwise to 7-inch width. Butter 8-inch square baking dish and fit parchment into dish, pushing it into corners and up sides; allow excess to overhang edges of dish.
3. In bowl of standing mixer fitted with paddle attachment, mix flour, sugar, baking soda, salt and cinnamon on low speed to combine. With mixer running at low speed, add butter one piece at a time; continue beating until mixture resembles moist crumbs, with no visible butter chunks remaining, 1 to 2 minutes. Add egg, yolk, vanilla, and buttermilk; beat on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 1 minute, scraping once if necessary.
4. Transfer batter to baking pan; using rubber spatula, spread batter into even layer. Break apart crumb topping into large pea-sized pieces and spread in even layer over batter, beginning with edges and then working toward center. Bake until crumbs are golden and wooden skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes (mine took much closer to an hour, but the temperature in my oven may not be accurate). Cool on wire rack at least 30 minutes. Remove cake from pan by lifting parchment overhang. Keeps well wrapped in foil at room temperature for several days.