tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-323621682024-03-12T23:24:28.151-05:00chef yum yumi eat every day.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-7017338923189272452009-03-23T21:05:00.007-05:002009-03-23T22:43:51.671-05:00The one where we trick the spring.On my flight to Nashville last week, I stopped in the Hudson Booksellers to get my requisite trashy travel reads, namely: the newest issues of <span style="font-style: italic;">Bon Appetit </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Gourmet</span>. What with the<a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/tipstools/ingredients/2009/04/ramps"> sexy centerfold on ramps</a> and Molly Wizenberg's (aka <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/">Orangette</a>) recipe for <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/magazine/2008/10/leek_confit">leek confit</a>, I decided it was high time the seasons incline toward my desires.<br /><br />Saturday morning, back in Chicago, I marched resolute to the <a href="http://chicagogreencitymarket.org/">Green City Winter Market</a>. I had no time for the warnings that it had been yielding little more than potatoes and mushrooms.<br /><br />I have no time for such warnings!<br />It is time for kale!<br />Time for fresh from the ground leeks!<br />Time for anise-y drinks and sunsets and cool breezes on rooftops!<br />Time for the Velvet Underground wafting through windows wide open late into the night!<br /><br />In other words: time for spring!<br /><br />But the market would not yield to my unseasonal demands. A canvas bag of mushrooms, eggs, apples and half and half later, I half-heartedly eyed the vast array of microgreens. Pea shoots are lovely. Lovely. But pea shoots are not kale, and kale, my friends, is not yet in season.<br /><br />(An aside about why I'm not so disappointed, after all: I never thought I'd need to spend time in these pages telling you about half and half. However. That is simply because I'd never had <a href="http://www.bluemarblefamilyfarm.com/summary.php?go=products">Blue Marble Family Farms half and half</a>. It's cream line, and comes in a pleasing and rotund glass jar fresh from a local cow. It really, really costs more than I should ever think about spending on a coffee condiment [although apparently the farmer gave me a "stimulus plan discount"]; but it's actually so good that I gasped at my first sip, and then sat down to write Lauren an email about it. It would be absurd to consider home delivery of half and half, right?)<br /><br />Later, having acquired desired kale and leeks from a certain notorious grocery store, we got down to the business of preparing a proper spring feast. And maybe kale is not in season, and maybe Saturday's sixty degrees was just a coy late-winter bluff; but I think we got the last word: because spring was in my kitchen, and on our plates, and in our bellies.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-weight: bold;">Fresh Egg Fettuccine with Garlic and Kale; Leek Confit</span><br /><br />Ingredients:<br />(for the pasta)<br />3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour<br />4 eggs<br />a pinch of salt<br /><br />(for the kale)<br />1 bunch lacinato kale, cut into thin strips<br />3 cloves of garlic, crushed<br />good olive oil<br />a shake of red chile flakes<br /><br />(to finish)<br /><a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/magazine/2008/10/leek_confit">leek confit</a><br />a splash of the dry white wine you are drinking<br />parmigiano reggiano<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">NOTE: A few months ago, Amber and I took the pasta 101 class from <a href="http://terragustocafe.com/classes/">Chef Theo at Terragusto</a>. To no one's surprise, I sort of fell in love with him, as he waxed about the relationships he built with farmers, his vehemently locally-sourced menu, and his involvement with the food advocacy scene in Illinois. The best thing that Chef Theo taught me, however, was not to be scared of making your own pasta. You can't really ruin it, which means it doesn't need to be a laborious or delicate process, but really can be something you make on an ordinary evening.<br /><br />This recipe Chef Theo's; it calls for more eggs than recipes I've made in the past, and no olive oil at all. The dough came out bright sunshine yellow, and the market eggs I used were perfectly imperfect: all different sizes and shades.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Method:<br />(for the pasta)<br />Gather all your ingredients. On a clean counter, mound the flour, then make a large and fortified well in the center. Add the eggs to the center of the well and break the yolks. Tracing your fingers around the edge of the well in small circles, gradually pull more and more flour into the center of the raw eggs (ew, ew, ew, ew) until all is incorporated. Pick up the dough and knead for 2 or 3 minutes, then let rest, covered, for about 15 minutes. Your dough should be stiff and not at all sticky.<br /><br />Break off about a fourth of your dough and stretch into a rectangle narrow enough to fit through the widest setting of your pasta machine; spend enough time running the dough through this setting so that you feel like any of the kneading you were too impatient to do by hand happens by virtue of the machine. Gradually roll the dough thinner and thinner, and then cut into strips. Toss the noodles carelessly and effortlessly with a bit of flour to keep them from sticking to each other, and set aside.<br /><br />(If you're a bit lazy like Chef Yum Yum, the preceding paragraph would have been where you handed off the real work to your adept and confident companion chef, the one who insisted that it was, in fact, a good idea, to make homemade pasta at 7:45pm [he was right], while you took time to prepare the kale.)<br /><br />Meanwhile, bring a large, salted pot of water to a boil.<br /><br />(for the kale)<br />In a large pan, heat the olive oil over medium high-heat. Add the garlic and a generous shake of red pepper flakes, and stir until just fragrant. Add the kale in handfuls, and stir until it wilts enough that you can add more to the pan; if your kale is fairly dry, you may need to add a little water. Season with salt and pepper, and saute the kale til it is tender-crisp.<br /><br />(finish)<br />Just as the confit is finished confit-ing, add a generous splash of white wine, raise the heat, and let the wine evaporate off. Keep warm.<br /><br />Add the pasta to the boiling water for just a minute or two, and then remove to a large bowl with a slotted spoon. Toss with the kale, a drizzle of olive oil, and lots and lots of grated parmigano reggiano.<br /><br />Layer each plate with a few spoonfuls of confit, and then a generous heap of pasta. Garnish with more cheese, and marvel that there is something very similar in the taste of leeks and kale, even as they still taste quite different. Maybe that's the taste of spring?chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-36557375748779579502008-11-19T21:08:00.001-06:002008-11-19T21:08:50.692-06:00YES:<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.petitiononline.com/MPoll4Ag/petition.html">http://www.petitiononline.com/MPoll4Ag/petition.html</a><br /></div>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-80140901537082074872008-11-13T21:10:00.009-06:002008-11-13T22:50:47.136-06:00Faux Pho: Dinner with the BEST Friend<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzsuIwn1cI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/f2MEdIG5uU8/s1600-h/IMG_1374.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzsuIwn1cI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/f2MEdIG5uU8/s400/IMG_1374.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268345941486196162" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">all photos courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/janiceangstrom/">LEO</a></span></span><br /></div><br />The morning I moved out of my last apartment into my new apartment, Lauren arrived at 8am with coffee. The movers, of course, were four mysterious and unapologetic hours late. After they ripped me off in every possible way, on the only unbearably hot day of the summer, Lauren took me to Target to buy toilet paper and a new shower curtain, then made me a dirty martini and slept over so I wouldn't feel lonely in my new place.<br /><br />One of the movers - I suppose it wasn't his fault the truck broke down - observed,<br /><br />"Is she your sister? Or your mother?"<br /><br />(This might seem offensive except for the fact that Lauren is so obviously not my mother, let alone my sister, that it's only hilarious.)<br /><br />"No," I laughed. "Just a friend."<br /><br />"Ooooh," he nodded vigorously. "A very good friend. The BEST friend."<br /><br />He had a point. I mean, who else - besides my actual mother - would come over and make me soup when I'm all hoarse and coughing and feverish and watch 4 episodes of 30-Rock with me that she'd already seen? Who else but the BEST friend?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzvsEVQGaI/AAAAAAAAAEo/jbBzEALJQbM/s1600-h/IMG_1397.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzvsEVQGaI/AAAAAAAAAEo/jbBzEALJQbM/s400/IMG_1397.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268349204472797602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">no secret pork here.</span></span><br /></div><br />We'd been plotting a reprise of Bittman's Faux Pho for a few weeks, and in light of certain revelations made on <a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32362168&postID=5280918740260284023">this very site</a> my love of all things MB has escalated to a minor frenzy (or maybe it was just the fever). I wanted this soup, <span style="font-style: italic;">urgently</span>. <br /><br />God bless Mark Bittman: I always eye the Pho in restaurants, but even at the place my vegan friends go on Argyle, I have a sneaking suspicion that there's some secret fish in the "vegetarian" soup, if not also some secret pork. <br /><br />Ew. Pork shouldn't be a secret.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzzGJW8oPI/AAAAAAAAAEw/rcPytQPLl1s/s1600-h/IMG_1353.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzzGJW8oPI/AAAAAAAAAEw/rcPytQPLl1s/s400/IMG_1353.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268352951033569522" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">lime, chili, broccoli, scallion, napa, basil, sprout, cilantro, tofu, carrot, udon. </span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >something mysterious happens to the basil in this soup:<br />it begins to taste like coconut, and then like licorice. <br />i can't explain it; i can only savor it.</span><br /></div><br />As I lined up the accessories for the Faux Pho's photo shoot, Lauren remarked, "Peter is never this patient. He always complains that the food will get cold."<br /><br />Well, that's what friends are for.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzvHQvDFiI/AAAAAAAAAEY/6HnsQwRvMaw/s1600-h/IMG_1389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRzvHQvDFiI/AAAAAAAAAEY/6HnsQwRvMaw/s400/IMG_1389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268348572147062306" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">(for those of you who missed out: a great piece on </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/12/magazine/12wwln-lede-t.html?ref=magazine">why we maybe can feel hopeful about our food culture</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> by MB.)</span></span><br /></div> <br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;">Faux Pho (Mark Bittman! You're </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;">so</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;"> clever!)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />(adapted from <span style="font-style: italic;">How to Cook Everything Vegetarian</span>)</span><br /><br />Ingredients:<br />6 oz udon noodles (I like to have <a href="http://www.asiafoods.com/Roland_Organic_Udon_Noodles_P281C101.cfm?UserID=2900802&jsessionid=6c30ad60800410334011">this kind</a> on hand)<br />2 tbs peanut oil<br />2 tbs minced garlic<br />1 tbs fresh grated ginger<br />1/2 tsp freshly ground coriander seed<br />1/2 tsp freshly ground cinnamon<br />1/2 cup soy sauce + more to taste (I love you, Salt. Let's get married.)<br />1 cup of diced tofu<br />2 bay leaves<br />a handful chopped cilantro<br />a handful chopped basil<br />1 fresh thai chili, sliced<br />2 scallions, sliced<br />1 lime, cut into wedges<br />a handful of fresh bean sprouts<br />2 leaves napa or purple cabbage, shredded<br />1 cup of broccoli florets, briefly blanched<br />1 carrot, grated<br /><br />Method:<br />In a pot of salted, boiling water, cook the pasta for 5 minutes or until just tender. Drain, rinse in cold water, and set aside.<br /><br />In a deep skillet or medium saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat. When shimmering, add the garlic and ginger, and stir until just fragrant. Add the coriander and cinnamon, and stir until you begin to feel sort of dizzy and intoxicated by the smell of it all (or maybe it's just the fever). Add 6 cups of water, soy sauce, and bay leaves, and simmer while you prepare your vegetables.<br /><br />Ideally, once Lauren has finished doing all the hard work (i.e., chopping one million vegetables), you'll arrange them in austere little dishes just like CYY's. Just before serving, add the tofu to the broth and simmer for a few minutes. <br /><br />Finish:<br />Put a mound of noodles in the bottom of a comically over-sized bowl (LEO prefers a larger ratio of noodles to broth; while CYY prefers a larger ratio of broth to noodles) and ladle broth over the noodles. Garnish with vegetables, herbs, and accouterments as you please, and toast to friendship with a mug of fresh ginger-lemon tea.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-52809187402602840232008-11-06T21:00:00.011-06:002008-11-13T22:56:58.688-06:00Matthew Cressler Demands a Dinner Party<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SROvoX3ZkqI/AAAAAAAAADo/qKK4m79JTGk/s1600-h/DSCF6801.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SROvoX3ZkqI/AAAAAAAAADo/qKK4m79JTGk/s400/DSCF6801.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265745497462248098" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);font-size:85%;" >all pictures courtesy of<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/janiceangstrom/"> LEO</a></span><br /></div><br />I have met Matthew <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cressler</span> a total of three times:<br />Once, at the office when he came to pick up Mary Ellen.<br />Once, at the American Academy of Religion.<br />Once, in Grant Park, with <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/71703768@N00/sets/72157608679930362/">100,000 other giddy Chicagoans</a> (granted, a lot of deep bonds were formed that night).<br /><br />So, it's sort of - you know - forward, right, for him to invite himself over for a dinner party?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SROxiF9s-KI/AAAAAAAAAD4/gAY1wu2Txyo/s1600-h/DSCF6793.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SROxiF9s-KI/AAAAAAAAAD4/gAY1wu2Txyo/s400/DSCF6793.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265747588600887458" border="0" /></a><br />Apparently every time Mary Ellen cooks for him, he asks, "When is Cassie going to have us over for a dinner party?" Now, Matt, if you're reading this, I just want to say - I think Mary Ellen is a pretty rad girl, and I gather she's a decent cook; in general, it's bad form to talk about some other chef's cooking when you've just been cooked a nice meal. It seems particularly bad form if you've never eaten said other chef's cooking. So I'm feeling obligated to throw a dinner party just to keep you from continuing to put your foot in your mouth.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRO05Ma_1wI/AAAAAAAAAEA/YZ_DsBO51J8/s1600-h/DSCF6797%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRO05Ma_1wI/AAAAAAAAAEA/YZ_DsBO51J8/s400/DSCF6797%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265751284006246146" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);font-size:85%;" >salad of heirloom lettuces, market grapes, sunflower sprouts,<br />shaved <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">chioggia</span> beets, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">oregon</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">bleu</span><br /></span></div><br />I'm thinking December 13<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">th</span>, what do you think Matt? Does that work for you and Mary Ellen? I want to make sure your dinner party fits into your schedule. Do you have any dietary restrictions, or foods I should avoid? Any foods you're particularly fond of? How about any preferences for fresh flowers? What about lighting - do you prefer votive candles or tea lights? Sparkling water or still?<br /><br />So, I'm banking on waning readership with this one, but who else would like to come to Matthew <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Cressler's</span> Dinner Party (aside from the usual Chicagoans, you're already invited and you know who you are)? Rumor has it Guy will come up from Woodstock; other out-of-town diners (including, but not limited to, those from: Durham, Seattle, New Haven, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bellevue</span>, Cambridge, Portland, NYC) are invited to take a little trip to Chicago, and since Matt is taking care of a wine pairing with each course, visiting travelers should plan on bringing nothing but their fine selves.<br /><br />Until then: a recipe from the last dinner party.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRO4wXdnRGI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Ddssg-yRj48/s1600-h/DSCF6804%282%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tDcurkMXneA/SRO4wXdnRGI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Ddssg-yRj48/s400/DSCF6804%282%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265755530397697122" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0); font-weight: bold;">Fresh Sage Pasta, Foraged* Mushrooms, Red <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Kuri</span> Squash, Sage</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(the mushrooms and squash preparation is inspired by a Thomas Keller recipe.)</span><br /><br />Ingredients:<br />(for the pasta)<br />3 tbs finely chopped sage<br />1 c unbleached all-purpose flour<br />healthy pinch of salt<br />1 large, fresh egg<br />1 tsp good olive oil<br /><br />(for the mushrooms and squash)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">NOTE: The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">kuri</span> shell is very very hard - you'll need extremely big muscles, like Chef Yum <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Yum's</span>, and a very sharp knife to peel it and chop it to the requisite 1/2 inch dice. You should have about 3 cups squash once it is chopped.</span><br />1 medium sized <a href="http://chefyumyum.blogspot.com/2006/11/one-squash-two-meals-or-this-ones-for.html">red <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">kuri</span> squash</a>; if red <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">kuri</span> is not available, you can use butternut, but you will likely live to regret the decision.<br />canola oil<br />1 tbs butter<br />12 sage leaves<br /><br />12 oz. mixed foraged mushrooms<br />canola oil<br />1 tbs butter<br />1 medium shallot, minced<br />1 tbs fresh thyme<br /><br />(finishing the pasta)<br />4 tbs butter<br />2 tbs minced chives<br />1 tbs fresh <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">italian</span> parsley<br />1/2 lemon<br /><br />Method<br />(for the pasta)<br />Dear Readers, there are many, many great recipes for making fresh pasta out there; the ingredients above draw from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Greens-Cookbook-Deborah-Madison/dp/0767908236/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1226030125&sr=8-1">the Greens Cookbook</a>; may I also commend to you any of <a href="http://bitten.blogs.nytimes.com/">Mark <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Bittman's</span> recipes</a>, as well as the excellent, excellent class Amber and I took at <a href="http://www.terragustocafe.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Terragusto</span></a> (more on that in a later post). It is far too late, and far too illegal for me to copy the 3 pages of pasta making instruction that Deborah Madison offers. Buy the book; it is worth the investment, and easier on the eyes than a blog, anyways.<br /><br />(for the mushrooms and squash)<br />In a large, deep and heavy bottomed pan (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">le</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">creuset</span>!), heat a thin layer of canola oil over medium high heat. Add the butter and let it brown a bit, then toss in half the sage leaves and half the squash (you'll want to fill the pan but not crowd the squash), and salt and pepper to taste. Cook squash, tossing occasionally, until well caramelized and brown on the outside, and melting on the inside. On a paper towel lined baking sheet, drain the squash and sage leaves <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">separately</span>. Repeat with remaining squash. Set aside, and wipe out your pan with a paper towel.<br /><br />Heat another layer of canola oil in the same pan, and add the butter to brown. Toss in the mushrooms and raise the heat; cook until the mushrooms begin to brown, and raise heat to evaporate any excess water they release. Add the shallot, thyme, salt and pepper, and cook 3 or 4 minutes. Drain on another paper towel lined baking sheet, and wipe out the pan with a paper towel.<br /><br />(finish)<br />As soon as your pasta water comes to a hot and bothered boil, brown remaining 4 tbs of butter in your pan. Toss in the parsley and chives and let them crackle a little, and then, carefully carefully squeeze the lemon half into the browned butter (it will splatter!). Cook your pasta for just a minute or so, then drain and toss with just 1/2 the browned butter. Toss the remaining butter with the squash and mushrooms and heat until just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">warmed</span>. To plate, nestle a small serving of pasta next to a scoop or two of the mushrooms and squash. Serves 6, exactly.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*If by "foraged" one means "bought at the Green City Market," then, yes! in fact I did forage those mushrooms!</span>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-2680519768839938072008-10-18T10:21:00.004-05:002008-10-18T11:23:29.561-05:00See how bravely - gravely! - Chef Yum Yum suffers for love of Food and Friends!When Natalie first started dating Matthew, she would wax dreamily of his gardening prowess - "Chef Yum Yum! my basil, it was dying, and Matthew came and blew each leaf a gentle kiss, whispered kind, encouraging herby words, then covered its roots with worm poo, and Chef Yum Yum! my basil flourishes as basil has never before flourished!"<br /><br />Matthew, it seems, has a knack for these sorts of things: the back porch of their house crowds in a meyer lemon tree, heat tolerant spinach varieties, arugula, every herb imaginable, tomatoes, peppers. It's partly Matthew, but it's also partly this beautiful place that is <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/magazine/2008/10/americas_foodiest_small_town">Durham, North Carolina</a>. Natalie's hardly working to quell my mythologizing, taking me to the farmer's market to buy fresh butter beans and sungold tomatoes (as an aside: any thoughts to where I can find fresh beans in Chicago? Durham flaunts the pinto-esque October bean, field peas, edamame...), and plotting up a mighty autumnal feast for Rosalind's 24th birthday.<br /><br />Lentil and root vegetable cakes cozy up in a honey, lavender and shallot puree; fresh savory pumpkin rolls befriend an arugula, pear and buttermilk blue salad. The zenith of the meal - upside-down pear ginger cake with lemongrass caramel from <a href="http://www.arrowsrestaurant.com/cookbook.cfm">The Arrows Cookbook</a> gave me the opportunity to try out some of the rosy stalks of Matthew's lemongrass. I'd actually never used fresh lemongrass before; before heading out of town to visit family, Matthew had instructed me in the harvest, and I bent down to cut the stalks as close to the base of the plant as possible. Lemongrass looks like a bamboo birthed of a palm tree, and has long leaves (already removed when you buy the stalks at the store) that are a bit abrasive, but I boldly shoved my arms in to the middle of the plant, hacking away with the kitchen shears. It took a while, and I was essentially <em>in</em> the lemongrass plant, but I managed to get four sturdy stalks. As I was pulling off the blushing outer leaves, suddenly I was itching, itching, ITCHING:<br /><br />It felt like I was having an allergic reaction - to the lemongrass leaves? - I quickly rinsed my arms with hot soapy water, and it was only a few hours later that I realized my arms were actually covered in thin red welts from my time inside the lemongrass plant. I do think I fared a bit better than the plant (once looming, now limp), but I've vowed to eat the caramel at every turn, that my suffering not be in vain.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#996633;"><strong>Buttermilk Pancakes with Lemongrass Caramel</strong></span><br /><br /><br /><em>I made these pancakes Friday morning, while Natalie graded papers; the pancakes are my own-ish recipe; the caramel comes from The Arrows.</em><br /><em></em><br />Ingredients, for the caramel:<br />1 1/2 c sugar<br />1 stalk lemongrass (I used 4 rather small stalks from Matthew's bedeviled lemongrass), hard outer leaves peeled, and coarsely chopped<br />1/2 cup water<br />2 tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice<br />1 tbs light corn syrup<br />1 c heavy cream<br /><br />Ingredients, for the pancakes:<br />2 c unbleached flour (or add a little whole wheat, if you like)<br />1 1/2 tsp baking powder<br />2 tbs brown sugar<br />1 tsp salt<br />1 tsp cinnamon<br />1 tsp nutmeg<br />2 eggs<br />2 c buttermilk<br /><br />Method, for the caramel:<br />With a large, heavy knife, finely chop together the lemongrass and the sugar (or whirl in a food processor). Combine with water, lemon juice and corn syrup in a large, heavy bottomed stainless pan over medium heat, and bring to a boil. Now, I'm always a bit terrified of ruining things like caramel, and I was not about to have another bout with the lemongrass, so I had the heat far too low, and consequently, the caramel took about 400 years to caramelize. I'll be braver next time, and perhaps you'll be brave the first time around, and caramelize your caramel over a true medium heat. Stir with a wooden spoon until all the sugar dissolves, and then let boil until the caramel turns a deep amber color. Occasionally, you'll need to wipe down the insides of the pan with a wet pastry brush, to keep any rogue sugar crystals from forming on the sides of the pan.<br /><br />Meanwhile, warm the cream in second saucepan. When the syrup is caramelized, pour the warm cream into the hot syrup. It's helpful to drape a kitchen towel over the opening of the syrup pot, except where you pour the cream in, as the syrup will splatter. Whisk over medium heat until just smooth, and then pour through a strainer into a heat-proof container. Let the caramel cool to room temperature.<br /><br />Method, for the pancakes:<br />Heat a griddle or cast iron skillet to medium-low heat. Mix together the dry ingredients, then whisk in eggs and buttermilk, but do not over mix; the batter should be a bit lumpy. When the skillet is hot, add a bit of oil, and then measure out 1/3 cup fulls of batter, and cook until bubbles on the surface pop, and the underside is golden. Flip, and continue cooking until golden. Serve immediately with lemongrass syrup (and also pears and toasted walnuts, if you like), or keep in a warm oven until you are done pancaking. Eat, with relish! eyeing the now drooping lemongrass plant vindictively.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-19160609159804459582008-07-28T22:00:00.010-05:002008-07-28T23:19:41.032-05:00On Tomatoes and Burrata: or, Not a Recipe But a ReconciliationSo I could pretend to have a good excuse for not posting in over a year. I don't.<br /><br />But I do have a good excuse for posting for the first time in over a year, namely, summer: at last.<br /><br />There are some miserable things about summer in Chicago (these include: bugs, the heat, the humidity, the dust, the heat, the humidity, wanting to eat nothing but iceberg lettuce because of all the heat and humidity) and then there are really wonderful things about summer in Chicago (these include: <a href="http://chicago.metromix.com/restaurants/ice_cream_frozen_yogurt/mikos-italian-ice-logan-square/145979/content">Miko's</a>, garage sales galore, the greenest boulevards, walking everywhere, it no longer being winter).<br /><br />And, there is the <a href="http://www.logansquarefarmersmarket.org/">farmer's market</a>. This summer the market has really, really come into it's own (was it just two summers ago that Lauren bought that handmade goat milk soap that made her smell like a rancid goat?); I'm sort of in love with all the farmers there, and this weekend filled my bags with cantaloupe, raspberries, peaches, eggs (time to make more ice cream), green beans and yellow wax beans, baby broccoli and - my heart catches in my throat - the first tomatoes of the season.<br /><br />I forget every year. I forget, how could I forget? The swoon-worthiness of a real summer tomato? We've been tossing them with just a touch of olive oil, sea salt and basil, and serving with a melting slice of <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/f/f1/Burrata2.jpg">burrata</a> (which reminds me of one other thing the Chicago summer is good for: quickly bringing cheese to a proper-ish temperature).<br /><br />This, is not a recipe, I know, but a reconciliation: Chef Yum Yum asking her kind readers, might I not have your eye again? I'll not pretend I haven't neglected you sorely, nor pretend that you still bother to click my page; instead I ask that we all think to the lesson of the gentle burrata, nestled dearly against the smooth, confident curve of her beloved tomatoes. Might not a sweet summer salad do us all a little good?<br /><br />As for me, September brings a new home with an air-conditioner (I'll be baking bread, all summer long) and a dishwasher (which I hear saves more water than hand washing, anyways), and some new work on green issues with <a href="http://www.holycovenantumc.org/">my church</a>. I'm plotting to make the ways that we eat a central part of this (I know, I know, the air-conditioner doesn't really jive with "green," but those of you who are judging me, think for a moment: do you live in Seattle or San Francisco, or some other year-round-breezy-locale? That's what I thought. None of my Durham friends or Atlanta friends are judging.); we're meeting Thursday to talk about incorporating CSAs into hospitality hour, oh my.<br /><br />So: more recipes on the way. Here's to the tomatoes; here's to the burrata.<br /><br /><br />xoxo,chefyychef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-55986752441165368302007-06-10T21:27:00.000-05:002007-06-10T21:37:52.344-05:00Note from a bereaved reader:<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I turn to chef yum yum for recipe ideas and</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">where have you left me? In the lurch, that's where.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's been going on two months since you've posted.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm heading out to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">NYC's</span> ONE Trader Joe's soon and it</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">would have been nice to have some Cassie-inspired</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ideas for my shopping. Poor, cooking-helpless Neil.</span><br /></div><br />I know. I'm sorry. Many of you have been scolding me for my absence as of late, it's not that I haven't been cooking, it's just that I've been very busy. I promise, promise, I'll have a real post for you by the end of this week.<br /><br />PROMISE.<br /><br />xo,cyy<br /><br />(p.s.: Neil, please don't think I'm so horribly lazy because I didn't actually reply to your email, but rather posted it on my blog instead. In other news, your thoughts on guitars made me string up mine with shiny new strings, and I've been playing again for the first time in forever, which is another reason I've not been blogging...)chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-38058890594794610932007-04-23T13:35:00.000-05:002007-04-25T23:28:51.120-05:00The Vegetarian's Dilemma: Which Raw Kale Salad to Make Today?So, I might have a <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">crush</span> on Michael Pollan.<br /><br /><br />(Perhaps, to the point of absurdity.)<br /><br />Case in point: once, when I was telling <a href="http://www.markcartwright.com/bio.html">someone</a> for at least the billionth time how oh-so-insightful and oh-so-provocative this or that thing that MP had said was, and that someone sort of yawned and then dared to suggest that MP's argument was not <span style="font-style: italic;">quite</span> as compelling as I had come to believe, I found myself screaming into my cell phone at 1:30 in the morning,<br /><br />"You do too have an omnivore's dilemma!!!"<br /><br />Hm. We don't talk about Michael Pollan anymore. <br /><br />One of the things Pollan suggests might help us nutty Americans overcome all our hand-wringing over food (conscious and otherwise) is to learn to rethink of food in terms of pleasure instead of primarily in terms of health (for an extremely eloquent look at this, see the last few paragraphs of Polan's <span style="font-style: italic;">NYTimes Magazine</span> article, "<a href="http://www.michaelpollan.com/article.php?id=71">Our National Eating Disorder</a>"). And, he suggests, by eating for pleasure we begin to allay our perpetual anxiety about the heathfulness or unhealthfulness of any given meal, and we thus might actually become healthier. This makes a lot of sense to me - although maybe it's just because it seems like a good excuse to eat all the really perfect things I desire? - and I'm working to incorporate this <span style="font-style: italic;">healthful</span> attitude of pleasure into how I eat and cook. <br /><br />But oh Michael Pollan, I am still wracked with dillemma! One of the foods that absolutely gives me pleasure above all other foods is the <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/236940">Raw Kale Salad</a> that Natalie taught me how to make (we made it with queso fresco and preserved lemons the first time around). But every time I pull out that beautiful, leafy boquet, I freeze, I panic, because, Michael Pollan, which raw kale salad should I make today?<br /><br />Today I have ginger, so I'll go for an asian twist with some grilled tofu. But what about tomorrow, when I have beets on hand? Or the next day when I have fresh feta? And what about the frightful day when I have all three?<br /><br />Oh Michael Pollan, what should I do? <br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;">Three Raw Kale Salads</span><br /><br />These three salads all begin with the same premise: de-ribbed, very finely sliced kale leaves, tossed with a simple dressing. The thing that is most remarkable about this salad is that it can rest for days without getting slimy and limp. That sturdy kale is more than a match for any dressing, which means you can snack with pleasure and leisure on this salad for about three days.<br /><br />Ingredients:<br />One large bunch of kale, tough center ribs removed and leaves very, very thinly sliced<br /><br />For each salad below, toss the salad ingredients together in a large bowl. Wisk together dressing ingredients, then toss with salad. Allow salad to marinate at room temperature for 5-10 minutes. <br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Variation One: Raw Kale, Beet and Carrot Salad</span><br />For the salad:<br />1 medium sized beet, peeled and coarsely grated<br />2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely grated<br />1/2 cup mixed olives, very thinly sliced<br />1 cup crumbled feta<br />1/2 cup flat leaf parsley, coarsely chopped<br />a generous sprinkling of black sesame seeds<br /><br />For the dressing:<br />5 tbs. olive oil<br />2 tbs. white wine vinegar<br />1 clove of garlic, minced<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">Variation Two: The 1990s California Raw Kale Salad</span><br />(because, I don't know, don't sunflower seeds and raisins make you think of California in the early 90s?)<br /><br />For the salad:<br />2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely grated<br />1 cup of raisins<br />1/2 cup sunflower seeds, toasted<br />1 cup crumbled nice cheese, like feta or a maytag blue<br /><br />For the dressing:<br />5 tbs. olive oil<br />2 tbs. fresh lemon juice<br />1 tbs. minced shallot<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />Optional garnish:<br />Avocado slices<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;">Variation Three: The Mexican Raw Kale Salad<br /></span>For the salad:<br />2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely shredded<br />1 cup queso fresco, crumbled<br />1 cup cilantro, coarsley chopped<br />1 small red onion, finely diced<br />1/2 cup pumpkin seeds, toasted<br /><br />For the dressing:<br />5 tbs. olive oil<br />3 tbs. fresh lime juice<br />1/2 tsp. ground corriander<br />1/2 tsp. ground cumin<br />a dash of cayenne pepper<br />salt to taste<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-90364213345668214202007-04-04T18:29:00.000-05:002007-04-25T23:18:02.298-05:00Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée: When it Becomes Impossible to Discern Either Cheese or Onion"The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." (From ''Gastronomie Pratique,'' by Ali-Bab, 1907)<br /><br />As a rule, I try to focus primarily on my own recipes; it helps me to be more adventurous and thoughtful in my cooking. But quite frankly, the soup - or rather <span style="font-style: italic;">soupe</span> - I made on Sunday was so absolutely perfect that it would be a selfish, selfish thing for me not to share the recipe for Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée with the world.<br /><br />At some tragic point in every bowl of French Onion Soup, the diner realizes that she has somehow managed to eat all the "good stuff" and is left with only a lonely bowl of buttery broth.* While indeed the broth that is left is as pristine in form as any broth could aspire to be, the very memory of crusty bread, melting onions and salty cheese is enough to make the diner shed tears of remorse into her broth, making it far too salty to finish.<br /><br />The magic of this Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée is that by the time you're done caramelizing, simmering, baking and browning, the broth has transformed itself into a perfect, silky, mushy bready delight. Really, it's the very best part of French Onion Soup, without the morose slosh of unwanted broth.<br /><br />Grossly, Guy kept exclaiming, "I wish I could take a bath in this!" While all guests were duly repulsed, by the end of the meal we were willing to concede that he may be onto something.<br /><br />Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Originally published in Ali Bab's </span>Gastronomie Pratique<span style="font-style: italic;">; republished in the </span>New York Times<span style="font-style: italic;"> in 1974, and then again this past February. The method carries my reflection on the process.</span><br /><br />Ingredients<br />1 baguette, cut into 30 1/2 inch slices<br />9 tbs. butter, softened<br />9 oz gruyere, grated (the original calls for emmantal, but I'm a sucker for gruyere); 1/2 cup reserved<br />8 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced (about 12 cups)<br />1 tbs kosher slat, plus more to taste<br />1 cup tomato puree (I used canned diced tomatoes)<br /><br />Method<br />Prepare the ingredients: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange baguette slices on one or two baking sheets and toast for about 10 minutes. Flip and continue toasting for 10 minutes more. Remove from oven to cool.<br /><br />While the toasts cool, prepare the onions: melt 4 tbs. butter in a <span style="font-size:180%;">very large</span> saucepan (because have you stopped to think about the sheer volume of 12 cups of sliced onions?). Add the onions, season generously with salt and saute until very soft and golden, at least 15 minutes. Meanwhile, butter each toast generously on one side; in a small pot, bring 1 1/2 quarts of water and the tbs. salt to a boil.<br /><br />Assemble the <span style="font-style: italic;">soupe</span>: in the bottom of a large casserole or pot (I was originally planning to use my 5qt enameled cast iron, but made the very wise decision of upgrading to my large 10qt stainless steel pot. I made 1 1/2 times the recipe, however; the recipe as written calls for a 5qt pot), arrange a layer of 1/3 of the toasts. Top with 1/3 of the non-reserved cheese, and 1/3 of the onions. Spread with 1/3 of the tomato puree. Continue in the same fashion for two more layers, topping with the reserved 1/2 cup of cheese (I found that I needed more).<br /><br />Add the broth: using a large ladle, slowly pour the hot water down the sides of the pot. You may need more or less water depending on the size of your pot, but the goal is to fill the pot with broth just up until the final layer of cheese. My <span style="font-style: italic;">soupe</span> took surprisingly little water at first, so I made little tunnels with the handle of a wooden spoon around the edge of the pot to help make space for a little more water. I also shook the pot a bit, gave it some to settle and think about whether or not it was moist enough. Eventually, I decided the <span style="font-style: italic;">soupe</span> was content with its broth/bread/onion/cheese/butter/tomato ratio, and simmered it on the stove over medium heat for 30 minutes. After this, bake the <span style="font-style: italic;">soupe</span> in the 350 degree oven for an entire hour. Remember, "The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." Each serving should include a bit of crust and a bit of the gooey unctuousness.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*Unless of course you are a master French Onion Soup Eater. Which I am, thanks to the many New Year's Eves of the <a href="http://chefyumyum.blogspot.com/2006/12/across-internet-connection-as-viscous.html">Meyer family specialty</a>. I have absolutely crafted the art of F.O.S. consumption, such that every bowl I eat ends not with broth, but with a perfectly balanced bite of bread, broth, onion.</span></span>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-47894065190617835372007-03-19T21:19:00.001-05:002007-03-19T21:48:48.542-05:00On Friendship and Mole: Kale and Mushroom Enchiladas with Mole PoblanoI've been wrestling with how to start this post, because every way I came at it failed to do justice to the joy I took from the dreaming, preparing and eating of the meal.<br /><br />Enough with the hemming and hawing. I'll just say it - I love eating with you, NATALIE CARNES!<br /><br />Natalie is the only person I know who always wants to eat the exact same things I want to eat. When we go to <a href="http://www.lulacafe.com/">our favorite restaurant</a>, the exact same things always catch our eye. You might think this would make the meal boring, but you are wrong: it actually means that we can get twice as many items and split them all. And we always share everything exactly half, except for the chocolate banana bread pudding, which I feel like Natalie was a bit of a pansy about (and, I'm sorry I told you to get the bloody mary; I should've known better).<br /><br />So when Natalie and I started plotting what we would cook for Friend Night on her trip to Chicago, I was not at all surprised to see her write, "I've been dreaming of Kale," because I, of course, had been dreaming of Kale - it's luxurious dark folds dancing through my head each night - too.<br /><br />Given this concurrent dreaming, we chose the logical next step:<br /><br />We decided to make mole, from scratch.<br /><br />There were so many things that were ridiculous about the meal - Why didn't it occur to us that it would be difficult to grind up 20 chilies and mountains of spices with nothing but a mini food processor and a mortar and pestle? And wasn't it a bit audacious to cook something neither of us had ever tried to make before for 12 of our most ravenous friends? And yet, it turned out perfectly, of course.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Kale and Mushroom Enchiladas with Mole Poblano</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The mole recipe is adapted from Anna Thomas' </span>The New Vegetarian Epicure<span style="font-style: italic;">, but the meal is all Natalie and Cassie.</span></span><br /><br />For the mole:<br />7 dried ancho chiles<br />7 dried pasilla or mild chiles<br />3 chipotle chiles in adobo<br />3-4 cups vegetable broth<br />2 cups chopped tomatoes with juice (we used canned, because the fresh tomatoes were looking miserable)<br />2 large onions, peeled and quartered<br />4 cloves of garlic, peeled<br />salt to taste<br />1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds<br />1 1/2 tsp anise seeds<br />4 tbs sesame seeds, lightly toasted<br />1 1/2 cup blanched almonds<br />1/2 cup raisins<br />1/2 tsp ground cloves<br />1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon<br />1 cup apple juice, maybe a bit more<br />3.5 oz unsweetened <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> fine chocolate - no skimping! - coarsely chopped<br /><br />For the enchiladas:<br />2 tbs olive oil<br />1 clove of garlic, crushed<br />1 large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped<br />12 oz cremini mushrooms, sliced<br />2 tsp ground cumin<br />2 tsp mexican oregano<br />1 tsp ground coriander<br />just a <span style="font-style: italic;">dash</span> of red pepper flakes, Natalie!<br />1/2 cup slivered sundried tomatoes (we used smoked tomatoes)<br />12 oz chiuaua cheese, grated<br />18 fresh corn tortillas<br />chopped fresh cilantro and toasted sesame seeds for garnish<br /><br />Prepare the mole:<br />Remove the stems and seeds from the chiles and wash. Put in a large, nonreactive pot with tomatoes, broth, onions, garlic and salt. The broth should just cover the chiles; add a bit more if necessary. Bring to a boil and then lower heat and simmer for 40 minutes. When the vegetables are soft, puree with an immersion blender or in batches in a boring normal blender.<br /><br />Grind the coriander and anise with a mortar and pestle. Grind the sesame seeds and almonds in a food processor until ground. Add the coriander, anise, raisins, cloves and cinnamon and process until it forms a sticky paste. Add the paste to the chile puree.<br /><br />Add the fruit juice to the chile puree and return to a simmer; add the chocolate and stir as the chocolate melts. Thicken or thin with a bit more juice, and add salt to taste.<br /><br />Prepare the filling:<br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and spices, and stir until just fragrant, about thirty seconds. Add the mushrooms and saute until they begin to release their juices, about 5 minutes. Add the kale in handfuls and saute until the kale is very tender, about 10 minutes, oh, who am I kidding? I was definitely not timing, and Natalie made the filling anyway. Stir in sundried tomatoes and add pepper and salt to taste. Remove from heat.<br /><br />Fill the enchiladas:<br />In the bottom of a 9 x 13 baking pan, spread a thick layer of mole. For each tortilla, use a couple heaping tablespoons of filling, and a generous sprinkling of cheese. Roll and place seam-side down in the baking pan. Cover the top of the enchiladas with another thick layer of mole, being sure to cover all exposed tortilla, things are spicy enough with all those chiles! Sprinkle generously with remaining cheese. Bake, until bubbly and warmed through, about 15 minutes.<br /><br />Drizzle the enchiladas with a bit more mole, and garnish with cilantro and sesame seeds.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-5214044695920366182007-03-13T21:50:00.000-05:002007-03-13T22:12:00.114-05:00Cassie vs. the Winter, and how the Bananas saved Everything.Winter, I’m tired of you.<br /><br />The winter had stolen my appetite. I’d flipped, half-heartedly through my recent issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">Bon Appetit</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic;">Greens’ Cookbook</span> who’s spine I’d barely cracked. I’d even broken open CT's <span style="font-style: italic;">Vegetables</span>, hoping that maybe the audacity of his recipes might inspire me.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />Instead of appetite, I felt only apathy. Is it snowing, again?<br /><br />Megan's three old bananas rotted away on our baker's rack, a testament to the death of all things living, a gastronomic eulogy for the green and spring and growing that I so desperately longed for...<br /><br />But in these bananas - is it possible, dare I hope? - that I might find rebirth?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0); font-weight: bold;">Black Tea-Scented Banana Bread</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I've tried to make this chai infused bread eight million times, but always fail because, shockingly, bananas are much more obtrusive than you'd expect. And thus my cunningly flavored banana bread usually just turns out like plain old banana bread. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">But this time it worked! Three cheers for the bananas!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The base for this bread is based on a recipe from Bon Appetit.</span></span><br /><br />1/4 cup sour cream<br />1 tsp. baking soda<br />1 stick of butter at room temperature<br />1 cup brown sugar<br />2 eggs<br />3 very ripe bananas, mashed to smithereens<br />2 cups unbleached flour<br />1/2 tsp. baking powder<br />1 tbs. black tea leaves, gently crushed<br />1 tsp. ground cinnamon<br />1 tsp. ground cardamom<br />1 tsp. ground ginger<br />1/2 tsp. ground allspice<br />1/2 tsp. ground cloves<br />a dash of freshly ground nutmeg<br />1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper<br />3/4 cup slivered almonds<br /><br />Method:<br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9x5 loaf pan. Combine the sour cream and baking soda in a small bowl and set aside. It will become wonderfully fluffy and foamy, just you wait! Using a pastry cutter (or fine, if you're fancy, an <span style="font-style: italic;">electric mixer</span>) to cream together the butter and sugar in a large bowl; mix in eggs, bananas and sour cream mixture. Sift in flour and baking soda, and add tea and spices, and stir until well combined. Fold in almonds.<br /><br />Spoon batter into the prepared pan, and bake until set in the center, I'd say about an hour. Cool at least 10 minutes. Dreaming of spring, enjoy a slice while still warm.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-15248278625931654542007-02-25T19:11:00.000-06:002007-02-26T07:41:45.006-06:00The spaghetti squash and the very old cheese.A few nights ago I wanted some nice cheeses to go with the lovely avocado, grapefruit and endive salad I made. I headed over to <a href="http://www.provenancefoodandwine.com">Provenance</a> where I found two seminal cheeses: the first an immaculate <a href="http://zingermanscreamery.com/content/pages/cheeses.php">handmade double-cream cheese</a> that is about the freshest cheese I've ever tasted, and the second an <span style="font-style: italic;">eight year old</span> gouda that is so tart and rich and full that the tiniest bite got the best of me.<br /><br />The gouda, which stars in tonight's meal, was bright white, dry and crumbly, freckled with those mysterious little crunchy specks that you find in high-quality parmigianos or pecorinos. And the taste of this cheese was really quite astonishing - I cut myself a thin slice to dress <a href="http://shop.finecheese.co.uk/index.html?pageTitle=Wholemeal_Crackers&pageDesc=150g_wheaty_crunchy_crackers_for_strongly_flavoured_cheeses_like_Cheddar_and_Stilton_&action=detail&maincatID=0&catID=&prodID=56&brandID=">my excellent albeit overpriced crackers</a> - and I could not even finish that mere sliver of cheese. It was simply too strong (and I fancy myself quite brave when it comes to strong cheeses)! So <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> is what happens when one ages a cheese for Eight Whole Years!<br /><br />Since its texture reminded me so much of a parmigiano, I thought I might be able to use the gouda as I would that more familiar cheese. I looked to the lovely little spaghetti squash perched on my baker's rack, just waiting to be all roasted up and then shred to bits. Surely this bright and vivacious fruit could mellow even the sourest and crotchety-est of old cheeses!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Spaghetti squash with caramelized onions and the very old cheese</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The surprise of this dish was all the many layers of sweetness: the rich roasted garlic, the creamy onions, the tangy tomatoes, and the fresh sweetness of the squash itself.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I, unfortunately, grew weary of waiting for my onions and didn't allow them to caramelize properly; I have since learned a valuable lesson about patience. </span></span><br /><br />One small spaghetti squash, halved and seeded<br />4 cloves of garlic, peeled<br />2 bay leaves<br />Olive oil, pepper and salt<br />2 tbs of olive oil<br />1 tbs of butter<br />5 small sweet yellow onions, halved through the poles and thinly sliced<br />1 scant teaspoon of sugar<br />8 sun dried tomatoes (not packed in oil), thinly sliced<br />1/4 cup dry vermouth<br />1/4 cup grated very old cheese (for example, an eight year old gouda)<br />1/4 cup grated parmigiano reggiano<br />1/2 cup roasted salted pecan halves<br /><br />Roast the squash:<br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Pour just enough water into a 9 x 11 baking dish to barely cover the bottom, and place squash halves cut side down with 2 garlic cloves and one bay leave tucked underneath each squash half. Roast until almost tender, about 45 minutes, anticipating as you wait how the sweet roasted garlic flavor will gently infuse the squash. Now flip the halves over, placing garlic and bay leaves in the squash "bowls." Sprinkle generously with olive oil, pepper and salt, and roast until tender, about 10 more minutes; discard garlic and bay leaves. I like my squash to be a bit crisp and not at all soggy; the squash is ready when a fork raked around the edges pulls the flesh into curious twisting threads. Let the squash rest for about 10 minutes before you scrape it from the rind.<br /><br />Caramelize the onions:<br />Meanwhile, heat the oil over medium high heat in a large, heavy skillet. When the oil is hot, add the butter, allowing the foam to subside and the butter to begin to brown. Add the onions, a sprinkling of sugar, and saute until the onions begin to color. Lower heat and PATIENTLY allow the onions to caramelize, about 35 minutes or even more. The onions are done when they are a deep golden brown, sweet and melting. <br /><br />Add the julienned tomatoes and stir, then add the vermouth to deglaze. The tomatoes that I have been using lately are very, very soft and need absolutely no re-hydration; you may need to soak your tomatoes in boiling water (per package instructions) if your tomatoes are of the drier sort. Allow the vermouth to cook off, and then remove from heat.<br /><br />Assemble the meal:<br />Toss together the squash, onions and cheese until well blended. Season to taste with pepper and salt, and top each serving with the pecans.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-11944209240634174312007-02-12T21:49:00.000-06:002007-02-05T15:58:17.031-06:00Stop Kissing Me, I Just Want to Blog.My friend Peter has a really fabulous idea for a blog. He has drafted<br />several posts. He has even secured a few guest columnists who are<br />excited to be a part of his new project. When Peter finally<br />starts this blog, I will link to it on the right hand side of this<br />page, so you can see how awesome it is, too.<br /><br />Why hasn't Peter actually started his blog?<br /><br />"Well," Peter explains, avoiding my piercing stare, "I'm just so busy<br />this quarter, I've got a lot of homework, I have to read all this<br />Zizek..."<br /><br />"And," he adds, "Now I have this relationship that takes up all my time..."<br /><br />Which is totally the most awesome excuse for not blogging ever. I'm<br />sure every day Peter's new girlfriend wants to hang while Peter<br />protests, "But I was just about to start my blog! Stop kissing me! I<br />just want to blog! Stop being so pretty and fun!!" I'm sure all the times she's not distracting him from blogging, she's keeping him from doing his homework. Sounds like this new girlfriend is a one-way trip to Flunking Out of Graduate School-ville, if you ask me. Or at least a one-way trip to Never Starting My Awesome Blog Town.<br /><br />I have a much less awesome excuse for my lack of blog (traveling around the country for work), although my excuse does involve driving home from Urbana-Champaign singing along to AniDifranco with my <a href="http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith/eboo_patel/">boss</a>, who is one of the busiest people I know.<br /><br />And he still manages to blog, Peter.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shaved Pear, Fennel and Mushroom Salad with Preserved Lemons</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RdE3rIymLAI/AAAAAAAAAB4/2XcqMQn6G3w/s1600-h/IMG_0765.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RdE3rIymLAI/AAAAAAAAAB4/2XcqMQn6G3w/s400/IMG_0765.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030863472983157762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I got a mandoline! I got an amazing deal on it (originally $150 - I payed $5!)! I forgot about my mandoline until <a href="http://fancytoast.blogspot.com">Fancy Toast</a> wrote about her mandoline! I'm glad I remembered my mandoline! Also, Megan took this picture - thank you Megan!</span></span><br /><br />3 very small pears, preferably three different varieties<br />about 12 cremini mushrooms, washed and thoroughly dried<br />1 fennel bulb, cored and cut in half<br />1 lemon<br />olive oil<br />pepper and salt<br />1/4 cup or so italian parsley leaves<br />1/4 of a preserved lemon rind, julienned<br /><br />Using a mandoline or a very sharp knife, thinly slice the pears, mushrooms and fennel (my slices were about 1/16 inch thick - thank you, mandoline!). If your cutting is as slow as Peter's blog-starting, you could have a bowl of water with a drop or two of lemon juice to put your pears in so they do not brown.<br /><br />On four plates, arrange delicate layers of the first pear. Drizzle a fresh squeeze of lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper, then add a layer of mushrooms and a layer of fennel. Continue: pear 2, dressing, mushrooms, fennel; pear 3, dressing mushrooms fennel. Top each salad with parsley and preserved lemon, and a last dash of olive oil if you think you need it. This salad is perfect as is, but could be nice with a shaving or two of gruyere. <br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-15270848772696391742007-01-29T17:32:00.000-06:002007-02-02T18:37:00.170-06:00In protest of clusters!When Megan went to Turkey the year after she graduated, her host-family had only one rule: that she bring with her an entire suitcase full of Trader Joe's Ginger Granola. When suitcase #1 was full of all the belongings she'd need for the next six months, surely you'd think Megan could stash her beloved teddy into suitcase #2, but no! No room for precious keepsakes, photographs of loved ones, extra pairs of underwear. No, suitcase #2 must be reserved solely for the transportation of foreign granola. The seriousness of these terms hardly surprised me - while home in Seattle over college breaks, I'd stashed more than a bag or two of the same granola into my suitcase to fortify me during my studies in remote Appleton, Wisconsin.<br /><br />We mused over this one morning as we ate bowls of Trader Joe's "Just the Clusters" Ginger Granola. Whatever "Just the Clusters" is supposed to mean, it strikes me that this is actually more like a mysterious sort of cereal posing as granola and less like actual granola. The oats are all muddled together with some sort of sweet, opaque (and as far as I'm concerned unnecessary) substance to make them cluster-like. It's sort of like Michael Pollan's warning: "..a health claim on a food product is a good indication that it's not really food..."; in this case being, "...a cluster claim on a granola product is a good indication that it's not really granola..."<br /><br />Especially because ginger granola seems a pretty simple thing to make, no mysterious sweet opaque substances need apply. What more does one need beyond oats, ginger, some maple syrup or honey, and a nut or two?<br /><br />It seems fitting, then, that my granola be a variation on Bittman's, published in <span style="font-style: italic;">The New York Times</span> a few weeks ago. Surprisingly, Bittman's recipe doesn't call for any fat (usually in granola, this would be canola or vegetable oil, in rare instances butter). So, my first try at ginger granola was oil free; it was delicious, but the second time I made it with a bit of oil to yield a much richer flavor. Yum. Either way, you have an incredibly crunchy, ginger-y granola that you can take at face-value. It's worth stocking up the next time you're planning international travel, resting assured that any clustering your oats are doing is in their natural, God-intended manner.<br /><br />(As an aside: I loved [unsurprisingly] <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/28/magazine/28nutritionism.t.html?_r=1&oref=slogin">Michael Pollan's cover article</a> in this week's <span style="font-style: italic;">NYT Magazine</span>. Check it out if you haven't already.)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">Ginger Almond Cashew Granola<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats<br />1/2 cup sliced almonds<br />1/2 cup unsalted cashews, raw or roasted<br />3/4 cup grade b pure maple syrup<br />1/3 cup canola or other neutral oil (optional)<br />dash of salt<br />sprinkling of good-quality garam masala (optional)<br />1/3 cup diced crystallized ginger<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, combine oats, nuts, syrup, oil (if using), salt and garam masala (if using). Mix thoroughly, and then spread into a 9 x 13 banking pan. Cook for 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until oats are crunchy and rich, golden brown.<br /><br />Stir in ginger and allow to cool (okay, okay, you can snack a bit while it's still warm!). Stored in an airtight container, this will stay fresh for at least two weeks.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-52361287020186455952007-01-22T20:24:00.000-06:002007-01-22T21:26:14.562-06:00Two post-fondue recovery ideas:<span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);">Idea Number One:</span><br /><br />Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of baguette, just waiting to be chopped, skewered and dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you you do? Why, you chop up that bread, knowing full well that everyone loves the bread best of all. And all guests fill their plates with bread, elated by the bounty.<br /><br />Now dinner's over, bellies are full and rounded, plates are cleared, when you discover in your living room <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> bowl of bread bites, completely untouched! And not just any bowl - the largest mixing bowl in your whole kitchen, mounded high with bread. You cradle the bowl, knowing you have enough bite-sized pieces of bread here to make croutons that will last you well into retirement.<br /><br />But croutons, oh <span style="font-style: italic;">making</span> croutons, right now that seems like so much work. You thoughtfully pat your very full belly.<br /><br />The snow outside the window catches your eye, your gaze drifts back to the bread bowl. Croutons, yes croutons, if only you weren't so full and fat and lazy, if only you could just get a bit of exercise first and work off this post-fondue-haze. You glance back at the falling snow, back to the bread, and suddenly their seems an analogy here too profound to ignore.<br /><br />You snap out of your reverie, gather the bread, gather your guests and step out onto your balcony and start throwing pieces of bread into the air one by one, watching them swim, carefree, through the cold winter air. They are snow, they are the milky way galaxy, they are a symbol of your vitality and your youth!<br /><br />(Oh I know oh I know it's so wasteful, but it just felt so right so amazing at the time. And, the next afternoon when I heard those happy winter birds chirping around my front steps, I knew it wasn't in vain. I worked off a bit of my fondue chub, and those fat little birds didn't feel so cold that night.)<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);">Idea Number Two:</span></span><br /><br />Say your oh-so-generous guests have brought you an abundance of grape tomatoes just ready to be dipped into your luscious vat of melted goodness. What do you do? Well, given that you're a little light-headed from consuming little more than garlic, butter, cheese and of course bread over the last 36 hours, it's time to make yourself a nice healthy meal. I know you're starving, but just hold out for another four hours or so to make these slow-roasted tomatoes. The tomatoes taste like what sun-dried tomatoes would taste like if they were actually dried <span style="font-style: italic;">inside</span> the sun. It's worth every hour of the wait, I promise.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);">Fusilli with Slow Roasted Tomatoes and Preserved Lemons</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ingredients<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>2 pints grape tomatoes, halved<br />3 cloves of garlic, crushed<br />3 tbs. olive oil<br />pepper and salt, to taste<br /><br />1 lb fusilli<br />1 tbs. olive oil<br />1 shallot, thinly sliced<br />1 pint cremini mushrooms, sliced<br />1/2 cup vermouth<br />5 slices of <a href="http://chefyumyum.blogspot.com/2006/10/post-in-two-parts-part-one.html">preserved lemon rind</a>, diced (should you not have preserved lemons on hand, and you're not interested in waiting an additional week or so for your dinner, you could use a tablespoon or so of fresh lemon zest and salt to taste.)<br />1/2 c. grated parmigiano reggiano<br /><br />About 4.5 hours before you would like to eat, preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Arrange the halved tomatoes in aesthetically, cut side up in a 9 x 13 baking pan. Combine the olive oil and the garlic, and then gently brush with the garlic and oil. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper, and then roast until shriveled, crinkled and deep, deep red, about 3.5 - 4 hours.<br /><br />Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and cook pasta. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water.<br /><br />Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Saute the shallot until just beginning to turn golden, then saute the mushrooms until they are beginning to brown. Add the vermouth and simmer until the liquid is reduced to about 2 tablespoons.<br /><br />Stir the lemons and slow-roasted tomatoes in the mushrooms until just warmed. Toss with hot pasta, parmigiano reggiano and reserved cooking water as necessary. Serve immediately.chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-68787811267162404802007-01-07T19:55:00.000-06:002007-01-07T22:46:47.957-06:00Food like a hug.It's the sort of day that calls for comfort food.<br /><br />Not just any comfort food; while Lauren can attest that I am by no means above a box of macaroni and cheese or really greasy bar food when the moment demands, I wanted a meal that would give me pleasure to create (more so than mixing cheese powder, butter and milk, although I'm not denying the pleasure in that). It should be a meal where not just the eating but also the making should impart comfort. When all's said and done, I wanted to feel like I'd just had, well, a really great hug.<br /><br />I had some mascarpone leftover from my pancakes, and have been dreaming about the roasted tomatoes Mark and I made a few weeks ago. So here's my little menu, perfectly accented with a nice salad, courtesy of Megan. (As an aside, she tossed a bit of preserved lemon into the simple salad - what a surprise! As with all things pickled, Megan's obsessed with the lemons, and she's been coming up with lots of creative ways to use them; I'm getting more ideas, so more on that in later posts, I'm sure!).<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Need a hug?</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini</span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br />Oven-roasted tomatoes</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">For two.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">For the oven-roasted tomatoes:</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">About a month ago, I turned over a new leaf, the-I-know-it's-winter-but-all-I-want-is-fresh-Tomoates-! leaf. I've always been sort of on the fence about tomatoes, so I'm not quite sure where this is coming from. Anyways, I've been making all sorts of tomatoey goodnes: probably </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/14641">the best tomato soup ever</a><span style="font-style: italic;">; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://foodandwine.com/recipes/spinach-and-ricotta-gnudi-with-tomato-butter-sauce">tomato butter sauce</a> <span style="font-style: italic;">that has revolutionized the way I think about a half-pound of butter; and now these. Luckily I've been able to find some pretty incredible on-the-vine tomatoes at the grocery; while a lot of oven roasted tomatoes call for romas, I prefer to use the round vine tomatoes. Look for firm, just ripe round tomatoes for this recipe; the deepness of them will keep them much more moist as they roast than romas. This is one of the simplest ways to ever cook a tomato; your guests will inquire, "Why, what's on the tomatoes?" imagining you scoured the earth far and wide the rare and mysterious flavors. What a trick! </span></span><br /><br />4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes<br />Olive oil<br />Salt and pepper<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350. Brush a small baking pan (I use a 9 x 9 brownie pan) with a light coat of olive oil.<br /><br />Cut the top (vine end) off of each tomato, and then with a paring knife gently core and remove all seeds. Place the tomatoes cut side up in the pan, and then drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle very generously with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.<br /><br />Bake for 50 minutes, maybe more, until the peels begin to brown, curl and crack and the tomatoes are absolutely melting away. If you are not ready to serve immediately, you can put the tomatoes on their serving dish and cover with foil to keep them warm, but they'll taste the best roasting hot.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >I started preparing this after the tomatoes had been in the oven for about 20 minutes. The timing was perfect, and the dish is very, very easy. This pasta is reminiscent of the near-perfect pasta I had at <a href="http://www.greensrestaurant.com/">The Greens Restaurant</a> in October, so I was quite pleased with the results. </span><br /><br />12 oz broccolini<br />8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)<br />3 cloves of garlic, crushed<br />1/2 tbs. butter<br />3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)<br />2 tbs. chopped italian parsley<br />2 tbs. olive oil<br />Dash of crushed red pepper<br />Salt and pepper to taste<br />1/2 cup mascarpone<br />1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano<br /><br />Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; meanwhile, trim the bottom 1/2 inch or so off the broccolini and peel off the outermost fibrous layer of the stalks with a vegetable peeler. This is, certainly, the high-maintenance approach to broccolini. You'd be fine without peeling, but with peeling you have the instant gratification of the sweet inner stalk with less of the hassle of gnawing. Once the water has boiled, toss the broccolini in for 5 minutes (or until tender); remove with a slotted spoon and immediately plunge into ice water to stop the cooking. Drain and set aside.<br /><br />Add the pasta to the same boiling water. Over medium heat, melt the butter in a small saucepan; as the foam subsides, add one clove of garlic and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the panko, parsley and a generous grind of salt and pepper. Fry the breadcrumbs until luxuriously golden brown, about 4 minutes, stirring occasionally.<br /><br />Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the remaining garlic and crushed red pepper flakes, similarly stirring until just fragrant. Add the drained broccolini and saute for about 1 or 2 minutes, or until hot and well acquainted with garlic and red pepper. Season with pepper and salt.<br /><br />At this point, your pasta should be about ready to come out of its water. Put the mascarpone and the parmesan in the bottom of a large bowl. Drain the pasta and then quickly add it to the cheeses, stirring quickly 'til all becomes melty and smooth.<br /><br />Divide the pasta between two warmed dinner plates; top each with half the broccolini, and sprinkle with half the breadcrumbs. Serve the tomatoes nestled gently up against.<br /><br />There, don't you feel better?<br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-41649985620213777942007-01-01T15:44:00.000-06:002007-01-01T18:06:36.456-06:00Everybody wants a little bit of that sweet, sweet rosemary action.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFkpBkGcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/38Lj9i8X9Fg/s1600-h/rosemary_above.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFkpBkGcI/AAAAAAAAAA8/38Lj9i8X9Fg/s400/rosemary_above.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015186524587956674" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">this rosemary was more than happy to sacrifice itself to the syrup.</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmBpZBkGaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/kJP4oVrK47M/s1600-h/final_above.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmBpZBkGaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/kJP4oVrK47M/s400/final_above.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015182208145824162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" >cornmeal pancakes with rosemary syrup, caramelized pear-date compote, candied rosemary<br />and rosemary-infused mascarpone.</span><br /></div><br />Without even a touch of bashfulness, Mark J. and Jennifer invited themselves over for a nice brunch at my parents' house in Seattle. They also volunteered me to cook the nice brunch. True, it was forward of them; but I was happy to oblige two of my dearest, oldest friends, and I wanted to make them a breakfast as dear as them. I'd seen a recipe in <span style="font-style: italic;">Gourmet</span> a few months ago for candied rosemary with cornmeal pound cake, and these flavors seemed just right for a winter breakfast, re-imagined as cornmeal pancakes with rosemary syrup, rosemary-infused mascarpone and pear-date compote. I was a bit nervous about how strong the rosemary would be - and how my Dad would deal with what is clearly not your typical pancake fare - but was pleased to find the rosemary to be quite well-behaved. While the rosemary makes an appearance in every element of the meal, she maintains a delicate and bright presence throughout and never overpowers.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmDB5BkGbI/AAAAAAAAAA0/0nNXaGgydnU/s1600-h/rosemary_side.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmDB5BkGbI/AAAAAAAAAA0/0nNXaGgydnU/s400/rosemary_side.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015183728564246962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 204, 0);font-size:85%;" >candied rosemary, deftly made right in the rosemary syrup!</span><br /></div><br />Mark C. called from Houston mid-pancake flip. Meekly, he intoned,<br /><br />"Oh. Pancakes. That sounds really special. Is there a plate for me?"<br /><br />I knew I'd have to make him his own pancakes the absolute second he arrived in Chicago. And he rewarded me richly for my efforts - just see these beautiful pictures, my kind readers (and scroll down a few posts to see the picture he took of my granola)!<br /><br />You'll be rewarded too, if you make these pancakes. There are a few steps to them, but they're quite simple to make, and everyone will be fabulously impressed. Even Dad Meyer liked them!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFlpBkGeI/AAAAAAAAABM/cj0Sc12XdWY/s1600-h/marscapone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFlpBkGeI/AAAAAAAAABM/cj0Sc12XdWY/s400/marscapone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015186541767825890" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >this is no ordinary mascarpone - she has cleverly infused herself with rosemary syrup.</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:130%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cornmeal pancakes with rosemary syrup, caramelized pear-date compote and rosemary-infused mascarpone</span></span><br /><br />Ingredients:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">for the rosemary syrup, candied rosemary and rosemary-infused mascarpone<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span>1 c. water<br />1/2 c. sugar<br />8 branches of rosemary<br />About 1 c. bakers sugar, for candying<br />8 oz. mascarpone<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">for the pear-date compote</span><br />2 red pears, peeled, cored and chopped into 1/2 inch pieces<br />1 comice pear, peeled, cored and chopped into 1/2 inch pieces<br />4 tbs butter<br />3 tbs sugar reserved from the candied rosemary<br />freshly ground nutmeg<br />1 sprig fresh rosemary<br />1/4 cup deglazing liquid: apple or pear hard cider; apple or pear cider; a sweet white wine; apple juice, etc.<br />8 dates, quartered length-wise<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">for the cornmeal pancakes<br /></span> (this pancake recipe is adapted from <span style="font-style: italic;">Bon Appetit</span>)<br />1 c. + 2 tbs unbleached, all-purpose flour<br />1/3 c. fine yellow cornmeal<br />2 tbs sugar reserved from the candied rosemary<br />1 tsp baking powder<br />1/2 tsp baking soda<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />2 large eggs<br />1 c. creme fraiche, sour cream or whole milk yogurt<br />1 c. whole milk<br />1/4 cup vegetable oil<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Make the rosemary syrup, et. al.: </span>In a small saucepan, bring water and sugar to boil over medium heat. Once the sugar has dissolved, add rosemary sprigs and simmer, stirring occasionally for four minutes.<br /><br />Remove the rosemary from the syrup and let rest for a minute or two on a paper towel-lined plate. Pour bakers sugar into a shallow bowl and drag each rosemary branch back and forth through the sugar, making sure the branch is thoroughly coated and tapping off any excess. Let sit on paper towel for at least one hour.<br /><br />Allow the rosemary syrup to cool slightly, and then whip two tablespoons into the mascarpone with a fork. Refrigerate mascarpone until ready to serve.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Make the pear compote: </span>In a stainless steel skillet, melt the butter over medium heat until it is just barely beginning to brown. Sprinkle in 2 tbs. of the remaining bakers sugar that you used to candy the rosemary, and stir until the sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to medium-low and add the pears, spreading them in an even layer across the bottom of the skillet. Place the rosemary sprig on the top of the pears; as the pears cook, they'll steam the rosemary a bit and the rosemary in turn will drift gently into the pears. Now comes the tricky part - you'll have to be very very patient with the pears, letting them take their sweet, caramelized time. They'll only do this properly if you let them be, not stirring for about 10 or 15 minutes, a bit like a <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/104777"><span style="font-style: italic;">Tarte Tatin.</span></a> After you're sure they're brown and caramelized, remove the rosemary and flip the pears. Replace the rosemary and caramelize the pears for an additional 10-15 minutes. Sprinkle generously with fresh nutmeg. Raise the heat to medium and pour on your deglazing liquid, scraping up any bits that might have stuck to the bottom of the pan. Simmer until the liquid is reduced and syrupy. Stir in the dates, remove the rosemary and remove from heat.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Make the pancakes:<br /></span>Sift the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a large bowl. Whisk eggs in a medium bowl; whisk in creme fraiche/sour cream/yogurt, milk, oil and vanilla. Gradually add liquid to dry ingredients, whisking just until blended.<br /><br />Heat two cast iron skillets (what? you don't have two cast iron skillets? and you call this a kitchen!) over medium heat; they are hot enough when you flick a drop or two of water on them and they skittle across the surface before evaporating. Pour the batter by 1/4 cupfuls into the pans. Cook until bubbles pop in the batter, about 4 minutes. Flip pancakes and cook until second side browns, about 2 minutes. Keep warm in a 200 degree oven until you've finished all the pancakes. Makes about 12 4-inch pancakes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Assemble the plates:<br /></span>Just before serving, reheat the rosemary syrup and the pear compote until just hot. Pour about an 1/8th of a cup of syrup on each of four plates, and then arrange three pancakes on each plate. Lovingly top with compote, a dollop of mascarpone and a graceful drizzle of a bit more syrup. Finally, drape a rosemary sprig here or there, and serve, to the delight of Marks everywhere.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a style="font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFlZBkGdI/AAAAAAAAABE/GejqUn9LuYM/s1600-h/final_side.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmFlZBkGdI/AAAAAAAAABE/GejqUn9LuYM/s400/final_side.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015186537472858578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">oh, what a loss: I forgot the dates when I made it for mark c., which seems funny since I "date" him. we, the pears and the rosemary deeply regretted this date-oversight.</span></span></div>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-8392268984732020202006-12-25T15:02:00.000-06:002007-01-02T23:39:23.205-06:00They do rock, CT.When I was home at Thanksgiving, I noticed a gently used copy of Charlie Trotter's <em>Vegetables</em> at the used bookstore near my house. It's a book I've had my eye on for a while, and since it's around $50 new, I casually mentioned to my mother this great deal just waiting to be snatched up.<br /><br />Hurrah, it was under the tree this morning! And, I think I'd flipped through it about five times before I noticed it's autographed by Mr. Trotter himself. Scrawled accross the entire title page with a big fat black permanent marker, Charlie writes:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>What More Needs to be said?</strong></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>VEGETABLES ROCK!!!!</strong></span></div><div align="center"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>-Charlie Trotter</strong></span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong></strong></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong><br /></strong></span></div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;">Ha. This is both hilarious and awesome. Vegetables do rock. It's just funny because in my head, I picture Charlie Trotter screaming this out at a state university frat party, a can of Bud in each hand. "WOOOO!!! VEGETABLES!!!" he screams, smashing the empty beer can against his forehead.<br /><br /></div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;">Now, if only I can get my hand on some bleeding heart radishes (with a "rondeau," whatever that might be, to carmelize them in, of course), yellow-foot chantrelles and fresh salsify stalks....<br /><br /></div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"> (I'm actually quite serious about the last one - the two times I've tried salsify it was rich, creamy and fluffy. The kind of thing you savor, eyes closed and head titlted back a bit, making little noises and making Rosalind quite uncomfortable.)</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-3169899087619645352006-12-21T12:16:00.000-06:002006-12-26T22:56:07.372-06:00Across an internet connection as viscous as molasses, I bring you the most perfect soup!My parents have the slowest internet connection ever. EVER.<br /><br />It took seven-and-a-half minutes for this "create post" page to load, and a third of the pictures are still just little question marks.<br /><br />It's making me feel like the state of my posting is very, very tenous, and I might lose it all at any moment, so I apologize for the brevity, lack of wit and proof-reading. But there's a very important reason for me to post today: because not only is today about suffering through a terrifyingly slow internet connection, it is ALSO about getting excited for french onion soup. YEAH!<br /><br />My mom has bought the most amazing onion: it's about half the size of my head, really, and I promise you it's the sweetest thing to ever be called "onion." I'd take a picture, even a crappy picture of it, just for you to wonder at it, but really, that would take 45 minutes to load. (I'm not exaggerating at all. My mom is always trying to send pictures she sent with her digital camera, and it's a full afternoon of work for her to email me three photos.)<br /><br />Anyway, we eat The Meyer Family French Onion Soup every Christmas Eve; rumor has it that my grandmother, the absolute toughest four-foot-eleven German woman you could ever imagine, wooed it off a famous french chef in the 50s.<br /><br />So take note and yum yum:<br /><br /><div align="center">Meyer Family French Onion Soup</div><div align="center"></div><br /><br />Ingredients:<br />1 enormous sweet yellow onion, about half the size of your head, or 4 large sweet yellow onions, very thinly sliced<br />1 stick of butter<br />3-4 cups broth (I have an affinity for Better Than Boullion's organic vegetarian "no-chicken" chicken broth. But really, if you eat beef or chicken, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't substitute a rich meat broth. I'm not that judgmental kind of vegetarian.)<br />1 cup dry white wine<br />Black pepper, to taste<br />4 thick slices of french baguette<br />1 cup shredded gruyere or emmanthaler<br /><br />special equipment: 4 oven-proof soup bowls<br /><br />In a medium, heavy-bottomed skillet (I prefer stainless steel, as some of the onion will stick a little bit and add a rich, carmelized goodness to the soup), melt butter over medium-low heat until foam subsides. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is golden, melty and has become one with the butter, about 35-45 minutes. Really, it's about patience, just letting the onion take its sweet time to bring out all that onion's sweet and creamy goodness. It's not too high-maintenance, though; you don't need to be stirring it all that often.<br /><br />Raise the heat to medium and add the wine; let it simmer off for a bit, degalzing any of little onion crusties that might be stuck to the pan. Add the 3 cups of broth and continue to simmer until all tastes sweet and good, about 20 more minutes; if the soup looks to thick, add more broth. You'll know your soup is ready when your onions become mere ethereal whispers, and broth, onions and butter are virtually indistinguishable from one another in flavor. Oh bless those onions onion-y hearts for becoming a thing so miraculous! <br /><br />About ten minutes before the soup is finished, lightly butter both sides of the baguette slices and toast each side in a skillet over medium heat until lightly browned; set aside.<br /><br />Preheat broiler. When the soup is finished, add a very generous grinding of fresh ground pepper (depending on the saltiness of your broth, you may need to add some salt). Arrange four oven-proof bowls on a sturdy cookie sheet, and ladle soup into bowls. Top each bowl with a crouton and an extremely generous handful of cheese. Slide the tray under the broiler and broil until the cheese is brown and bubbling, about 2 minutes, but be sure to keep you eye on it while it's in there. <br /><br />Serve, with a toast to grandma!chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-82697290196626413372006-12-13T13:27:00.000-06:002007-01-01T17:16:49.813-06:00I promised I'd make them scones!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmWHpBkGfI/AAAAAAAAABs/Bnyo_bcTf0g/s1600-h/granola.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tDcurkMXneA/RZmWHpBkGfI/AAAAAAAAABs/Bnyo_bcTf0g/s400/granola.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015204718069422578" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-style: italic;">ever peacefully does the granola drift through the calm sea of whole milk yogurt</span></span><br /></div><br /><br />I'm a "professor"!<br /><br />It's a little bit absurd - I'm really only about 1/3 of the way, give or take, toward the proper credentials one needs to be a real professor (and with no real plans on the horizon for that remaining 2/3). Luckily, my clever boss can convince anyone of anything - including, "Of course our [then] development associate who's never taught a day in her life should teach a graduate-level seminar!", and that's how I ended up teaching an awesome course on practical approaches to interfaith work for seminary students. And my students loved me and learned so much, so take that raised-eyebrows-of-a-certain-"on my way to the AAR, of course"-faculty-member-of-a-certain-elite-institution-who-may-or-may- not-have-questioned-my-right-to-teach. In fact, my students were shocked that I had never taught before, I was that good. Ha!<br /><br />Naturally, I baked breakfast goodies for my students for our last day of class. Because one thing people of all faiths share is <em>eating</em>. Even those nutty ascetics eat, even if it is just locusts and honey.<br /><br />(I'd like to note that this is the second time in less than a week that I've managed to wrangle myself an opportunity to cook "for work". It tricks me into thinking that I'm a chef for a living, sigh.)<br /><br />While filling their bellies with lavender-scented banana bread, homemade granola with whole milk yogurt, and cheddar dill scones, a certain student said, "Over the last year, I've eaten a lot. <em>A lot</em>. And I am pretty sure this banana bread is the best thing I've eaten in all of 2006."<br /><br />Chef Yum Yum know who's getting an A!<br /><br />(There are just too many recipes for plain old banana bread out there for me to think it's a good idea to make up my own. I was going to link to one on Epicurious that I like a lot, but their server is down and I'm feeling impatient. Look for the one with the whole stick of butter and the lemon-curdled milk. To make my <strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">Lavender-Scented Banana Bread</span></strong>, I just add about 3 tablespoons dried lavender blossoms, crushed a bit with a mortar and pestle to the batter right at the end. Megan told me it tastes like yoga; I think it tastes like a garden - most likely victorian - just about to burst forth after a long cold winter. A nice little mid-december dream.)<br /><strong><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></strong><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-83607213306512271732006-12-04T21:58:00.000-06:002006-12-26T22:48:59.833-06:00A Menu of Tiny TastesI love a meal that is one big meal but with many tiny little tastes: such was the premise behind the meal Bart and I planned for Saturday. I had a box of buckwheat polenta from <a href="http://provenancefoodandwine.com/">Provenance</a>, and I wanted to make lots of lovely different things that we could all have tiny tastes of. Anna Thomas gave me this menu's inspiration with her grilled polenta with roasted vegetables, but the interpretation is my own, as I have my own thoughts on roasting vegetables.<br /><br />(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier <span style="font-style: italic;">Vegetarian Epicure</span> cookbooks? This came from <span style="font-style: italic;">The New Vegetarian Epicure</span>, which is everything her earlier books weren't. While I imagine those books were revolutionary for their time, they still sort of always feel a little unbalanced - basically just menus and dishes that had once centered around meat, with the meat ommitted. Her new book, arranged by seasonal menus, completely overcomes this deficiency.)<br /><br />Bart and I had planned to cook together (and in fact Bart supplied at least half the ingredients) but then the Evil Ornament Factory in the Suburbs kept Bart from me much longer than either of us appreciated, so when Bart arrived, vegetables in tow, I got nervous that we wouldn't eat until midnight and thus unhospitably put everyone to work.<br /><br />It actually worked out very well, though; I couldn't have done all that vegetable prep nearly so quickly on my own (nor as cheerfully if Emilie hadn't been feeding me a constant supply of cheese). All our good-natured guests were more than happy to gather round the cheese plate, grab a knive and help Bart and me slice and trim the vegetables.<br /><br />Later, Emilie and I agreed that this was a meal of "vegetables that taste like vegetables," very simply prepared to bring out the truest, most vegetable-y flavor of each dish. As we were passing around the polenta, the olives, and our bounty of roasted vegetables, I was happy to see that Bart had arranged his tiny tastes on his plate in perfect, deliberate and seperate little mounds, unlike the rest of us who had so haphazardly allowed the kale to touch the fennel to touch the apples to touch the mushrooms. It was an aesthetic take, I think, on vegetables that taste like vegetables.<br /><br />We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>? It was a perfect winter meal.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Menu:<br />Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper<br />Squash Roasted with Apples<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion<br />Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms<br />Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">For the Polenta:</span><br />1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal<br />4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)<br />1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)<br />3 tbs. butter<br />Salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />Method:<br />About 3 or 4 hours before you'd like to serve dinner, bring broth to a rolling boil in a deep, heavy saucepan. Wisk in polenta and lower heat, being careful not to get splattered by the wonderful glopping ooze that is hot polenta. You'll continue wisking (some would say "constantly" but I would say "quite frequently") for the next 35 to 40 minutes, or until a wooden spoon stands upright in the center of the pot without its training wheels (or your hand).<br /><br />Stir in the butter, cheese, and a generous grinding of fresh black pepper until well-combined. Spread in a lightly buttered 9 x 13 baking dish and chill until firm, at least 2 hours (if you needed to speed the process along, you could pop the polenta in the freezer at this point, but you'll still need to let it sit for a while). You'll have to read through to the end if you want to know how to grill it!<br /><br />Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>Bart with his vegetables?<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">For the Various Roasted Vegetables:<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The rest of your preparation will progress quite nicely at this point. You'll preheat your oven to 400 degrees, putting one rack closer to the bottom and one rack in the middle of your oven. The different kinds of vegetables all cook at the same temperature, but for different amounts of time. The squash and apples take the longest, so you'll roast them first; 10 minutes later you'll add the garlic, and so forth. The mushrooms will go in last roasting for about 30 minutes, giving you plenty of time to prepare your kale and begin grilling your polenta.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Squash Roasted with Apples:<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1 small butternut squash<br />Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash<br />A liberal splish of olive oil<br />A liberal splash of crushed red pepper<br />Juice of half a lemon<br />Salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />Method:<br />Quarter and core your apples, and then cut each quarter into halves or thirds, depending on the size of your apple; the slices should be at least an inch thick at their widest point. Toss in a large bowl with lemon juice.<br /><br />Peel and slice the squash into pieces roughly equivalent to your apple slices (so that all roasts evenly). Toss with the remaining ingredients, combine with the apples, and then spread on a baking sheet.<br /><br />Roast on the lower rack of your oven for 45-60 minutes, letting all sit very still. After a while, the lemon juice and the juice from the apples will melt together, creating a glimmering, unexpected glaze.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">3 heads of garlic<br />3 branches of rosemary<br />Genorous swish of olive oil<br /><br />Method:<br />Chop the top inch or so off of each garlic head, so that the naked top of each clove is exposed, tee hee. Peel the outer layer of papery skin off the head, leaving just enough to keep the cloves attached to one another. Arrange the heads in a garlic roaster, a small casserole with a lid, or a large square of foil (foil works, but you'll want to make sure to at least double or triple wrap your little garlic parcel, lest garlic juice leak out all over you oven). Tuck sprigs of rosemary in between the cloves, and between the heads of garlic, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover or wrap.<br /><br />Begin roasting on the upper rack of your 400 degree oven about 10 minutes after you've begun the squash. The garlic will go 35-50 minutes, and is done when the cloves are deeply golden and soft. You can serve the garlic just like that, accompanied by a small knife to scoop the cloves out.<br /></span><br />Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">One small fennel bulb<br />One small red onion<br />Olive oil, salt and pepper<br /><br />Method:<br />Cut the stems off the top of the fennel bulb and peel of tough outer leaves. Quarter the bulb and then cut out the core and tough bottom of the bulb, and cut each quarter into thirds. Quarter your onion, then cut it into thirds, so that it is cut approximately the size of your fennel pieces. <br /><br />Toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, and spread in a low-rimmed 9 inch pie pan. Roast on the middle rack of your oven about 15 minutes after you've begun your squash; it'll take about 30-45 minutes. More than anything else, you'll need to keep an eye on this dish (the rest are so carefree); you want the fennel and onion to brown but not burn, and you'll need to turn it occasionally to make sure it carmelizes evenly.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off<br />1 shallot, chopped<br />1 tsp dried sage<br />1 tsp dried thyme<br />olive oil, salt, pepper<br /><br />Method:<br />Toss all in a large roasting pan and bake, on the lowest rack of your oven about 20 minutes after you've begun your squash; they'll take 25-40 minutes to roast. Depending on how fresh your mushrooms are, they might quickly dry out OR emit a lot of juice; if they look too dry, you could add a dash more olive oil; if they look to moist, just pour off a little of the juice. The mushrooms are done when they are nicely crinkled on the outsides, but still juicy looking.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this <a href="http://chefyumyum.blogspot.com/2006_10_01_archive.html">here</a>)<br />1 very large shallot, chopped<br />1 tbs olive oil<br />1 tbs brown mustard seeds<br />1 tbs cumin seeds<br />1 tsp turmeric<br />a dash of cayenne pepper<br />the juice of 1/2 lemon<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />Method:<br />In a large, heavy skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallot and saute until soft and beginning to brown. Add the mustard and cumin, and stir until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the kale and sautee breifly, salt generously and then cover with a lid. If your kale was still quite wet from washing, you'll be fine to let all steam gently (stirring occasionally) for the next 10-15 minutes, or until tender. If your kale is more dry, add a touch of water at this point (you don't need much).<br /><br />When the kale is tender, finish off with the turmeric, cayenne and lemon. It's best to serve hot, so you can keep this covered, with the heat off, until you're ready to serve.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 102);">To grill the polenta<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">As you're finishing up your kale, heat a well-seasoned cast iron grill pan over high heat; brush with a bit of olive oil. Your vegetables should be done now; turn off the oven and crack it open for a minute so as it cools a bit, but leave the vegetables in there. Make room for an oven-safe serving platter in the oven and shut the door.<br /><br />Cut the firm polenta into dinner-sized squares, let's say 3 x 3 squares, or whatever you think will look the nicest. Cooking four pieces of polenta at a time, grill each side of the polenta until dark, delicious grill marks appear. Transfer grilled polenta to the warming platter in the oven and continue until all polenta is grilled.<br /><br />You could serve all the vegetables on an enormous platter in the center of the table, or you could do what we did, passing bowls of the different flavors for each person to grab a taste. I think this is a bit more enchanting.<br /></span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></div></div>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-1163563699348077412006-11-14T20:33:00.000-06:002006-12-04T22:18:38.112-06:00One Squash, Two Meals - or - This One's for the Grad StudentsI have a theory. If you are a busy graduate student of fine tastes, and who also enjoys cooking (Michelle, Lauren, Natalie, Mark) I believe you might want to pass a leisurely Saturday or Sunday afternoon cooking something delicious. But you're so busy! You'll need that something to last you a while. Such, I will argue, is the dilemma of graduate students.<br /><br />Let's test this out.<br /><br />I have run a small case study that focuses on a single graduate student at the University of Chicago; however, I believe attention to this particular case will serve to illuminate similar patterns evident in graduate students around the country. Prelimenary research of students at Duke and Stanford leads me to believe that such patterns can easily be uncovered elsewhere.<br /><br />Point one of the case study begins on Saturday, November 11, 2006, when the University of Chicago graduate student made a large and awe-inspiring pot of soup (of which I was lucky to partake).<br /><br />The following Sunday night, said grad student <span style="font-style: italic;">again</span> ate this soup (and I invited myself over for seconds). I couldn't help but notice that she had stored the remainder of her soup in small, individual serving size portions, indicating her desire to sustain herself - tastefully and tastily - over the coming days.<br /><br />Let's turn to some textual evidence to see how the soup played out over the course of the week. I refer to an email correspondence dated (today) November 14, 2006:<br /><br />first:<br />"I am eating the last of the <span id="st" name="st" class="st">soup</span>!!!!!"<br /><br />and a few minutes later:<br />"I just finished <span id="st" name="st" class="st">soup</span>, and I miss it already..."<br /><br />Now, as mentioned above, this was an exceptional soup, prone to aging well, only growing in complexity, vibrance and deliciousness as the days passed (unlike so many unfortunate vats of kimchee). But what to do when that Large Pot of Sunday Afternoon Leisure doesn't fare so well when microwaved on Day Three? Or conversely, what to do with the graduate student of fine tastes, but a palate of short attention span? The key is for your starting point to be simple enough to become something else. For example, I recently made White Beans with Rosemary from Peter Berley's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen</span>. Delicious the first day straight out of the oven, they later became a panko-crusted gratin and then a thick, creamy soup. And not a bored taste bud in sight!<br /><br />I turn then, to my recent adventures with Red Kuri Squash. I'm quite proud of *both* of Kuri's incarnations, I hope you'll have a chance to try them out (for the record, does anyone ever try out any of my recipes?).<br /><br />Other people these recipes could be useful for:<br />(1) employees of interfaith organizations<br />(2) employees of interfaith organizations who are also graduate students, but in denial about the latter (you know who you are)<br />(3) former employees of interfaith organizations now looking to go back to graduate school<br />(4) potential graduate students of 19th century Russian literature (you know who you are)<br /><br />I believe that exhausts my readership. One squash, two meals - what could be better?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Meal One: Roasted Red Kuri Squash with Maple Ancho Mole</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Red Kuri is a very, very special squash. Bright red-orange on the outside, bright yellow-orange on the inside, it is really one of the most beautiful vegetables I've ever seen. The flesh itself is incredibly rich and creamy and with no stringiness at all (as I feel accorn and butternut are sometimes prone to). </span><br /><br />for the squash:<br />1 large red kuri squash, about 2 1/2 lbs.<br />olive oil<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />for the mole:<br />two ancho chiles, stem and seeds removed and torn into small pieces<br />the juice of one lime<br />1/4 cup olive oil (or more, as necessary)<br />4 tbs. maple syrup<br />1 clove of garlic<br />salt to taste<br /><br />Soak the chiles in enough boiling water to cover them by an inch for 30 minutes.<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 450, and place oven racks in the top and bottom third of the oven. Halve the squash lenthwise; trim ends and discard seeds. Cut each half into 1 to 1 1/2 inch wide wedges. In a large bowl, drizzle squash lightly with olive oil and sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Toss gently.<br /><br />In two large roasting pans, arrange squash with one cut side down. Don't crowd the squash! They'll roast much more nicely if they have a bit of room.<br /><br />Put one pan on the top shelf and one on the bottom. After 20 minutes, remove pans and brush the top side of each squash half with a light coat of olive oil. Switch oven positions and continue roasting for 15-25 minutes, or until the squash are very tender.<br /><br />Meanwhile, drain the chiles, and rinse lightly. In a blender combine the chiles with all remaining mole ingredients (does anyone know what makes a mole a mole? I certainly don't, but this "sauce" seems to have the general texture of a mole, so why not?). Puree until very smooth, and add a bit more olive oil if it seems too dry.<br /><br />When you are ready to remove the squash from the pans, use a steady hand and a sturdy spatula to keep the golden crusty goodness that will have formed on the bottom sides of the squash attached to the squash. This is a bit tricky, as the squash is quite soft, but I promise the effort is worth it. Arrange the squash however you like, with a generous drizzle of mole.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">Meal Two: Roasted Kuri Squash Soup with Ancho and Maple<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">(get it? same basic flavors. fabulously different form. tastebuds rejoice!)</span><br /><br />4 wedges roasted kuri squash, peeled and cubed<br />3 tbs. ancho maple mole<br />2 tbs. olive oil<br />1 shallot, finely chopped<br />1 cup vegetable broth<br /><br />In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add shallot and saute until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.<br /><br />Lower the heat to medium and add mole, stirring until fragrant and saucy, about 2 minutes. Deglaze with vegetable broth and then bring to a simmer.<br /><br />Add squash to broth and simmer until squash is warmed through and broth is reduced a bit. Puree soup in batches in a blender or with a hand immersion blender.<br /><br /><br />(If you think pureed soup tastes like baby food, just remember how you used to turn up your nose at parsley. And now look at yourself. That's right.)chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-1162270255393927572006-10-30T22:01:00.000-06:002006-12-04T21:57:42.750-06:00Kale, elegantly.Kale is a bit of an iguana, as far as vegetables go. My boss tells a story of his earlier, less well-groomed days, when he lived in a large co-op that he founded on the city's northside. As I imagine is often the case for co-ops of the activist/musician/vegan sort, this co-op had a large pet iguana. Not at all surprising, one day the activists/musicians/vegans let the iguana out of its cage for a little vacation.<br /><br />When it was time to get the iguana <span style="font-style: italic;">back into its cage</span>, so the story goes, the activists/musicians/vegans all gathered round and stared at the iguana. Iguana, holding his ground, stood in the middle of activists/musicians/vegans, and stared right back. And as my boss says, "And you know the thing about an iguana? <span style="font-style: italic;">You can't tell what it's thinking</span>." And so the a/m/v stare, and the iguana stares, and the only thing anyone's sure about is that the iguana is not going back into it's cage any time too soon.<br /><br />In the same way, I'm not always sure what Kale is thinking. For a long time, I knew how to cook Kale only one way: with lemon, tomato and indian spices, the way Umnia taught me. In this way, Kale seems a pleasant accompaniment to a hearty plate of orange-scented black beans, or maybe some toasty pintos. I arrange these two on the plate together, and they look compatible enough, if not a bit mundane. But I can't help but wonder - does Kale feel satisfied with this hearty paring, does Kale feel Kale's full potential met? Or, as I suspect, does Kale, that sly iguana, hold something much more magnificent for that brave and daring cook?<br /><br />My suspicions were confirmed when I spent some time at the Palo Alto Farmer's market with Mark a few weeks ago. Surely pulled from the ground but a few seconds before it reached my hands, this was by far the finest - if not most elegant! - Kale I had ever laid my eyes on. Coupled with two immaculate heirloom tomatoes (one green and yellow stripes, one a marbled purple and red), Kale is transformed, a four-foot naughty lizard no more.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">The easiest way to prepare Kale is to fold the leaves in half along the tough middle rib. Drag the tip of a sharp knife along the rib from the bottom to the top of the leaf, being sure to get the tiny young leaves at the base of each stem. Discard the rib; you'll now have two long strips of Kale (and some tiny tender baby Kale leaves) to coarsely chop. When you clean the Kale, don't bother to spin it or dry it thoroughly, as you'll use the water on its leaves to steam it as it cooks. </span></span><br /><br />3 tablespoons olive oil<br />2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced<br />1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar<br />2 cloves of garlic, minced<br />1 teaspoon dried oregano<br />1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped<br />2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped<br />juice of 1/2 lemon<br />1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil<br />salt and pepper to taste<br /><br />In a large pan over medium-low heat, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add onions and balsamic vinegar and cook slowly and stirring occasionally until onions turn a deep brown and carmelize, about 25-30 minutes. Remove onions from pan and set aside.<br /><br />In the same pan, heat remaining tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and oregano and stir until just fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the Kale and season generously with salt and pepper, then cover to steam the Kale, stirring occasionally; the water from the Kale leaves should work to deglaze all that carmelized goodness, but add a bit more water if it seems necessary. When the Kale is crisp tender (really, this depends on the Kale - the Kale from the farmer's market cooked miraculously fast), 5-15 minutes, stir in tomatoes and onions to just heat through. Remove from heat and toss with lemon juice and basil.<br /><br />Serve, illuminated by brilliant chandelier light on a platter crafted of diamonds, rose petals and caviar, while strands of your own private string quartet waft through the crisp late summer air. It's just that elegant.<br /><br />(Or serve in Mark's tiny one room apartment with the gnocchi that I sort of burned, accompanied by a glass of cheap white wine in a tumbler. But whatever.)chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-1162149091022130462006-10-29T12:57:00.000-06:002006-12-04T21:50:23.247-06:00A post in two parts. Part two:I'm sorry, good readers, for keeping you in suspense for so long. Much longer, I know, than even the <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 51); font-weight: bold;">Moroccan Preserved Lemons</span> kept <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> in suspense.<br /><br />My first foray into cooking with the MPL (a riff on the chicken with green olives and preserved lemons from the Yellow Book, but with tempeh) proved less than satisfying, although I maintain that this was the fault of the tempeh and <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> the lemons. I think the flavors could be just right for a fall vegetable stew, squash and sweet potatoes, maybe with chickpeas or lentils. And what about a touch of capers? Unfortunately, Chef Yum Yum has been globe-trotting too much over the past few weeks to settle down with MPL for a second date, and I was beginning to feel guilty, knowing that you have all been checking daily - if not hourly, no minute-ly! - for part two. Thank you all for your loyalty, perseverance and above all hope, and I apologize for my delinquency.<br /><br />And I will say this - there is perhaps nothing I've yet experience in the kitchen that is more satisfying than pulling the preserved pulp from the preserved rind. Really. Preserve your own and find out...!chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32362168.post-1159759318047043672006-10-01T22:15:00.000-05:002006-12-04T21:50:53.563-06:00A post in two parts. Part one:I'm making <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-weight: bold;">Moroccan Preserved Lemons</span>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/102747">Oh the suspense!</a>chef yum yumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350509266986397825noreply@blogger.com2