I'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.
Enough with the hemming and hawing. I'll just say it - I love eating with you, NATALIE CARNES!
Natalie is the only person I know who always wants to eat the exact same things I want to eat. When we go to our favorite restaurant, 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).
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.
Given this concurrent dreaming, we chose the logical next step:
We decided to make mole, from scratch.
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.
Kale and Mushroom Enchiladas with Mole Poblano
The mole recipe is adapted from Anna Thomas' The New Vegetarian Epicure, but the meal is all Natalie and Cassie.
For the mole:
7 dried ancho chiles
7 dried pasilla or mild chiles
3 chipotle chiles in adobo
3-4 cups vegetable broth
2 cups chopped tomatoes with juice (we used canned, because the fresh tomatoes were looking miserable)
2 large onions, peeled and quartered
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
salt to taste
1 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1 1/2 tsp anise seeds
4 tbs sesame seeds, lightly toasted
1 1/2 cup blanched almonds
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 cup apple juice, maybe a bit more
3.5 oz unsweetened very fine chocolate - no skimping! - coarsely chopped
For the enchiladas:
2 tbs olive oil
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1 large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped
12 oz cremini mushrooms, sliced
2 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp mexican oregano
1 tsp ground coriander
just a dash of red pepper flakes, Natalie!
1/2 cup slivered sundried tomatoes (we used smoked tomatoes)
12 oz chiuaua cheese, grated
18 fresh corn tortillas
chopped fresh cilantro and toasted sesame seeds for garnish
Prepare the mole:
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.
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.
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.
Prepare the filling:
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.
Fill the enchiladas:
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.
Drizzle the enchiladas with a bit more mole, and garnish with cilantro and sesame seeds.
3.13.2007
Cassie vs. the Winter, and how the Bananas saved Everything.
Winter, I’m tired of you.
The winter had stolen my appetite. I’d flipped, half-heartedly through my recent issue of Bon Appetit, the Greens’ Cookbook who’s spine I’d barely cracked. I’d even broken open CT's Vegetables, hoping that maybe the audacity of his recipes might inspire me.
Nothing.
Instead of appetite, I felt only apathy. Is it snowing, again?
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...
But in these bananas - is it possible, dare I hope? - that I might find rebirth?
Black Tea-Scented Banana Bread
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. But this time it worked! Three cheers for the bananas!
The base for this bread is based on a recipe from Bon Appetit.
1/4 cup sour cream
1 tsp. baking soda
1 stick of butter at room temperature
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
3 very ripe bananas, mashed to smithereens
2 cups unbleached flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tbs. black tea leaves, gently crushed
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground cardamom
1 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
a dash of freshly ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup slivered almonds
Method:
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 electric mixer) 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.
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.
The winter had stolen my appetite. I’d flipped, half-heartedly through my recent issue of Bon Appetit, the Greens’ Cookbook who’s spine I’d barely cracked. I’d even broken open CT's Vegetables, hoping that maybe the audacity of his recipes might inspire me.
Nothing.
Instead of appetite, I felt only apathy. Is it snowing, again?
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...
But in these bananas - is it possible, dare I hope? - that I might find rebirth?
Black Tea-Scented Banana Bread
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. But this time it worked! Three cheers for the bananas!
The base for this bread is based on a recipe from Bon Appetit.
1/4 cup sour cream
1 tsp. baking soda
1 stick of butter at room temperature
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
3 very ripe bananas, mashed to smithereens
2 cups unbleached flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tbs. black tea leaves, gently crushed
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. ground cardamom
1 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
a dash of freshly ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup slivered almonds
Method:
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 electric mixer) 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.
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.
2.25.2007
The 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 Provenance where I found two seminal cheeses: the first an immaculate handmade double-cream cheese that is about the freshest cheese I've ever tasted, and the second an eight year old gouda that is so tart and rich and full that the tiniest bite got the best of me.
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 my excellent albeit overpriced crackers - 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 this is what happens when one ages a cheese for Eight Whole Years!
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!
Spaghetti squash with caramelized onions and the very old cheese
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.
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.
One small spaghetti squash, halved and seeded
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
2 bay leaves
Olive oil, pepper and salt
2 tbs of olive oil
1 tbs of butter
5 small sweet yellow onions, halved through the poles and thinly sliced
1 scant teaspoon of sugar
8 sun dried tomatoes (not packed in oil), thinly sliced
1/4 cup dry vermouth
1/4 cup grated very old cheese (for example, an eight year old gouda)
1/4 cup grated parmigiano reggiano
1/2 cup roasted salted pecan halves
Roast the squash:
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.
Caramelize the onions:
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.
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.
Assemble the meal:
Toss together the squash, onions and cheese until well blended. Season to taste with pepper and salt, and top each serving with the pecans.
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 my excellent albeit overpriced crackers - 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 this is what happens when one ages a cheese for Eight Whole Years!
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!
Spaghetti squash with caramelized onions and the very old cheese
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.
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.
One small spaghetti squash, halved and seeded
4 cloves of garlic, peeled
2 bay leaves
Olive oil, pepper and salt
2 tbs of olive oil
1 tbs of butter
5 small sweet yellow onions, halved through the poles and thinly sliced
1 scant teaspoon of sugar
8 sun dried tomatoes (not packed in oil), thinly sliced
1/4 cup dry vermouth
1/4 cup grated very old cheese (for example, an eight year old gouda)
1/4 cup grated parmigiano reggiano
1/2 cup roasted salted pecan halves
Roast the squash:
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.
Caramelize the onions:
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.
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.
Assemble the meal:
Toss together the squash, onions and cheese until well blended. Season to taste with pepper and salt, and top each serving with the pecans.
2.12.2007
Stop Kissing Me, I Just Want to Blog.
My friend Peter has a really fabulous idea for a blog. He has drafted
several posts. He has even secured a few guest columnists who are
excited to be a part of his new project. When Peter finally
starts this blog, I will link to it on the right hand side of this
page, so you can see how awesome it is, too.
Why hasn't Peter actually started his blog?
"Well," Peter explains, avoiding my piercing stare, "I'm just so busy
this quarter, I've got a lot of homework, I have to read all this
Zizek..."
"And," he adds, "Now I have this relationship that takes up all my time..."
Which is totally the most awesome excuse for not blogging ever. I'm
sure every day Peter's new girlfriend wants to hang while Peter
protests, "But I was just about to start my blog! Stop kissing me! I
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.
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 boss, who is one of the busiest people I know.
And he still manages to blog, Peter.
Shaved Pear, Fennel and Mushroom Salad with Preserved Lemons
I got a mandoline! I got an amazing deal on it (originally $150 - I payed $5!)! I forgot about my mandoline until Fancy Toast wrote about her mandoline! I'm glad I remembered my mandoline! Also, Megan took this picture - thank you Megan!
3 very small pears, preferably three different varieties
about 12 cremini mushrooms, washed and thoroughly dried
1 fennel bulb, cored and cut in half
1 lemon
olive oil
pepper and salt
1/4 cup or so italian parsley leaves
1/4 of a preserved lemon rind, julienned
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.
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.
several posts. He has even secured a few guest columnists who are
excited to be a part of his new project. When Peter finally
starts this blog, I will link to it on the right hand side of this
page, so you can see how awesome it is, too.
Why hasn't Peter actually started his blog?
"Well," Peter explains, avoiding my piercing stare, "I'm just so busy
this quarter, I've got a lot of homework, I have to read all this
Zizek..."
"And," he adds, "Now I have this relationship that takes up all my time..."
Which is totally the most awesome excuse for not blogging ever. I'm
sure every day Peter's new girlfriend wants to hang while Peter
protests, "But I was just about to start my blog! Stop kissing me! I
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.
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 boss, who is one of the busiest people I know.
And he still manages to blog, Peter.
Shaved Pear, Fennel and Mushroom Salad with Preserved Lemons
I got a mandoline! I got an amazing deal on it (originally $150 - I payed $5!)! I forgot about my mandoline until Fancy Toast wrote about her mandoline! I'm glad I remembered my mandoline! Also, Megan took this picture - thank you Megan!
3 very small pears, preferably three different varieties
about 12 cremini mushrooms, washed and thoroughly dried
1 fennel bulb, cored and cut in half
1 lemon
olive oil
pepper and salt
1/4 cup or so italian parsley leaves
1/4 of a preserved lemon rind, julienned
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.
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.
1.29.2007
In 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.
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..."
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?
It seems fitting, then, that my granola be a variation on Bittman's, published in The New York Times 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.
(As an aside: I loved [unsurprisingly] Michael Pollan's cover article in this week's NYT Magazine. Check it out if you haven't already.)
Ginger Almond Cashew Granola
3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup unsalted cashews, raw or roasted
3/4 cup grade b pure maple syrup
1/3 cup canola or other neutral oil (optional)
dash of salt
sprinkling of good-quality garam masala (optional)
1/3 cup diced crystallized ginger
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.
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.
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..."
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?
It seems fitting, then, that my granola be a variation on Bittman's, published in The New York Times 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.
(As an aside: I loved [unsurprisingly] Michael Pollan's cover article in this week's NYT Magazine. Check it out if you haven't already.)
Ginger Almond Cashew Granola
3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup unsalted cashews, raw or roasted
3/4 cup grade b pure maple syrup
1/3 cup canola or other neutral oil (optional)
dash of salt
sprinkling of good-quality garam masala (optional)
1/3 cup diced crystallized ginger
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.
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.
1.22.2007
Two post-fondue recovery ideas:
Idea Number One:
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.
Now dinner's over, bellies are full and rounded, plates are cleared, when you discover in your living room another 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.
But croutons, oh making croutons, right now that seems like so much work. You thoughtfully pat your very full belly.
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.
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!
(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.)
Idea Number Two:
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 inside the sun. It's worth every hour of the wait, I promise.
Fusilli with Slow Roasted Tomatoes and Preserved Lemons
Ingredients
2 pints grape tomatoes, halved
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
3 tbs. olive oil
pepper and salt, to taste
1 lb fusilli
1 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, thinly sliced
1 pint cremini mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup vermouth
5 slices of preserved lemon rind, 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.)
1/2 c. grated parmigiano reggiano
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.
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and cook pasta. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water.
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.
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.
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.
Now dinner's over, bellies are full and rounded, plates are cleared, when you discover in your living room another 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.
But croutons, oh making croutons, right now that seems like so much work. You thoughtfully pat your very full belly.
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.
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!
(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.)
Idea Number Two:
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 inside the sun. It's worth every hour of the wait, I promise.
Fusilli with Slow Roasted Tomatoes and Preserved Lemons
Ingredients
2 pints grape tomatoes, halved
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
3 tbs. olive oil
pepper and salt, to taste
1 lb fusilli
1 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, thinly sliced
1 pint cremini mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup vermouth
5 slices of preserved lemon rind, 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.)
1/2 c. grated parmigiano reggiano
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.
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil, and cook pasta. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup cooking water.
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.
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.
1.07.2007
Food like a hug.
It's the sort of day that calls for comfort food.
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.
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!).
Need a hug?
Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini
Oven-roasted tomatoes
For two.
For the oven-roasted tomatoes:
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 the best tomato soup ever; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; tomato butter sauce 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!
4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
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.
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.
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.
For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:
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 The Greens Restaurant in October, so I was quite pleased with the results.
12 oz broccolini
8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 tbs. butter
3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)
2 tbs. chopped italian parsley
2 tbs. olive oil
Dash of crushed red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup mascarpone
1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There, don't you feel better?
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.
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!).
Need a hug?
Macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini
Oven-roasted tomatoes
For two.
For the oven-roasted tomatoes:
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 the best tomato soup ever; a simple fire-roasted tomato sauce; tomato butter sauce 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!
4 large or 6 smaller on-the-vine tomatoes
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
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.
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.
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.
For the macaroni with mascarpone and broccolini:
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 The Greens Restaurant in October, so I was quite pleased with the results.
12 oz broccolini
8 oz macaroni (I actually used a very thin penne, which was perfect with the delicate length of the broccolini)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed
1/2 tbs. butter
3 tbs. panko (although other breadcrumbs would be great, I'm sure)
2 tbs. chopped italian parsley
2 tbs. olive oil
Dash of crushed red pepper
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup mascarpone
1/2 cup freshly shredded parmigiano reggiano
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There, don't you feel better?
1.01.2007
Everybody wants a little bit of that sweet, sweet rosemary action.
this rosemary was more than happy to sacrifice itself to the syrup.
cornmeal pancakes with rosemary syrup, caramelized pear-date compote, candied rosemaryand rosemary-infused mascarpone.
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 Gourmet 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.
candied rosemary, deftly made right in the rosemary syrup!Mark C. called from Houston mid-pancake flip. Meekly, he intoned,
"Oh. Pancakes. That sounds really special. Is there a plate for me?"
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)!
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!
this is no ordinary mascarpone - she has cleverly infused herself with rosemary syrup.Cornmeal pancakes with rosemary syrup, caramelized pear-date compote and rosemary-infused mascarpone
Ingredients:
for the rosemary syrup, candied rosemary and rosemary-infused mascarpone
1 c. water
1/2 c. sugar
8 branches of rosemary
About 1 c. bakers sugar, for candying
8 oz. mascarpone
for the pear-date compote
2 red pears, peeled, cored and chopped into 1/2 inch pieces
1 comice pear, peeled, cored and chopped into 1/2 inch pieces
4 tbs butter
3 tbs sugar reserved from the candied rosemary
freshly ground nutmeg
1 sprig fresh rosemary
1/4 cup deglazing liquid: apple or pear hard cider; apple or pear cider; a sweet white wine; apple juice, etc.
8 dates, quartered length-wise
for the cornmeal pancakes
(this pancake recipe is adapted from Bon Appetit)
1 c. + 2 tbs unbleached, all-purpose flour
1/3 c. fine yellow cornmeal
2 tbs sugar reserved from the candied rosemary
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
2 large eggs
1 c. creme fraiche, sour cream or whole milk yogurt
1 c. whole milk
1/4 cup vegetable oil
Make the rosemary syrup, et. al.: 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.
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.
Allow the rosemary syrup to cool slightly, and then whip two tablespoons into the mascarpone with a fork. Refrigerate mascarpone until ready to serve.
Make the pear compote: 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 Tarte Tatin. 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.
Make the pancakes:
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.
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.
Assemble the plates:
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.
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.12.25.2006
They do rock, CT.
When I was home at Thanksgiving, I noticed a gently used copy of Charlie Trotter's Vegetables 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.
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:
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:
What More Needs to be said?
VEGETABLES ROCK!!!!
VEGETABLES ROCK!!!!
-Charlie Trotter
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.
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....
(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.)
12.21.2006
Across an internet connection as viscous as molasses, I bring you the most perfect soup!
My parents have the slowest internet connection ever. EVER.
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.
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!
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.)
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.
So take note and yum yum:
Ingredients:
1 enormous sweet yellow onion, about half the size of your head, or 4 large sweet yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1 stick of butter
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.)
1 cup dry white wine
Black pepper, to taste
4 thick slices of french baguette
1 cup shredded gruyere or emmanthaler
special equipment: 4 oven-proof soup bowls
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.
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!
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.
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.
Serve, with a toast to grandma!
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.
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!
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.)
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.
So take note and yum yum:
Meyer Family French Onion Soup
Ingredients:
1 enormous sweet yellow onion, about half the size of your head, or 4 large sweet yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1 stick of butter
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.)
1 cup dry white wine
Black pepper, to taste
4 thick slices of french baguette
1 cup shredded gruyere or emmanthaler
special equipment: 4 oven-proof soup bowls
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.
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!
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.
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.
Serve, with a toast to grandma!
12.13.2006
I promised I'd make them scones!
ever peacefully does the granola drift through the calm sea of whole milk yogurtI'm a "professor"!
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!
Naturally, I baked breakfast goodies for my students for our last day of class. Because one thing people of all faiths share is eating. Even those nutty ascetics eat, even if it is just locusts and honey.
(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.)
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. A lot. And I am pretty sure this banana bread is the best thing I've eaten in all of 2006."
Chef Yum Yum know who's getting an A!
(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 Lavender-Scented Banana Bread, 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.)
12.04.2006
A Menu of Tiny Tastes
I 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 Provenance, 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.
(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier Vegetarian Epicure cookbooks? This came from The New Vegetarian Epicure, 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.)
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.
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.
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.
We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know? It was a perfect winter meal.
(As a side note: maybe many of you are more familiar with Anna Thomas' earlier Vegetarian Epicure cookbooks? This came from The New Vegetarian Epicure, 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.)
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.
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.
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.
We also served Mulled Wine, which many of our ungracious guests (not Bart) did not like, but what do they know? It was a perfect winter meal.
Menu:
Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper
Squash Roasted with Apples
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
Grilled Buckwheat Polenta with Emmenthaler and Black Pepper
Squash Roasted with Apples
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
For the Polenta:
1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal
4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)
1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)
3 tbs. butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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).
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!
Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where is Bart with his vegetables?
For the Various Roasted Vegetables:
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.
Squash Roasted with Apples:
1 small butternut squash
Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash
A liberal splish of olive oil
A liberal splash of crushed red pepper
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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.
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.
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.
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
3 heads of garlic
3 branches of rosemary
Genorous swish of olive oil
Method:
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.
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.
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
One small fennel bulb
One small red onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper
Method:
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.
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.
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off
1 shallot, chopped
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
olive oil, salt, pepper
Method:
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.
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this here)
1 very large shallot, chopped
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs brown mustard seeds
1 tbs cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric
a dash of cayenne pepper
the juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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).
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.
To grill the polenta
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.
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.
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.
1 1/4 heaping cups buckwheat or plain polenta or stone-milled corn meal
4 cups vegetable broth, or water (you'll need more salt if you add water)
1 generous cup shredded Emmenthaler (Gruyere could be a substitute)
3 tbs. butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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).
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!
Now quickly dress your Christmas tree and then hop in the shower - your guests will be here soon! Where is Bart with his vegetables?
For the Various Roasted Vegetables:
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.
Squash Roasted with Apples:
1 small butternut squash
Enough apples to equal the weight of your small butternut squash
A liberal splish of olive oil
A liberal splash of crushed red pepper
Juice of half a lemon
Salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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.
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.
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.
Roasted Garlic with Rosemary and Olive Oil
3 heads of garlic
3 branches of rosemary
Genorous swish of olive oil
Method:
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.
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.
Carmelized Fennel and Red Onion
One small fennel bulb
One small red onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper
Method:
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.
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.
Thyme-Roasted Mushrooms
16 oz cremini mushrooms, cleaned and dry parts of stems chopped off
1 shallot, chopped
1 tsp dried sage
1 tsp dried thyme
olive oil, salt, pepper
Method:
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.
Kale Sauteed with Mustard and Cumin
One large bunch of kale, tough ribs removed and coarsely chopped (see my tips for doing this here)
1 very large shallot, chopped
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs brown mustard seeds
1 tbs cumin seeds
1 tsp turmeric
a dash of cayenne pepper
the juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper to taste
Method:
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).
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.
To grill the polenta
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.
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.
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.
11.14.2006
One Squash, Two Meals - or - This One's for the Grad Students
I 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.
Let's test this out.
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.
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).
The following Sunday night, said grad student again 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.
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:
first:
"I am eating the last of the soup!!!!!"
and a few minutes later:
"I just finished soup, and I miss it already..."
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 The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen. 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!
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?).
Other people these recipes could be useful for:
(1) employees of interfaith organizations
(2) employees of interfaith organizations who are also graduate students, but in denial about the latter (you know who you are)
(3) former employees of interfaith organizations now looking to go back to graduate school
(4) potential graduate students of 19th century Russian literature (you know who you are)
I believe that exhausts my readership. One squash, two meals - what could be better?
Meal One: Roasted Red Kuri Squash with Maple Ancho Mole
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).
for the squash:
1 large red kuri squash, about 2 1/2 lbs.
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
for the mole:
two ancho chiles, stem and seeds removed and torn into small pieces
the juice of one lime
1/4 cup olive oil (or more, as necessary)
4 tbs. maple syrup
1 clove of garlic
salt to taste
Soak the chiles in enough boiling water to cover them by an inch for 30 minutes.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Meal Two: Roasted Kuri Squash Soup with Ancho and Maple
(get it? same basic flavors. fabulously different form. tastebuds rejoice!)
4 wedges roasted kuri squash, peeled and cubed
3 tbs. ancho maple mole
2 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 cup vegetable broth
In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add shallot and saute until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.
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.
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.
(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.)
Let's test this out.
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.
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).
The following Sunday night, said grad student again 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.
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:
first:
"I am eating the last of the soup!!!!!"
and a few minutes later:
"I just finished soup, and I miss it already..."
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 The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen. 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!
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?).
Other people these recipes could be useful for:
(1) employees of interfaith organizations
(2) employees of interfaith organizations who are also graduate students, but in denial about the latter (you know who you are)
(3) former employees of interfaith organizations now looking to go back to graduate school
(4) potential graduate students of 19th century Russian literature (you know who you are)
I believe that exhausts my readership. One squash, two meals - what could be better?
Meal One: Roasted Red Kuri Squash with Maple Ancho Mole
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).
for the squash:
1 large red kuri squash, about 2 1/2 lbs.
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
for the mole:
two ancho chiles, stem and seeds removed and torn into small pieces
the juice of one lime
1/4 cup olive oil (or more, as necessary)
4 tbs. maple syrup
1 clove of garlic
salt to taste
Soak the chiles in enough boiling water to cover them by an inch for 30 minutes.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Meal Two: Roasted Kuri Squash Soup with Ancho and Maple
(get it? same basic flavors. fabulously different form. tastebuds rejoice!)
4 wedges roasted kuri squash, peeled and cubed
3 tbs. ancho maple mole
2 tbs. olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 cup vegetable broth
In a small saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add shallot and saute until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.
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.
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.
(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.)
10.30.2006
Kale, 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.
When it was time to get the iguana back into its cage, 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? You can't tell what it's thinking." 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.
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?
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.
Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions
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.
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped
2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
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.
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.
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.
(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.)
When it was time to get the iguana back into its cage, 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? You can't tell what it's thinking." 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.
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?
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.
Elegant kale with heirloom tomatoes and carmelized onions
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.
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 small yellow onions, very thinly sliced
1/2 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 large head of Kale, coarsely chopped
2 heirloom tomatoes (different colors), seeds removed and coarsely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
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.
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.
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.
(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.)
10.29.2006
A 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 Moroccan Preserved Lemons kept me in suspense.
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 not 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.
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...!
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 not 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.
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...!
10.01.2006
9.28.2006
In the end, my salad is a metaphor for interfaith cooperation.
I made dinner for Cecelia!
I wanted to make her something so special because Cecelia is so cool and I want her to think I'm so cool too. Yeah! So I spent all day thinking about what things Cecelia might like to eat.
Here are other food-related things I thought about:
* I have a big bag of apples in my refrigerator! I went apple picking last weekend where Hannah, who is 6 and 3/4 years old, taught me how to perfectly pluck apples off their branches, and I wanted to do Hannah and her wisdom justice.
* I think feta cheese (a very dry crumbly feta) tastes perfect with cilantro. I've been using cilantro as a salad green, lately - a trick I owe to Natalie. I try to chop up so much that it makes me nervous; I think, "Clearly, that's too much cilantro!" and then I toss it with some coarsely chopped greens and some reckless abandon. Dressing these two together (rather than adding the cilantro to the dressing first) keeps the cilantro crisper, and the bounty is never over powering.
* I have food-related outbursts WAY too often. Generally, it's inappropriate to burst out, food-enraptured, about how delicious one's lunch is while everyone else is (a) hard at work and (b) eating leftovers that should have been discarded long, long ago (c) not eating said deliciousness. But now it's Ramadan and COMPLETELY inappropriate for me to have such outbursts, Days of Interfaith Youth Service Program Associate that I am. I try to make up for this by being all, "Wow Jenan, have you ever heard of epicurious.com? They totally have a section on recipes for Ramadan. Isn't that so great?" Actually, Jenan who is also so cool, told me that she spent one entire Ramadan (which happened to fall on Thanksgiving break) at her parents' house watching the Food Network all day long, in order to decide what she would make that night to break fast. Yeah!
Here's the salad I made for Cecelia.
Spiced Grilled Apple and French Lentil Salad
1/2 cup french lentils, washed and picked over
2 large cloves of garlic
1 bay leaf
7 large green leaf lettuce leaves
at least 1 cup of cilantro
1/2 cup dry feta, crumbled
1/4 scant teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 scant teaspoon garam masala
a dash of cayenne pepper
1/8 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large apple, cored and cut into 1/8-inch thick wedges
salt & pepper
oil for grilling the apples
cook the lentils:
in a small pot, cover lentils generously with water; add a sprinkle of sea salt, 1 whole garlic clove and bay leaf. bring to a boil and then simmer 25-40 minutes, until lentils are tender but not falling apart.
meanwhile....
prepare the greens:
wash, spin and coarsely chop lettuce, and then put into a medium sized bowl. follow suit with the cilantro, reserving about 2 tablespoons.
prepare the dressing:
in a small pan over medium heat, toast the cinnamon, garam masala and cayene until just fragrant. mmmm. let cool. in a small bowl, wisk together vinegar, oil, remaining garlic clove (pressed), toasted spices and salt and pepper to taste.
how are your lentils doing? they should be close to done. why not preheat your well-seasoned, cast iron grill pan? how about over medium-high heat?
prepare the apples:
brush one side of each apple slice with a thin coating of olive oil, then sprinkle with sea salt and freshly ground pepper. when the grill pan is hot, place them oil side down on the pan, brushing un-oiled side with oil and sprinkling on some more salt and pepper. grill until dark grill lines apear on the underside and the edges of the apple begin to turn transparent. flip and grill (i'd like to be more precise here, but honestly, i wasn't really watching the clock. i'm not sure how long it takes to grill apple slices).
finish the salad:
while the apples are grilling, remove the garlic clove (which should remain whole; if not, your lentils will be a bit more garlicy, but really it's okay, the garlic is quite mild by now) and the bay leaf from the lentils and drain. toss with reserved cilantro and 2 tablespoons dressing.
toss the greens with the remaining dressing and the crumbled feta (reserving just a touch of the feta). divide greens between two plates, keeping the greens to one side of the plate. on the other half of the plate, arrange half of the grilled apple slices and pile the lentils on top, sprinkling each with a bit of feta.
This way you have two very different salads happily coexisting: one that is crisp and bright and fresh, one that is more muted and warm and soft, but with the shared flavors of the dressing, showing them that they can get along despite their differences. All to the benefit of your tummy. Now that's cooperation!
I wanted to make her something so special because Cecelia is so cool and I want her to think I'm so cool too. Yeah! So I spent all day thinking about what things Cecelia might like to eat.
Here are other food-related things I thought about:
* I have a big bag of apples in my refrigerator! I went apple picking last weekend where Hannah, who is 6 and 3/4 years old, taught me how to perfectly pluck apples off their branches, and I wanted to do Hannah and her wisdom justice.
* I think feta cheese (a very dry crumbly feta) tastes perfect with cilantro. I've been using cilantro as a salad green, lately - a trick I owe to Natalie. I try to chop up so much that it makes me nervous; I think, "Clearly, that's too much cilantro!" and then I toss it with some coarsely chopped greens and some reckless abandon. Dressing these two together (rather than adding the cilantro to the dressing first) keeps the cilantro crisper, and the bounty is never over powering.
* I have food-related outbursts WAY too often. Generally, it's inappropriate to burst out, food-enraptured, about how delicious one's lunch is while everyone else is (a) hard at work and (b) eating leftovers that should have been discarded long, long ago (c) not eating said deliciousness. But now it's Ramadan and COMPLETELY inappropriate for me to have such outbursts, Days of Interfaith Youth Service Program Associate that I am. I try to make up for this by being all, "Wow Jenan, have you ever heard of epicurious.com? They totally have a section on recipes for Ramadan. Isn't that so great?" Actually, Jenan who is also so cool, told me that she spent one entire Ramadan (which happened to fall on Thanksgiving break) at her parents' house watching the Food Network all day long, in order to decide what she would make that night to break fast. Yeah!
Here's the salad I made for Cecelia.
Spiced Grilled Apple and French Lentil Salad
1/2 cup french lentils, washed and picked over
2 large cloves of garlic
1 bay leaf
7 large green leaf lettuce leaves
at least 1 cup of cilantro
1/2 cup dry feta, crumbled
1/4 scant teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 scant teaspoon garam masala
a dash of cayenne pepper
1/8 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large apple, cored and cut into 1/8-inch thick wedges
salt & pepper
oil for grilling the apples
cook the lentils:
in a small pot, cover lentils generously with water; add a sprinkle of sea salt, 1 whole garlic clove and bay leaf. bring to a boil and then simmer 25-40 minutes, until lentils are tender but not falling apart.
meanwhile....
prepare the greens:
wash, spin and coarsely chop lettuce, and then put into a medium sized bowl. follow suit with the cilantro, reserving about 2 tablespoons.
prepare the dressing:
in a small pan over medium heat, toast the cinnamon, garam masala and cayene until just fragrant. mmmm. let cool. in a small bowl, wisk together vinegar, oil, remaining garlic clove (pressed), toasted spices and salt and pepper to taste.
how are your lentils doing? they should be close to done. why not preheat your well-seasoned, cast iron grill pan? how about over medium-high heat?
prepare the apples:
brush one side of each apple slice with a thin coating of olive oil, then sprinkle with sea salt and freshly ground pepper. when the grill pan is hot, place them oil side down on the pan, brushing un-oiled side with oil and sprinkling on some more salt and pepper. grill until dark grill lines apear on the underside and the edges of the apple begin to turn transparent. flip and grill (i'd like to be more precise here, but honestly, i wasn't really watching the clock. i'm not sure how long it takes to grill apple slices).
finish the salad:
while the apples are grilling, remove the garlic clove (which should remain whole; if not, your lentils will be a bit more garlicy, but really it's okay, the garlic is quite mild by now) and the bay leaf from the lentils and drain. toss with reserved cilantro and 2 tablespoons dressing.
toss the greens with the remaining dressing and the crumbled feta (reserving just a touch of the feta). divide greens between two plates, keeping the greens to one side of the plate. on the other half of the plate, arrange half of the grilled apple slices and pile the lentils on top, sprinkling each with a bit of feta.
This way you have two very different salads happily coexisting: one that is crisp and bright and fresh, one that is more muted and warm and soft, but with the shared flavors of the dressing, showing them that they can get along despite their differences. All to the benefit of your tummy. Now that's cooperation!
8.24.2006
Springtime in August!
Oh call me a fool for writing about favas - that darling of springtimes everywhere! - in late August. But Chef Yum Yum is not one to be so coy; why, she herself ate favas this very weekend!
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
They taste like butter. They really do! They are a type of bean, and not butter. I know this because I have hulled them myself, in the actual springtime. People act as though this is sooo arduous, but if you have a leisurely afternoon and some good company, there is nothing like hulling a big bowl of favas between friends. Just boil them for a few minutes in roiling, salted water, plunge them into ice water to halt the cooking (and cool them), and slit the pods open (with a knife, or your fingernail), slide the outer hull off of each bean and ta-da! that was really not so hard.
In the non-springtime, I like to buy frozen fava beans at Whole Foods (Do not, by any means, consider this an endorsement of Whole Foods. I am currently very angry with Whole Foods, due to a nasty run-in with a bunch of cilantro from the wrong side of the tracks. Said cilantro, brown-spotted and pale, was grossly over-priced at $2.49 a bunch. I exaggerate by not a penny good people! Driving home, I could hardly fail to notice the Little Mexican Grocery on California and Milwaukee, shaking its boxy grocery store head at me in disappointment: "But Chef Yum Yum, my cilantro is three bunches for $1.00." It hardly seemed fair to point out to Little Mexican Grocery that its aisles smell a bit too much like Very Old Meat for my tastes, because not only is that cilantro cheap, it is beautiful. If it weren't for those favas, and perhaps the reasonably priced Nature's Gate Shampoo, Whole Foods and I would be over, OVER! ...but I digress.). They are of course not as good as fresh fava beans, but I promise, boiled for a moment in some sea salted water, they will never cease to amaze you (remember, they are a type of bean, not butter).
Here are two of my favorite ways to have favas:
"Springtime" Pasta with Favas and Other Much, Much Less Glamorous Things
This pasta is a friendly riff off of the Pasta Primavera in the Yellow Book, which I've made many, many times to the joy of tastebuds everywhere. That recipe is elaborate, but I recommend it because you'll feel accomplished and more intelligent when you're finished. This recipe is much more simple, for a night when you need some instant gratification.
12 oz. quality pasta (I most recently made this with walnut ravioli, but a more simple pasta would work just as well)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 1/2 c. fresh or frozen favas, hulled if fresh
1 large broccoli head, chopped into small florets (this is a time where I do not use the broccoli stems. Oh save them for another day!)
6 oz. cremini mushrooms, not-too-thinly, not-too-thickly sliced
2 garlic cloves
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. coarse sea salt
1/4 c. good quality parmigiano-reggiano, corasely grated
an enormous handful of coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 generous tbs. grated lemon rind
Bring a large pot of water generously salted water to boil (the salt really is key in bringing out the nuances of the vegetables). While the water is starting to get all worked up, heat olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, toss in the mushrooms and saute, allowing them to just start to release all their mushroomy juices. Turn off the heat, and just let the mushrooms sit there, patiently.
While the mushrooms are sauteeing, toss the favas and broccoli into the boiling water, letting them cook until just crisp-tender, about 2 minutes, but I think you should check before you take them out of the water. Fish them out with a slotted spoon (you'll need to keep the water boiling for your pasta, of course) and plunge them into a large bowl of icy water. Drain and tell them to wait, too. Use the mushrooms as an example if they're being too unruly.
Meanwhile cook your pasta according to package directions in the very same water that you boiled your vegetables in, reflecting on how the vegetable-flavored pasta water will really help to tie everything together in the final dish. Just a wee minute before your pasta is ready, bring the mushrooms back up to heat, adding the garlic, red pepper flakes and salt, and stirring until just fragrant. Add in the vegetables; you don't want to cook them, really (as they're already perfect!), but you do want them to have a suggestion of saute. Drain your pasta, reserving a cup of the paster water. Now toss together, everything, everything: the vegetables, the cheese, the pasta, the basil and the lemon rind, adding reserved pasta water as needed so that all things seem mingly - no sticking together forming cliques, but no pasta water sea of wallflowers, either.
Salad of Favas, Orange and Pink Peppercorns
Salad:
2 cups fresh or frozen fava beans, blanched in salted water
4 oranges, segmented and pith removed (I have a very good method for doing this, but had a hard time describing it without pictures. Which is why I am a grant writer, not a cookbook writer.)
1/4 cup fresh mint, julienned
a block of very firm, dry feta, which you will cut into four thin, delicate slices, one for each salad plate.
Dressing:
1 tbs. champagne vinegar (I love to use Trader Joe's Orange Muscat Champagne Vinegar for this)
1 tbs. orange juice, reserved from when you trim the oranges
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. pink peppercorns
Sea salt, to taste
Coarsely grind the pink peppercorns with a mortar and pestle. In a small bowl, wisk together all dressing ingredients and pour over favas. Gently toss the favas with the dressing, then cover and let marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Just before serving, toss the oranges with the mint. On four serving plates, as artfully as you can arrange the feta slice, favas and oranges. I like to keep the oranges and the favas in their own little piles, so I can have a taste of each now and then, or take one big bite of both as is my pleasure.
I first made this salad for a beautiful party for my beautiful friend Michelle's bridal shower. This is relatively unrelated, but in the absence of food-related pictures, at Michelle (and Jeff!)'s wedding a few weeks later, I took one of my favorite pictures of all time:
Maybe now Chef Yum Yum's nice boyfriend won't be quite so reluctant to give her pictures to put on her blog.
8.16.2006
A good friend once told me, "You do not need any more cornmeal."
She took me by the shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes.
"Cassie. If you are ever at the grocery store and think, 'Yeah. I should buy cornmeal. Cornmeal!', just put the cornmeal down. And walk away."
I don't think that I cook with cornmeal very often, and I think this is the problem: when I do want to cook with cornmeal, I think, "Surely I don't have any cornmeal!" And thus when I was rearranging my pantry this past weekend, I discovered that I do, in fact, HAVE CORNMEAL.
I've been wanting to make Deborah Madison's black bean chili (from The Greens Cookbook) for quite some time, and I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to use up some of my Bob's Red Mill Stoneground Cornmeal. This is a very special cornmeal - it's much coarser, yes, but still somehow so soft, and it has these beautiful little flecks of red and blue from the corn hull, that helps me to understand how it came from real corn. I've used it to make the best polenta ever, really (I've been meaning to return to that cornmeal, and I'll write about it, too, but I think it will have to wait for cooler days). The cornbread I made to go with the chili (which was also excellent) was unusually savory, and just as moist as cornbread should be; we slathered on some honey butter with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
But the miracle happened on Monday night when I decided to show those cornbread leftovers a night out on the grill pan. I love my new Lodge cast iron grill pan; it's the sort of thing that words can't really touch upon, so it's probably best if you just buy one yourself and Taste The Wonderment. May I suggest a recipe?
Stonegound Cornbread Grilled in Honey and Cinnamon
(the recipe for the cornbread itself is culled from quite a few others, and this execution is my very own, so no credits to anyone but me, ha!)
Cornbread:
1 1/4 cup Bob's Red Mill Organic Cornmeal, Medium Grind
3/4 cup unbleached all purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon sea salt
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup whole milk
1 egg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted.
Preheat oven to 375. In a large bowl, whisk dry ingredients. In a smaller bowl, whisk together milk and egg, and then add to dry ingredients, followed by melted butter. Pour into a buttered bread pan, and bake for 20 minutes, or until done in the center. Allow to cool for at least 10 minutes on a rack before removing from the pan. If you're feeling fatigued from all that work, you could now eat about half the cornbread, but you'll need to save some for the rest of the recipe...
Honey Butter with Cinnamon:
4 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon cinnamon
(this could also be nice with some other touches to the butter, might I suggest nutmeg or lavender?)
Preheat a cast iron grill pan to medium-high heat. In a small pan, heat butter, honey and cinnamon until just melted. Remove from heat.
Slice cornbread into 1 1/2 inch slices, and then GENEROUSLY (because it's honey butter with cinnamon, silly, and everybody wants a lot of that action) brush one side of each piece of cornbread with melted butter.
Place cornbread slices, butter side down, on hot grill. Listen to that loving sizzle! The pan loves honey butter with cinnamon too! Generously brush unbuttered sides of cornbread with butter.
Now gently but deftly flip cornbread after about one and a half minutes, when the crunchy! glorious! crackly! grill marks have, like magic, appeared on bread, and continue to grill for another minute or so. You'll have to be delicate, or else you'll break your beautiful cornbread slices.
Like I did. Boo. But we still ate them all up!
No pictures yet. Apparently the lighting in my kitchen just won't do for proper photography.
"Cassie. If you are ever at the grocery store and think, 'Yeah. I should buy cornmeal. Cornmeal!', just put the cornmeal down. And walk away."
I don't think that I cook with cornmeal very often, and I think this is the problem: when I do want to cook with cornmeal, I think, "Surely I don't have any cornmeal!" And thus when I was rearranging my pantry this past weekend, I discovered that I do, in fact, HAVE CORNMEAL.
I've been wanting to make Deborah Madison's black bean chili (from The Greens Cookbook) for quite some time, and I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to use up some of my Bob's Red Mill Stoneground Cornmeal. This is a very special cornmeal - it's much coarser, yes, but still somehow so soft, and it has these beautiful little flecks of red and blue from the corn hull, that helps me to understand how it came from real corn. I've used it to make the best polenta ever, really (I've been meaning to return to that cornmeal, and I'll write about it, too, but I think it will have to wait for cooler days). The cornbread I made to go with the chili (which was also excellent) was unusually savory, and just as moist as cornbread should be; we slathered on some honey butter with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
But the miracle happened on Monday night when I decided to show those cornbread leftovers a night out on the grill pan. I love my new Lodge cast iron grill pan; it's the sort of thing that words can't really touch upon, so it's probably best if you just buy one yourself and Taste The Wonderment. May I suggest a recipe?
Stonegound Cornbread Grilled in Honey and Cinnamon
(the recipe for the cornbread itself is culled from quite a few others, and this execution is my very own, so no credits to anyone but me, ha!)
Cornbread:
1 1/4 cup Bob's Red Mill Organic Cornmeal, Medium Grind
3/4 cup unbleached all purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon sea salt
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup whole milk
1 egg
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted.
Preheat oven to 375. In a large bowl, whisk dry ingredients. In a smaller bowl, whisk together milk and egg, and then add to dry ingredients, followed by melted butter. Pour into a buttered bread pan, and bake for 20 minutes, or until done in the center. Allow to cool for at least 10 minutes on a rack before removing from the pan. If you're feeling fatigued from all that work, you could now eat about half the cornbread, but you'll need to save some for the rest of the recipe...
Honey Butter with Cinnamon:
4 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon cinnamon
(this could also be nice with some other touches to the butter, might I suggest nutmeg or lavender?)
Preheat a cast iron grill pan to medium-high heat. In a small pan, heat butter, honey and cinnamon until just melted. Remove from heat.
Slice cornbread into 1 1/2 inch slices, and then GENEROUSLY (because it's honey butter with cinnamon, silly, and everybody wants a lot of that action) brush one side of each piece of cornbread with melted butter.
Place cornbread slices, butter side down, on hot grill. Listen to that loving sizzle! The pan loves honey butter with cinnamon too! Generously brush unbuttered sides of cornbread with butter.
Now gently but deftly flip cornbread after about one and a half minutes, when the crunchy! glorious! crackly! grill marks have, like magic, appeared on bread, and continue to grill for another minute or so. You'll have to be delicate, or else you'll break your beautiful cornbread slices.
Like I did. Boo. But we still ate them all up!
No pictures yet. Apparently the lighting in my kitchen just won't do for proper photography.
8.07.2006
le creuset! i think i've been hoodwinked!
My very nice boyfriend will hopefully not be upset with me if I let on that he's unemployed. It's only very temporary, a little sabbatical of sorts before the next exciting thing. One of the most glamorous parts of unemployment is that when you hear about something you don't know about, and if there's no immediately pressing need to look for employment, you can spend the time when you might otherwise be "working" doing "research" i.e. using wikipedia, prolifically. So as nice boyfriend contemplates his glamorous new Palo Alto kitchen (the largest room in his studio!) and all the necessary accoutrements, when I oh-so casually mentioned Le Creuset as the death of teflon everywhere, you can bet when I came home that afternoon, Mark was an expert on said cookware.
I first discovered Le Creuset when cooking at Jennifer and Casey's house ("They're very nice pans," Jennifer explained to me). Jennifer and Casey are my most grown-up friends, as they are married and have a house. AND live in Washington and cook almost only with organic products and every time I go to their house it is so SO yummy. Last time I went there I brought prosecco, and Jennifer just happened to have *homemade plum syrup* which we added to invent our very own plum belinis. Who has homemade plum syrup? Magical people, I tell you. Just as magical as the sparkles in prosecco make me feel, that's Jennifer and Casey's kitchen for you. So once I cooked so magically with Le Creuset, how could I go back?
Imagine my delight, then, when Mark mentioned to me a few days later that he'd like to take me for a spin in the Twin Cam to visit the Le Creuset outlet - part of the Chicago Premium Outlets, oh! - for a little enameled cast iron magic. "Just think," I thought, "Now I can use those pans when I visit Seattle and Palo Alto!" Much to my surprise, then, when we hop into the oh-so-air-conditionerless car on a day when our lovely city was under an extreme heat advisory and Mark casually mentions:
"I don't think I'm going to buy anything. I'm going to stick with non-enameled cast iron. I thought you might want to buy something."
But who am I kidding? I love my nice boyfriend and my nice kitchen. And I'd been looking forward to this trip all week. I was so coy about it, too - when I found the pot of my dreams, I had to do another lap around the outlet mall to pretend to "think it over" - but let's be clear, she'd already stolen my heart (I'll post a picture for you to oggle in a few days when Mark comes home - he's my photographer).
So she's green, of course. And deep - too deep for things like pancakes, of course, but just just deep enough for risotto. And she has that lovely, satisfying lid - I supsect I'll be able to make not a few sassy soups in the coming cold months. I've already done some lovely carmelized onion and mushroom quesedillas (with a splash of wine, because she's just that kind of a pan ladies and gentlemen).
Do you all know the beauty of Le Creuset, people? Because they work like non-stick, only they're not scary like Teflon. I can't remember why exactly Teflon is scary, but I'm pretty sure it's related to cancer, and I'm pretty sure it's pretty bad. Also - they're less finicky than your average cast iron pan - no need to season repeatedly, no fear of rust. And maybe you didn't know this - I didn't - but acidic flavors like tomatoes or wine can corrupt a regular cast iron pan. But not my little enameled love, oh no no no! She's like non-stick. But not scary like non-stick.
I made a risotto in her this past weekend. It was no good - although this was my own fault, and pan, I'm sorry that I let you down. I thought I could pull off a risotto-with-a-few-things-I-just-happen-to-have-on-hand and yes, yes, I've learned my lesson, thank you very much. I will never, NEVER not put cheese in risotto. EVER again. Unless it's an asian inspired risotto. Or that corn risotto Lauren made. Regardless - the FEEL of making this risotto was amazing - the sound when the wine hit the pan - so perfect! There was a good weight and resitance, too, stirring the rice as the broth began to evaporate, but before it was time to add my next ladleful. The reluctancy, I believe, of the rice to leave the pan - they love her too! I'm still getting the hang of her (she cooks on a much lower heat than I'm used to, but takes a bit longer to heat up), but this is no fickle fling my friends - she comes with a lifetime guarantee.
Stay tuned - I just found the special rice. Apparently, the nice Italians Mark recently met think arborio is *trash* and carnaroli is the true rice. We've found some, and we promise to be making some very special risotto in the coming week.
I first discovered Le Creuset when cooking at Jennifer and Casey's house ("They're very nice pans," Jennifer explained to me). Jennifer and Casey are my most grown-up friends, as they are married and have a house. AND live in Washington and cook almost only with organic products and every time I go to their house it is so SO yummy. Last time I went there I brought prosecco, and Jennifer just happened to have *homemade plum syrup* which we added to invent our very own plum belinis. Who has homemade plum syrup? Magical people, I tell you. Just as magical as the sparkles in prosecco make me feel, that's Jennifer and Casey's kitchen for you. So once I cooked so magically with Le Creuset, how could I go back?
Imagine my delight, then, when Mark mentioned to me a few days later that he'd like to take me for a spin in the Twin Cam to visit the Le Creuset outlet - part of the Chicago Premium Outlets, oh! - for a little enameled cast iron magic. "Just think," I thought, "Now I can use those pans when I visit Seattle and Palo Alto!" Much to my surprise, then, when we hop into the oh-so-air-conditionerless car on a day when our lovely city was under an extreme heat advisory and Mark casually mentions:
"I don't think I'm going to buy anything. I'm going to stick with non-enameled cast iron. I thought you might want to buy something."
But who am I kidding? I love my nice boyfriend and my nice kitchen. And I'd been looking forward to this trip all week. I was so coy about it, too - when I found the pot of my dreams, I had to do another lap around the outlet mall to pretend to "think it over" - but let's be clear, she'd already stolen my heart (I'll post a picture for you to oggle in a few days when Mark comes home - he's my photographer).
So she's green, of course. And deep - too deep for things like pancakes, of course, but just just deep enough for risotto. And she has that lovely, satisfying lid - I supsect I'll be able to make not a few sassy soups in the coming cold months. I've already done some lovely carmelized onion and mushroom quesedillas (with a splash of wine, because she's just that kind of a pan ladies and gentlemen).
Do you all know the beauty of Le Creuset, people? Because they work like non-stick, only they're not scary like Teflon. I can't remember why exactly Teflon is scary, but I'm pretty sure it's related to cancer, and I'm pretty sure it's pretty bad. Also - they're less finicky than your average cast iron pan - no need to season repeatedly, no fear of rust. And maybe you didn't know this - I didn't - but acidic flavors like tomatoes or wine can corrupt a regular cast iron pan. But not my little enameled love, oh no no no! She's like non-stick. But not scary like non-stick.
I made a risotto in her this past weekend. It was no good - although this was my own fault, and pan, I'm sorry that I let you down. I thought I could pull off a risotto-with-a-few-things-I-just-happen-to-have-on-hand and yes, yes, I've learned my lesson, thank you very much. I will never, NEVER not put cheese in risotto. EVER again. Unless it's an asian inspired risotto. Or that corn risotto Lauren made. Regardless - the FEEL of making this risotto was amazing - the sound when the wine hit the pan - so perfect! There was a good weight and resitance, too, stirring the rice as the broth began to evaporate, but before it was time to add my next ladleful. The reluctancy, I believe, of the rice to leave the pan - they love her too! I'm still getting the hang of her (she cooks on a much lower heat than I'm used to, but takes a bit longer to heat up), but this is no fickle fling my friends - she comes with a lifetime guarantee.
Stay tuned - I just found the special rice. Apparently, the nice Italians Mark recently met think arborio is *trash* and carnaroli is the true rice. We've found some, and we promise to be making some very special risotto in the coming week.
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