Faux Pho: Dinner with the BEST Friend

all photos courtesy of LEO

The morning I moved out of my last apartment into my new apartment, Lauren arrived at 8am with coffee. The movers, of course, were four mysterious and unapologetic hours late. After they ripped me off in every possible way, on the only unbearably hot day of the summer, Lauren took me to Target to buy toilet paper and a new shower curtain, then made me a dirty martini and slept over so I wouldn't feel lonely in my new place.

One of the movers - I suppose it wasn't his fault the truck broke down - observed,

"Is she your sister? Or your mother?"

(This might seem offensive except for the fact that Lauren is so obviously not my mother, let alone my sister, that it's only hilarious.)

"No," I laughed. "Just a friend."

"Ooooh," he nodded vigorously. "A very good friend. The BEST friend."

He had a point. I mean, who else - besides my actual mother - would come over and make me soup when I'm all hoarse and coughing and feverish and watch 4 episodes of 30-Rock with me that she'd already seen? Who else but the BEST friend?

no secret pork here.

We'd been plotting a reprise of Bittman's Faux Pho for a few weeks, and in light of certain revelations made on this very site my love of all things MB has escalated to a minor frenzy (or maybe it was just the fever). I wanted this soup, urgently.

God bless Mark Bittman: I always eye the Pho in restaurants, but even at the place my vegan friends go on Argyle, I have a sneaking suspicion that there's some secret fish in the "vegetarian" soup, if not also some secret pork.

Ew. Pork shouldn't be a secret.

lime, chili, broccoli, scallion, napa, basil, sprout, cilantro, tofu, carrot, udon.

something mysterious happens to the basil in this soup:
it begins to taste like coconut, and then like licorice.
i can't explain it; i can only savor it.

As I lined up the accessories for the Faux Pho's photo shoot, Lauren remarked, "Peter is never this patient. He always complains that the food will get cold."

Well, that's what friends are for.

(for those of you who missed out: a great piece on why we maybe can feel hopeful about our food culture by MB.)

Faux Pho (Mark Bittman! You're so clever!)

(adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian)

Ingredients:
6 oz udon noodles (I like to have this kind on hand)
2 tbs peanut oil
2 tbs minced garlic
1 tbs fresh grated ginger
1/2 tsp freshly ground coriander seed
1/2 tsp freshly ground cinnamon
1/2 cup soy sauce + more to taste (I love you, Salt. Let's get married.)
1 cup of diced tofu
2 bay leaves
a handful chopped cilantro
a handful chopped basil
1 fresh thai chili, sliced
2 scallions, sliced
1 lime, cut into wedges
a handful of fresh bean sprouts
2 leaves napa or purple cabbage, shredded
1 cup of broccoli florets, briefly blanched
1 carrot, grated

Method:
In a pot of salted, boiling water, cook the pasta for 5 minutes or until just tender. Drain, rinse in cold water, and set aside.

In a deep skillet or medium saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat. When shimmering, add the garlic and ginger, and stir until just fragrant. Add the coriander and cinnamon, and stir until you begin to feel sort of dizzy and intoxicated by the smell of it all (or maybe it's just the fever). Add 6 cups of water, soy sauce, and bay leaves, and simmer while you prepare your vegetables.

Ideally, once Lauren has finished doing all the hard work (i.e., chopping one million vegetables), you'll arrange them in austere little dishes just like CYY's. Just before serving, add the tofu to the broth and simmer for a few minutes.

Finish:
Put a mound of noodles in the bottom of a comically over-sized bowl (LEO prefers a larger ratio of noodles to broth; while CYY prefers a larger ratio of broth to noodles) and ladle broth over the noodles. Garnish with vegetables, herbs, and accouterments as you please, and toast to friendship with a mug of fresh ginger-lemon tea.

Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée: When it Becomes Impossible to Discern Either Cheese or Onion

"The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." (From ''Gastronomie Pratique,'' by Ali-Bab, 1907)

As a rule, I try to focus primarily on my own recipes; it helps me to be more adventurous and thoughtful in my cooking. But quite frankly, the soup - or rather soupe - I made on Sunday was so absolutely perfect that it would be a selfish, selfish thing for me not to share the recipe for Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée with the world.

At some tragic point in every bowl of French Onion Soup, the diner realizes that she has somehow managed to eat all the "good stuff" and is left with only a lonely bowl of buttery broth.* While indeed the broth that is left is as pristine in form as any broth could aspire to be, the very memory of crusty bread, melting onions and salty cheese is enough to make the diner shed tears of remorse into her broth, making it far too salty to finish.

The magic of this Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée is that by the time you're done caramelizing, simmering, baking and browning, the broth has transformed itself into a perfect, silky, mushy bready delight. Really, it's the very best part of French Onion Soup, without the morose slosh of unwanted broth.

Grossly, Guy kept exclaiming, "I wish I could take a bath in this!" While all guests were duly repulsed, by the end of the meal we were willing to concede that he may be onto something.

Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée

Originally published in Ali Bab's Gastronomie Pratique; republished in the New York Times in 1974, and then again this past February. The method carries my reflection on the process.

Ingredients
1 baguette, cut into 30 1/2 inch slices
9 tbs. butter, softened
9 oz gruyere, grated (the original calls for emmantal, but I'm a sucker for gruyere); 1/2 cup reserved
8 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced (about 12 cups)
1 tbs kosher slat, plus more to taste
1 cup tomato puree (I used canned diced tomatoes)

Method
Prepare the ingredients: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange baguette slices on one or two baking sheets and toast for about 10 minutes. Flip and continue toasting for 10 minutes more. Remove from oven to cool.

While the toasts cool, prepare the onions: melt 4 tbs. butter in a very large saucepan (because have you stopped to think about the sheer volume of 12 cups of sliced onions?). Add the onions, season generously with salt and saute until very soft and golden, at least 15 minutes. Meanwhile, butter each toast generously on one side; in a small pot, bring 1 1/2 quarts of water and the tbs. salt to a boil.

Assemble the soupe: in the bottom of a large casserole or pot (I was originally planning to use my 5qt enameled cast iron, but made the very wise decision of upgrading to my large 10qt stainless steel pot. I made 1 1/2 times the recipe, however; the recipe as written calls for a 5qt pot), arrange a layer of 1/3 of the toasts. Top with 1/3 of the non-reserved cheese, and 1/3 of the onions. Spread with 1/3 of the tomato puree. Continue in the same fashion for two more layers, topping with the reserved 1/2 cup of cheese (I found that I needed more).

Add the broth: using a large ladle, slowly pour the hot water down the sides of the pot. You may need more or less water depending on the size of your pot, but the goal is to fill the pot with broth just up until the final layer of cheese. My soupe took surprisingly little water at first, so I made little tunnels with the handle of a wooden spoon around the edge of the pot to help make space for a little more water. I also shook the pot a bit, gave it some to settle and think about whether or not it was moist enough. Eventually, I decided the soupe was content with its broth/bread/onion/cheese/butter/tomato ratio, and simmered it on the stove over medium heat for 30 minutes. After this, bake the soupe in the 350 degree oven for an entire hour. Remember, "The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." Each serving should include a bit of crust and a bit of the gooey unctuousness.


*Unless of course you are a master French Onion Soup Eater. Which I am, thanks to the many New Year's Eves of the Meyer family specialty. I have absolutely crafted the art of F.O.S. consumption, such that every bowl I eat ends not with broth, but with a perfectly balanced bite of bread, broth, onion.

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:

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!

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.)