ToastPoint

D.C. Farmers Market

2009-09-28T23:16:00.000-04:00

Although Eastern Market is a joy, the D.C. Farmers Market is something else altogether. You won't find precious heirloom tomatoes here, baby. Turkey legs are more the style at 1309 5th St N.E., near the intersection of Florida and New York Ave.

The D.C. Farmers Market is all about the butchers—several of them in one big warehouse—competing for your love and attention. Need a duck? They've got it. Looking for some of those trendy pig odds-and-ends? They've got it. (In fact, I went with a friend who was in search of a particular cut of country rib. They didn't have what she wanted laid out, so a butcher went in the back, brought out a the appropriate huge slab of pig, and hacked them out for her right then and there.) Turkey necks? No problem. And the hot links. Oh God, the hot links.

When you're done shopping, stop in at the National Arboretum and get some Corinthian columns with your ready-to-eat smoked turkey leg.

Braised Short Ribs with Pappardelle

2009-08-18T22:42:00.006-04:00

Short ribs take forever. This recipe, for instance, is pretty much a weekend affair. So when you make them, why not make a lot, right?

But here's the problem: short ribs are not snackable. Most of the leftovers Chez ToastPoint get consumed while standing at the fridge. The Human Vacuum lacks a decent sense of temporal food allocation, so he will cheerfully eat bok choy or chickpea salad for breakfast. But hard, cold short ribs are not very appealing any time of day, and I assume they are even less appealing first thing in the morning. So they sit, delicious yet congealed, in a Tupperware.

This is a quick and tasty solution to the Case of the Cold Short Ribs (the Cold Case of the Short Ribs?). Rich and filling, it doesn't feel like pesky leftover disposal at all—more like $18 restaurant pasta.

***
Braised Short Ribs with Pappardelle

In a large skillet, warm over medium heat:
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Add and cook until caramelized (about 20 minutes):
2 large onions, preferably sweet, roughly chopped

Meanwhile, microwave or otherwise warm up:
2-3 leftover braised short ribs (like this ToastPoint fave) plus drippings, braising liquid, or whatever made it into the Tupperware

Shred the meat into a large bowl retaining any fatty juices that have accumulated:
2-3 Tablespoons butter
1 Tablespoon olive oil
small handful toasted pine nuts (optional)
Just toast the pine nuts in a dry skillet over medium heat until lightly browned. Watch carefully though, they burn fast!

While the onions continue cook, bring a large pot of water to boil, salt it, then add:
1 lb pappardelle, or other wide pasta

When the pasta is done, drain it, dump into the bowl, and add the onions. Give everything a good long stir to get the noodles well coated.

For that $18 restaurant feel, sprinkle with:
Fresh basil, roughly chopped (optional)

Chicken Paella

2009-01-25T11:16:00.001-05:00

Lately, I've been trying to get over my anti-chicken bias. I like to roast a nice chicken, but I become deeply unenthusiastic when the carcass gets broken down any further. I never order chicken in restaurants, or check the chicken option on those little reply cards for weddings and banquets. This is totally unfair to the humble bird, which can be a very delicious and non-utilitarian foodstuff.

This is a variation on another paella I posted long ago--tweaked to accommodate ToastMom's shellfish allergy and shopping schedule that didn't permit live mussel purchasing. It is perhaps a closer kin to the simple, luscious tomato paella posted more recently. But, in the spirit of pluralism, I'll give you this one too, and you can decide.

In general, though, the paella trick is a useful one. The big secret: It's essentially a classier, snazzier, and much tastier version of the rice-based casseroles beloved of Midwestern moms. It seems like a lot of steps, but once you know how to build a paella, you can adapt it to many purposes.

***
Chicken Paella

In a very large skillet with tight-fitting top, warm:
2 Tablespoons olive oil

Add and brown on all sides:

1-2 pounds chicken thighs, or parts from a whole cut up chicken, with bone in and skin on

Remove chicken from pan and set aside. Wipe out pan and warm:

2 Tablespoons olive oil

Add and cook until fat renders a little, about 2 minutes:
1/4 - 1/2 pound chorizo sausage, the dried kind is best cut into 1/2 inch dice, but you can crumble in the kind from the refrigerator case, too.

Add, and saute until soft:
2 medium onions, roughly chopped

2 large carrots, diced
2 large garlic cloves, minced

Add and cook until softened, about 5 minutes:

1 14 oz can diced tomatoes, drained

Add and stir until well coated in oil:
2 cups long grain rice

Pour in and bring to a boil over medium-high heat:
4 cups chicken broth, white wine, or water

Then add:
1/2-3/4 teaspoon saffron or ground turmeric
2 teaspoons salt
Pinch of cayenne
Pinch black pepper

Arrange chicken pieces on top of the rice, put on the lid, reduce heat and simmer 20-25 minutes until all the liquid is absorbed, chicken is cooked through, and the rice is soft and beginning to stick to the bottom of the pan.

Toss in:

1/2 cup frozen peas

Cook for 5 more minutes until peas are no longer frozen. (NOTE: A good trick is to thaw the peas in warm running water before adding them.) Turn off heat and let sit undisturbed for 10 minutes.

Serve up in the pan and let people dig out steaming bowlfuls for themselves.

Crab and Avocado Soup with Wasabi

2009-01-23T11:13:00.001-05:00

My favorite kitchen muse--rotting food--is at it again. With a package of (fake) crab meat expiring in the fridge and an overzealous Costco avocado purchase, the Human Vacuum and I turned desperately to Google. And who came through for us? Avocado.org, of all places, with a recipe from Sam Hazen. According to the very enthusiastic prose of his bio, Hazen is a "celebrity chef" of Tao in New York, who knows "secrets of a most delectable variety."

Here is one of those delectable secrets--an odd, cold soup that is surprisingly satisfying as a winter lunch. It's filling, which you could probably guess from looking at the ingredients. But it's also not guacamolesque in the slightest, which you might not expect.

***
Crab and Avocado Soup with Wasabi
adapted from avocado.org (seriously)

In a food processor, puree:
3 large ripe avocados
1 1/2 cups chicken stock
1/4 cups minced shallots (or onion)
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 Tablespoons wasabi paste
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder

Add and gently whir:
1 cup heavy cream (I used milk, and it was still plenty creamy)

Pour into four bowls. Divide between the bowls as garnish:
4 oz. jumbo crab meat

Matzo Ball Soup

2009-01-22T20:00:00.000-05:00

Though I am a shiksa, raised by a shiksa, matzo balls did make the occasional appearance in my house growing up. My sister's godfather is a Jew (ponder that one for a minute!) and there was a period where ToastMom was in charge of the soup at his Passover festivities. But I didn't really understand the blood, sweat, and tears that goes into a real Passover matzo ball until I married one of the Chosen People.

I awoke in New York on the morning of a seder and emerged from the bedroom to find the Human Vacuum's mom on the floor of her kitchen trying to strain chicken broth through cheesecloth, which involved lifting the biggest stock pot I have ever seen. She was on the floor because she's 5 feet tall on a good day and 100 pounds on a bad day, so the counters were too high for this activity.

I chipped in that day, and have helped make the soup for every seder hosted by ToastMom-in-Law ever since. I may be a gentile, but I have known the anxiety of waiting for the matzo balls to float on Passover. I have strained chicken broth in the early morning. I have suffered for this marvelous, perfect soup. Which is it should be.

Tales of soup-based heroism aside, matzo ball soup should not be reserved for Passover. It has all the healing powers of chicken noodle soup (indeed, it is known in some circles as Jewish Penicillin). And it's not hard to make if you have the chicken broth already on hand.

You should give it a try. Or, in the idiom of the ethnicity responsible for the soup: Eat! You look thin!

***
Matzo Ball Soup

For the soup:
In a large dutch oven with a lid, warm over medium heat:
1 Tablespoon olive oil or schmaltz (chicken fat)

Add and saute until soft:
2-3 large carrots, cut into coins
2 medium onions, minced
2-3 ribs celery, cut into 1/4 inch pieces

Then add:
2-3 quarts chicken stock
(NOTE: If there is one place to use real, homemade stock, this is it. That said, broth from a can or box is fine. I personally wouldn't bother with bouillon broth, but it would work in a pinch--if, say, the sun is going down on Passover and you have no soup.)

Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Add:
1 teaspoon dried dill, or 1 Tablespoon fresh dill
Generous salt and pepper

You can leave this simmering as long as you like, or no additional time at all. Whatever your schedule demands.

For the matzo balls:
Start these about an hour before you want to eat, though most of that time does not require your attention. I buy a box of matzo ball mix (not the soup mix, just the balls), but you could also buy matzo meal in its raw form. Both will have directions about how to turn the mix into matzo balls.

When the directions call for refrigeration, don't skimp. That part is important to the eventually fluffiness of your creation. The recipe will also call for oil. If you have homemade chicken stock and, like me, you've been too lazy to skim it before freezing, scrape off the fat and use that instead.

Make the matzo ball mix, refrigerate as instructed, then form into 1 inch balls. Wet or oil your hands before rolling the balls. It's less sticky that way. Drop them all in the simmering pot with the broth and close tightly. Cook for 20 minutes.

Serve piping hot. Eat. Feel happy. Then guilty. Then happy again.

Palin Pasta

2008-11-04T17:16:00.000-05:00

On this, the last day of the 2008 election, and thus probably the last day the name Palin will decorate our highway medians (at least for three and a half years), I give you a final culinary thought on the election season:

No, your eyes do not deceive you. What you see above is pasta in the form of tiny spinach and egg moose. I haven't yet tried this miracle of modern pasta science, but I already know how it will taste--like bitter, bitter tears.

I recommend serving them in an abbreviated carbonara. Fry up some bacon cut into small pieces, dress the pasta with butter, and sprinkle on bacon, Parmesan cheese, and minced fresh herbs. Alternately, use this pasta in place of elbow macaroni in Kraft mac and cheese.

I suspect that Sarah would prefer the latter preparation.

This moose monstrosity was generously provided by ToastMom.

Watermelon, Feta, and Mint Salad

2008-09-19T11:30:00.000-04:00

I've made this salad twice already this week. They serve it at Kramerbooks in Dupont Circle alongside a pulled pork sandwich, but it's good with everything. Seriously. Everything.

When the Human Vacuum and I hit Costco last weekend, they were hawking seedless watermelon two-packs. What kind of gluttons manage to consume two watermelons in less that 5 days? People who know about this delicious salad.

It's a refreshing breakfast. It's a marvelous side salad. It's a fruit and cheese dessert course. It truly can be all things to all people.

***
Watermelon, Feta, and Mint Salad

In a large bowl, whisk together:
2 Tablespoons olive oil
Juice of one lemon (or other acid, such as rice wine or fruit vinegar)

Cut into small dice and add to dressing:
1/4 of a red onion

Cut into 1 inch dice and add to bowl:
1 seedless watermelon (or buy precut, I don't mind)

Crumble in:
1 chunk feta cheese, approximately the size of a deck of cards

Roughly chop and sprinkle on:
5-6 fresh mint leaves

Stir and begin to consume immediately, standing in the kitchen, before summer is gone.

NOTE: Delicious variations include adding toasted pine nuts, replacing feta with olives, replacing watermelon with honeydew. But the original is the best.

Gumbo, Or Possibly Jambalaya

2008-09-18T23:30:00.001-04:00

This is sort of gumbo, and sort of jambalaya. We had okra. We had spicy sausage. We had shrimp. I had a vague idea that all of these things were involved in Cajun cooking. And I was right--they're just not traditionally all in the same dish. I never made it to New Orleans before the hurricane, so what do I know? This dish is a freaky mutant combination of the two.

It was delicious on the night-of, but the leftovers were the real reward. The soft, flavorful rice was a joy for lunch the next day after a night of soaking in the spicy, tomato-y juices. So make lots.

***
Gumbo, Or Possibly Jambalaya

Heat in a large heavy bottom pan or dutch oven:
3 Tablespoons oil

Add:
1-2 large onions, diced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

Cook until onion begins to soften, stirring occasionally. Add and cook until warmed through:
1/2 to 1 pound sausage, kielbasa, andouille, or even chorizo, cut into coins

Wash, remove tops and tail, and cut into 1/2 inch pieces, then turn heat to high and add:
1 pound fresh okra

When okra browns slightly, add:
3 Tablespoons tomato paste
1/2 teaspoon cayenne, or more to taste
1 teaspoon oregano

Cook on high, stirring often, until tomato paste starts to darken and caramelize. Add:
1 can diced tomatoes

Give everything one more good stir, then layer on top:
1 pound uncooked shrimp, peeled

Sprinkle on top of that:
2 cups rice, long grain preferred

Add until rice is covered with liquid:
3-4 cups chicken stock, or water, or watered wine
salt and pepper

Turn heat to low, cover and cook for 30 minutes, or until rice is tender.

Toasting Spring with Pastis

2008-04-16T18:10:00.001-04:00

It's not really spring in Boston. Far from it. But it's sunny at least, and there are birds chirping. and it's April, dammit. So I decided to break out my favorite hot weather drink: pastis.

It's the poor man's absinthe: a little sweeter, a little lower proof, and with 100 percent fewer wormwood-induced hallucinations. Mixed with cold water, it turns the color of green milk glass, and makes a mean sippin' drink.

Pastis and cold filtered water is best on a sultry August night in Paris. Failing that, it's not bad in an overheated Beantown apartment with a slice of strawberry for color. And it's delicious with one thing that's a little harder to come by in Paris: ice.

To make your own, just pour 1 ounce of pastis, such as Ricard, over ice and dilute with water to taste. I go about 2 parts water to 1 part pastis, but go with whatever appeals to you.

Spaghetti Carbonara

2008-03-20T01:06:00.000-04:00

My college roommate (of bourbon pear apple sauce fame) made the simplest, fastest version of this recipe for me the day I arrived to visit her in Paris for the first time, jetlagged and starving, farther from home than I'd ever been. She plunked a bowl down in front of me of just-boiled pasta, tossed with egg and cheese. It was a revelation--something new, yet familiar and comforting. It was precisely the right way to start off my first (semi) grown up travel in a foreign land.

As we all know, however, bacon makes everything better. This iteration of the dish, called by its right name, spaghetti carbonara, is bacon and eggs on pasta. In the spirit of my roommate, I tolerate no fripperies here. Cream? No. Red pepper flakes? No. Even pancetta is too much for me--it's better with American-style salty pig bits. Just pasta slicked in bacon grease and egg yolk. You know you love it.

***
Spaghetti Carbonara

Start water boiling for pasta.

In a large skillet, fry:
5 slices of bacon, cut into half inch pieces (or however many slices you have left in the package--this is flexible)
1 whole clove garlic, peeled and lightly crushed

When the bacon is very crisp, remove the pieces from the pan with a slotted spoon. I know it seems fussy, but it's totally worth it for crispy bacon at the end.

While the pan is still hot, splash in:
2 Tablespoons vermouth, white white, or similar (optional)

After the booze bubbles off, turn the heat off and leave the pan sitting on the burner.

Meanwhile, beat together:
3 eggs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan or similar
lots of fresh ground black pepper
I always do this in a Pyrex measuring cup, for ease of pouring later.

Cook 1 pound of spaghetti according to the package directions. Drain. Dump the pasta into the bacon grease pan and turn until the strands are coated. Then slowly drizzle in the egg mixture, stirring vigorously to avoid clumping. The heat from the pasta will cook the egg and melt the cheese.

Sprinkle with fresh herbs for pretty if you have guests. If you don't have guests, eating leftovers for breakfast is legit: It's bacon and eggs!

Irish Potatoes?

2008-03-14T12:56:00.000-04:00

What have we here?
Could these be the world's most precious new potatoes, plucked from the carefully-tended beds of an eccentric billionaire's winter greenhouse? Are they Idaho spuds genetically modified for dwarfism? Peel-and-eat tater tots? Could they be some kind of modern art commentary on the Irish-American immigrant experience?

Nope. They're Oh Ryan's Original Irish Potatoes (TM)! What are these taste treats made of, you ask?:
Like the hummingbird cake from earlier this week, they straddle the delicious/horrifying divide expertly. Also like the hummingbird cake, they have a certain retro feel--the green foil labeling, the playing on outdated ethnic stereotypes ("Ha ha! Those Paddys can't get enough of the 'taters!"), the weird compulsion to make food look like other foods or non-food items.

I picked up this box for something like four bucks at my friendly neighborhood Shaw's grocery store. Look for them wherever trashy, sugary seasonal foods are sold. Get your own box in time for Monday's St. Patrick's Day festivities, and line your stomach with a few Oh Ryan's Original Irish Potatoes (TM) before you start guzzling whisky and/or green beer. It's the Irish way!

Nearly No-Knead Bread

2008-03-12T09:24:00.000-04:00

I. Made. Bread.

And not just any bread. Good bread.

Bakery-quality...

Crisp-crusted...

Tangy, moist-crumbed bread.

There are those who must be thanked. 1) The Human Vacuum, who gave me a subscription to Cook's Illustrated this Valentine's Day, and 2) the fine people in America's Test Kitchens (where Cook's is produced), who labored mightily to improve the already miraculous No Knead Bread recipe recently popularized by the NYT's Mark Bittman, and succeeded.

If you are, like me, yeastphobic and shy of bread baking, this is the way to begin. First, watch the video of Bittman making his version of the bread, complete with a demonstration of the cool technique where you cook it in a Dutch oven. Then read the article in the Times that explains why letting the dough sit for 12-24 hours works gluten miracles.

And then listen up while I tell you about the tweaks in Cook's Illustrated: The flavor is improved by adding a little beer and a little vinegar. The texture is improved by reducing the liquid and indulging in a smidge of kneading between the first (super long) rise, and the second (shorter) rise. Just 15 quick knead. Also, Cook's offers a handy tip: when you turn out the dough, do it on a piece of parchment paper and then use the paper to lower the ball of bread dough into the already hot Dutch oven. Just leave the paper in there while it cooks and spare yourself burnt hands at all stages of the process.

Cook's Illustrated is protective of its innovations (and rightly so), so I have made a moral compromise and annotated the NYT recipe below rather than copying the Cook's recipe. But you should really subscribe.

***
Here's the Times recipe, with my notes on the Cook's tweaks in itals:

No Knead Bread (or in this case Nearly No Knead Bread)

Adapted from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery and Cook's Illustrated
Time: About 1½ hours plus 14 to 20 hours’ rising

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
~~Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed~~. I skipped this and just used a little more flour
3/4 cup plus 2 Tablespoons room temperature water
1/4 cup plus 2 Tablespoons light flavored American lager beer, like Bud
1 Tablespoon white vinegar

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add ~~1 5/8 cups water~~ 3/4 cup plus 2 Tablespoons room temperature water, plus 1/4 cup plus 2 Tablespoons light flavored American lager beer plus 1 Tablespoon white vinegar, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; ~~sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.~~

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal.
Knead the dough 15 times, then form into a ball. Optional: Place on a sheet of parchment paper. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to ~~450~~ 500 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Lift dough into pan on the sheet of parchment and reduce heat to 425. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Yield: One 1½-pound loaf.

Hummingbird Cake

2008-03-11T21:06:00.000-04:00

I've been hesitating over whether to post this cake for months. Because it's sort of delicious and sort of disgusting at the same time.

When the holiday season descends, some people rewatch It's a Wonderful Life, some people read The Night Before Christmas aloud en famille. And some of us--a very special sorority, to be sure--flip through the recipe boxes of their ancestors.

For some reason, I was struck this year by the fact that my granny's recipe box, a flimsy tin number painted with orange flowers, contains about a million recipes involving a can of crushed pineapple. There must have been a craze for the stuff that coincided with my granny's most prolific young-wifely recipe clipping phase.

This mad assemblage of spice cake, banana, and canned pineapple under a blanket (really more like a duvet, actually) of cream cheese frosting could not be ignored. It was ridiculously fun for the ToastWomen to make. Truly, you have not lived until you have poured one and a half cups of "salad oil" into a bowl of cake batter. Even now, an image of the Pyrex measuring cup, overflowing with oil, looms golden and horrifying in my mind's eye.

The result was headachingly sweet. One thin slice could send the vulnerable into diabetic coma. To my mind, it actually tasted retro. This one is, I think, for dedicated nostalgic cooks only. And yet...the taste sticks with you. It's "different," with all that the use of the term implies, good and bad. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a slice right now.

***
Hummingbird Cake
from my granny's recipe box, with granny-style directions preserved

For the cake:
3 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 eggs, beaten
1 1/2 cups salad oil
1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 can 8 oz crushed pineapple, unstrained
2 cups chopped pecans, divided
2 cups chopped bananas

Combine dry ingredients in large mixing bow, add eggs and oil, stir
until moistened. DO NOT BEAT. Stir in vanilla, pineapple, 1 cup nuts and
bananas. Spoon batter into 3 9" greased pans/ Bake at 350 degrees for
25-30 minutes. Cool in pan 10 minutes.

For the frosting:
2 8 oz packages cream cheese, softened
1 cups butter, softened
2 package 16 oz each of powdered sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla

Combine cream cheese and butter until smooth, add powdered sugar slowly
and beat until fluffy. Stir in vanilla, put nuts on top (I didn't, as you can see, because I'm not a fan of nuts in dessert).

[ToastPoint notes: Obviously, you should frost the cake, using the usual layer cake method, before putting the nuts on top. Serve on a vintage-y cake plate. Store in refrigerator, or the bananas continue to ripen in a scary way.]

ToastPoint Goes Dutch

2008-02-27T20:43:00.000-05:00

ToastPoint recently had occasion to take an excursion to the Low Countries, and what did she find there? Dutch babies! No, not the offspring of Amsterdammers (though I'm sure there are some of those around): Delicious fluffy pancakes, in their bite-sized manifestation in this case. If the small American pancake is a silver dollar pancake, then I suppose these are silver guilder pancakes.

The Human Vacuum and I savored this light-yet-filling treat at an unlikely location: A tiny basement level coffeeshop/Internet cafe right next door to the Anne Frank House. After contemplating wartime privation and tragedy, nothing will cheer you up like a peek at your email and a late breakfast of sweet, eggy, buttery, sugar-dusted treats (or, oddly, a pastrami sandwich, if you prefer). The juxtaposition of the sober, modern museum facade and the cheery red canopy of the cafe is a perfect example of truth in advertising.

If you can't make it to Amsterdam, there's an appealing recipe for making your own jumbo version at Orangette.

Cucumber Tangerine Salad with Goat Cheese and Pine Nuts

2008-02-27T00:33:00.000-05:00

The name pretty much tells you everything you need to know--this salad sounds like a crazy person assembled it. But it tastes like that crazy person was really an idiot savant de salade. It's in the same spirit as the even crazier, even more delicious dish at the longstanding D.C. Greek and Turkish tapas hotspot, Zatiniya. There, they call it "Portakal Salatasi" which the menus describes as "oranges, red onion, pine nuts, kalamata olives and feta with orange blossom dressing."

You should really go to Zantiniya (Hint: Go early so that don't have to wait with the beautiful people at the bar for an eternity. The place is very chic) and have their version. But failing that, this is a tasty, quickie at-home version that omits the olives and is therefore slightly less threatening and more of a go-along-to-get-along side salad.

***
Cucumber Tangerine Salad with Goat Cheese and Pine Nuts

In a dry pan, gently toast until golden:
1/4 cup pine nuts

Cut in quarters lengthwise:
1 English seedless cucumber (or a normal cuke, if that's what you have)

Peel and de-pith:
1 tangerine, mandarin, or other small orange-like fruit
Pull segments apart and cut each one in half.

Combine all of the above in a bowl, and toss with:
1 Tablespoon white vinegar (I used rice wine vinegar)
1 teaspoon rosewater or orangeflower water (optional)
1/2 teaspoon salt
black pepper to taste

Crumble on top:
2 Tablespoons goat cheese

Refrigerate until serving.

Indian Asparagus

2008-02-27T00:32:00.000-05:00

I love asparagus. We here in the ToastPoint household buy asparagus nearly every time we go to the store, regardless of season (take that Michael Pollan!). But as good as basic steamed asparagus is, sometimes you want something a little more interesting. Especially in the winter when puttering around the kitchen and fussing with multiple hot pans is more appealing.

And how can you lose by adding oil, spices, yogurt, tomato, and nuts? The result is really good (if not nearly as good for you as the steamed version), and suitable for serving to foodies.

Disclosure: The fine people at The Lisa Ekus Group sent me this cookbook (for free!) umpteen months ago and I have been sitting on this recipe since then, because I am an ungrateful wretch. It's a pretty book full of pretty food, and would be good for those who have mastered the basics and are in the market for a take-it-to-the-next level Indian cookbook for dinner party recipes.

***
Indian Asparagus with Pistachios
(based on Hari Nayak and Vikas Khanna's Sweet and Sour Asparagus with Cashews from Modern Indian Cooking)

Boil for 2 minutes, plunge into cold water, and then set aside:
1 lb asparagus

In a large skillet, warm over medium high heat:
3 Tablespoons oil

Briefly fry:
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds

Quickly add and cook until golden brown:
1 large onion, thinly sliced

Add and fry for one minute:
1 Tablespoon fresh ginger, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 small chili peppers, de-seeded and minced

Stir in:
1 Tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
salt
1 large tomato, chopped (I used a small can of diced tomatoes, drained)
1/4 cut yogurt

Cook for a minute or two, then add the asparagus and cook for another minute or two.

Serve garnished with pistachios (or the cashews in the original recipe)

Roasted Spiced Sweet Potatoes

2007-12-02T20:29:00.000-05:00

Some day--no time soon, mind you, but some day--I'm going to be a horrible pregnant woman. Already, despite being 100 percent non-gestating, I have incredibly specific food cravings, often for frustratingly unspecified dishes.

Today, for instance, I was grooving on the memory of some great Thanksgiving sweet potatoes (Craig Claiborne's recipe, for those who are interested), but wasn't in the mood for the traditional brown sugar glaze. Instead, I wanted something spicy and exciting to go with the lamb chops and baby bok choy I had planned for dinner. And now, thanks to the miracle of Google, even very vague cravings can be satisfied. A search for "sweet potatoes + spices + recipe" yielded this fantastic, hit-the-spot result. These are definitely going into the regular rotation, since they're as easy as they are tasty and they make the house smell fabulous. I'm sure to be craving them again soon.

Hey, at least it's not pickles and ice cream.

***
Roasted Spiced Sweet Potatoes

Preheat oven to 425 degrees

Combine:
1 Tablespoon ground coriander
1 1/2 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper (this makes them fairly spicy, adjust according to your preferences)
1 teaspoon salt
3 Tablespoons oil

Wash and cut into steak fry-sized wedges, leaving the skin on:
3 large sweet potatoes

Coat potatoes in oil and spices, spread on baking sheet, and bake for 40 minutes, turning once.

Into the Meat Grinder: Bittman's Best Burgers

2007-11-21T00:59:00.000-05:00

Since I'm on quite a New York Times recipe kick, I might as well post my long-ignored and semi-ignoble effort from this summer at grinding my own meat for burgers. I'm generally not a fanatical DIY cook. I don't can things. I don't bake bread. I only make stock grudgingly and as a sous chef. But ol' Bittman convinced me that burger nirvana was right around the corner if only I ground my own.

And he didn't just convince me, he convinced Toast-Mother-in-Law, a New Yorker and avid reader of the Times. So this summer she brought some chunks of sirloin out to Long Island and we went to work.

After singing the praises of hand-ground meat--and reassuring us that all we needed was a food processor, not some hand-cranked machine manned by a beefy guy in a bloody apron--Bittman warns readers: "Don’t overprocess. You want the equivalent of chopped meat, not a meat purée. The finer you grind the meat, the more likely you are to pack it together too tightly, which will make the burger tough."

These seemingly low-key words struck a little too much fear in my heart and I underprocessed. Bittman has also exhorted us to buy fatty meat, and my burgers had too many pieces of insufficiently ground fat in them to really be enjoyable. Still, they were very flavorful and I might try again next summer.

If you're looking to recall summer on the first day of flurries (in Boston, anyway) try these under the broiler on on the stove top. And don't be afraid to grind aggressively.

***
Bittman's Burgers
As printed in The New York Times

1 1/2 to 2 pounds not-too-lean sirloin, in chunks
1/2 white onion, peeled and in chunks, optional
Salt and pepper to taste.

1. Start a charcoal or wood fire or preheat a gas grill. Or, on stove top, heat a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat for 3 or 4 minutes.

2. Put meat and onion in a food processor, in batches if necessary, and pulse until coarsely ground: finer than chopped, but not much. Put it in a bowl and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Taste, then add more seasoning if necessary. (If desired, cook a teaspoon of meat in a pan before tasting.) Handling meat as little as possible to avoid compressing it, shape it lightly into 4 or more burgers.

3. Fire is hot enough when you can barely stand to hold your hand 3 or 4 inches over rack for a few seconds. Grill burgers about 3 minutes a side for very rare, and another minute a side for each increasing stage of doneness, but no more than 10 minutes total unless you like hockey pucks. (Timing on stove top is the same.)

4. Serve on buns, toast or hard rolls, garnished as you like.

Mango Chicken with Caramelized Onions

2007-11-20T22:18:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure when it happened, but I am pretty much exclusively a sweet onion gal. Sure, I'll buy the occasional red onion for a particular recipe, or a big mesh bag of plain yellow onions if I must. But if there are Vidalias available, I'll grab them every time.

I suspect that this has something to do with my serious impatience as a cook. Waiting for onions to soften, or God forbid, caramelize is torture for me. So I cheat with high-sugar, already softish sweet onions.

For a while I was on a campaign to convince the Human Vacuum that sweet onions don't make you tear up as much, in an effort to keep him from fleeing the kitchen when the onion slicing began. I've stalwartly stuck to this position, but he and I both know it's pretty much a lie.

Below, a recipe for when you're up to some serious onion frying.

***
Mango Chicken with Caramelized Onions

In a large skillet over medium heat, warm:
1 Tablespoon olive oil
1 Tablespoon butter

Add:
2 large sweet onions, very thinly sliced

Saute until onions are very soft and quite brown--this is where the flavor comes from, so don't skimp. Turn the heat up to high and add:
Glug of vermouth or white wine

Wait for most of the liquid to cook off, then add:
1 pound chicken thighs, trimmed and cut into 1 inch chunks

Brown chicken, then add:
2 ripe mangoes, peeled , cored, and cut into 1 inch chunks
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 Tablespoon dried cilantro, or 2 Tablespoons fresh cilantro, roughly chopped

Cook until mangoes soften slightly and serve over rice.

Sinful/Ethical Macaroni and Cheese

2007-11-19T15:18:00.000-05:00

There has been a lot going on Chez ToastPoint in recent months, not least of which is that its denizens decided to stop living in sin. So I am now Mrs. Human Vacuum. But just when the sinfulness quotient had fallen to near zero in our household, I decided to make mac and cheese. What’s that you say? Mac and cheese--the dinner of choice for millions of angelic children everywhere--seems innocent enough? Ha. Not if the ratio of cheese to pasta is 2:1. You read that right: the dish pictured above contains one half of a pound of pasta and a full pound of cheese.

This recipe was on the “most emailed” list at The New York Times homepage for weeks, and deservedly so. Before now, I’d never made mac and cheese at home from scratch, but restaurant mac and cheese nearly always disappoints. Too much white sauce, not enough cheese, and never enough crisped, chewy top layer. This recipe answers all those objections. It is the Platonic form of mac and cheese. (And easy to make too!)

So what occasioned this dive into gluttony now? Lately, H.V. has been playing tennis with a friend of his on the occasional weekend evening. The boys return from their game and I feed them--a pleasingly domestic event. This particular friend is a very ethical eater. He is the sort of person who carries around a card in his wallet with lists of which fish are OK and which are off limits from an ecological standpoint. He’s evangelical about his decisions in an ultra-low key way. He’s also a gratifying big eater, which makes a cook forgive the slight inconvenience of a big list of verboten ingredients. And this meal goes to show that you can be ethical and sinful all at once.

***
Creamy Macaroni and Cheese
The recipe, as provided in The New York Times, which I followed very nearly exactly, with excellent results.

2 Tablespoons butter
1 cup cottage cheese (not lowfat) (NOTE: I used 2 percent)
2 cups milk (not skim) (NOTE: I used whole milk)
1 teaspoon dry mustard
Pinch cayenne
Pinch freshly grated nutmeg
1⁄2 teaspoon salt
1⁄4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 pound sharp or extra-sharp cheddar cheese, grated
1⁄2 pound elbow pasta, uncooked.

1. Heat oven to 375 degrees and position an oven rack in upper third of oven. Use 1 tablespoon butter to butter a 9-inch round or square baking pan. (NOTE: I used a 7 inch round deep casserole and it was fine)

2. In a blender, purée cottage cheese, milk, mustard, cayenne, nutmeg and salt and pepper together. Reserve 1⁄4 cup grated cheese for topping. In a large bowl, combine remaining grated cheese, milk mixture and uncooked pasta. Pour into prepared pan, cover tightly with foil and bake 30 minutes. (NOTE: Whirl everything but the milk first, to break up the cottage cheese curds)

3. Uncover pan, stir gently, sprinkle with reserved cheese and dot with remaining tablespoon butter. Bake, uncovered, 30 minutes more, until browned. Let cool at least 15 minutes before serving.

***
We started with my favorite pea soup and finished with homemade pumpkin bread, but The New York Times suggests pairing this perfect mac and cheese with a green salad and a glass of wine, which sounds about right to me, too.

Tomato Paella

2007-09-06T20:52:00.000-04:00

Tomato paella. It sits on the line between fussy and stupidly simple. Yes, stock has to be heated in a separate pan—but you could probably skip the heating, or the stock for that matter (water works). Yes, the tomatoes have to be soaked in olive oil and salt and pepper, but you could probably skip that, too. Don’t have the right rice? Use plain old medium-grain Goya (as I did), it’ll be fine. So make this by the book, or go slapdash. The New York Times’ Mark Bittman never fails.

One thing though: the tomatoes really do have to be good. I was packing juicy, meaty ones, fresh from the Long Island farm stand, and they were awesome.

Here’s the recipe as the Times ran it. Or you can watch the video. Very easy to follow. I didn’t have tomato paste, so I substituted finely chopped sun dried tomato and it was delicious.

***
Paella With Tomatoes

3 1/2 cups stock or water

1 1/2 pounds ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into thick wedges

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, minced
1 tablespoon minced garlic

1 tablespoon tomato paste (or chopped sun dried tomato --ed)

Large pinch saffron threads (optional)

2 teaspoons Spanish pimentón (smoked paprika), or other paprika

2 cups Spanish or other short-grain rice

Minced parsley for garnish.

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Warm stock or water in a saucepan. Put tomatoes in a medium bowl, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and drizzle them with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Toss to coat.

2. Put remaining oil in a 10- or 12-inch ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and garlic, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables soften, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in tomato paste, saffron if you are using it, and paprika and cook for a minute more. Add rice and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is shiny, another minute or two. Add liquid and stir until just combined.

3. Put tomato wedges on top of rice and drizzle with juices that accumulated in bottom of bowl. Put pan in oven and roast, undisturbed, for 15 minutes. Check to see if rice is dry and just tender. If not, return pan to oven for another 5 minutes. If rice looks too dry but still is not quite done, add a small amount of stock or water (or wine). When rice is ready, turn off oven and let pan sit for 5 to 15 minutes.

4. Remove pan from oven and sprinkle with parsley. If you like, put pan over high heat for a few minutes to develop a bit of a bottom crust before serving.

The whole thing takes about 30 minutes, and yields 4 to 6 servings.

Sweet-Corn Fritters

2007-07-17T13:51:00.000-04:00

There's something marvelous about fritters. They tap into my longing to be a strong American pioneer wife (as does anything with molasses), and the word fritter is fantastic. Etymologically, what more could you ask than for a word that means "tiny, tasty morsels" to also mean "to squander or disperse piecemeal; waste little by little"?*

This recipe verges on corn pancakes--they're deliciously fluffy and light--though spicy enough to keep the sweetness of the corn under control. The trick with cooking these suckers is to wait until you see bubbles emerging through the raw batter on top of each fritter in the pan before you flip them, just like you would for thick breakfast pancakes.

*In looking for the dictionary.com link above, I discovered the the two meanings of fritter are not etymologically related: The fritters pictured above are [Middle English friture, from Old French, from Late Latin frīctūra, from Latin frīctus, past participle of frīgere, to roast, fry], while the frittering away of time on, say, this blog is [Probably from fritter, fragment, probably alteration of fitters, from fitter, to break into small pieces]. Huh.

***
Sweet-corn fritters
Original recipe here

Combine in a large bowl:
1 cup flour
1 Tablespoon baking powder
pinch paprika, salt, and pepper

Beat together, then add to the dry ingredients and mix well:
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk

Add:
2 cups (approx.) sweet-corn kernels, cut off 6 cobs (UPDATE: cooked or uncooked works, as long as the corn's not cooked to death. Frozen corn is also an option)
1/2 cup sliced scallions or shallots
Small handful parsely or cilantro or basil or baby spinach leaves, chopped
1-2 small hot peppers, Thai peppers or jalapeno, minced

Pour a generous amount of vegetable oil into a large skillet, then drop heaping spoonfuls of batter into the pan in small batches. Fry for approx. 2 minutes on a side.

Eat over a spinach salad, or dolloped with sour cream.

Ratatouille: A Movie and Dinner

2007-07-11T11:20:00.001-04:00

Some of you may recall that I became extremely excited about the new Pixar movie, Ratatouille, when it was announced last fall. After seeing it, I had no choice but to do a version of the dish as whipped up by Remy, our rodentine hero. Especially since the Human Vacuum's mom (my mother-out-law, previously mentioned here and in my other ratatouille recipe here), had just come home with a bunch of individually-sized enameled baking dishes from a Long Island tag sale.

Mine isn't quite French Laundry (which served as the food consultant for the film), but it's a little fancier than your average ratatouille and there's something very satisfying about getting your own personal baked dish of anything, I think. It's like being at a restaurant, except there's no fussy plating. You just yank the baking dishes out of the oven and plonk them down in front of people.

As always, I have omitted the peppers here, since I don't like them and they would have ruined my disk-based composition.

***
Remy's Ratatouille
(Inspired by Pixar's Ratatouille. Seriously, I worked hard to duplicate the steps taken by a cartoon rat during a musical montage. Sheesh, I'm a nerd.)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

In a small skillet, heat:
2-3 Tablespoons olive oil

Fry until golden:
5 cloves garlic, finely minced or microplaned

Add and cook until the color starts to darken and the caramelize:
6 Tablespoons (or one small can) tomato paste

Oil the bottoms of 4 individual shallow enameled dishes (or one large one), then spread each one with the tomato paste mixture, dividing it equally. Arrange in the dishes, in an alternating pattern so that they look like the picture above:
3 zucchini, cut into 1/4 inch coins and lightly salted and oiled
3 yellow/summer squash, cut into 1/4 inch coins and lightly salted and oiled
3 roma tomatoes, cut into 1/4 inch slices and lightly salted and oiled
3 Chinese eggplants (the long, narrow, bright purple ones), cut into 1/4 inch coins and lightly salted and oiled
(NOTE: If you have time, cut the veggies in advance, salt them--but don't oil them--and spread them out to paper towels. The goal is to remove as much moisture as possible ahead of time to keep the product from getting soupy. I did this in a pretty perfunctory way and I was fine.)

Dust with cracked pepper and tuck in springs of fresh rosemary and thyme (or the dried herb of your choice). Cover with foil or parchment paper and cook for about 45 minutes, or until the veggies are meltingly soft and the tomatoes are wrinkled and collapsed like little old men.

Sprinkle with toasted bread crumbs and lots of parmesan and serve immediately, or let cool and reheat when ready to serve.

Because the Human Vacuum loves his ratatouille over pasta, I put a bowl of olive oil slicked, peppery bowties on the table as well, and extra parmesan to pass.

Update: Apologies to commenters. I had to disallow comments on this post because of spam.

Shrimp on the Barbie

2007-06-14T17:38:00.000-04:00

This can't even be called a recipe. Just a suggestion. But consider it a strongly-worded suggestion. More like marching orders, really.

Buy a big bag of giant frozen shell-on shrimp--the ones that come 8-10 shrimp to a pound. You can get these really huge ones in a grocery store freezer case sometimes, prebagged. They're cheaper there, and the "fresh" ones in the seafood display case were frozen anyway.

Thaw them, then skewer them in fat rows, curled against each other like they are spooning. I didn't have proper barbecue skewers, so I soaked come chopsticks in water and used them instead. Slap the skewers onto the banked fired of a barbecue grill, cooking them until the shells start to blacken and the flesh of the shrimp turns bright white and opaque. After careful study, I've determined that the process works best if you cook while consuming a beer or a glass of white wine in the picturesque summer twilight.

Grab a skewer each, and immediately consume the world's best barbecue first course, burning your hands on the shells. If you manage to get them peeled without a trip to the hospital for second degree burns, try dunking in premade peanut sauce, cocktail sauce, or black bean sauce.

Retro Angel Food Cake

2007-06-14T17:15:00.000-04:00

Nobody ever bakes a cake for their neighbors anymore. Why is that? Cakes are just as easy--easier, if you count box cake (and I do)--to make today as in 1950. I'm sure there are many complex sociological reasons having to do with the increased presence of women in the workforce, commute time, the falling price of prepared foods, the fact that no one uses their kitchens anymore, and that we bowl alone. But all of that social science added up to my enormous delight when Mr. and Mrs. ToastFriend came over for dinner recently with a cake in tow. And not just any cake: a genuine, homemade coconut angel food cake on a polka-dotted cake stand. Did you get that? It was on an actual cake stand, people!

The recipe, as emailed from Mrs. ToastFriend below, seems seductively easy with the help of an electric mixer. But I recommend my method: Wait until someone shows up at your door with one.

***
Angel Food Cake: Many Possible Variations
From page 705 in the 75th anniversary edition of the Joy of Cooking

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Use an UNgreased 10-inch tube pan (this cake is BIG, a smaller pan won't cut it; I'd wash the pan right before use, there can be no grease or oily residue otherwise the cake will collapse b/c it is so light and airy it needs to "stick" to the sides of the pan for support. The first time I made this cake I didn't pay attention to this instruction and it was about half as tall as the cake I brought to your house. And lopsided. Tube pan is clutch for the same reason.)

Sift together:
1 cup cake flour (if you don't use cake flour, sift the all purpose flour a few extra times to try to simulate cake flour for the fluff factor)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

Combine in large bowl and beat on low speed for 1 minute:
1 1/2 cups egg whites (about 11 or 12 large whites)
1 tbsp water
1 tbsp lemon juice
1 teaspoon cream of tartar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon almond extract (optional, be careful b/c it is very easy to overdose on the almond extract, a tiny bit goes a really long way) for coconut flavor: add 1/2 teaspoon coconut extract

Increase speed to medium-high and beat until the mixture increases to 5 times in volume and resembles a bowl of soft foam (3-5 minutes). On medium-high speed, beat in another 3/4 cup of sugar, 1 tbsp at a time, taking 2-3 minutes

When all the sugar has been added, the foam will be creamy white and hold soft, moist, glossy peaks that bend over at the points; do not beat until stiff.

Sift a fine layer of the flour mixture (about 1/4 cup) evenly over the batter and fold gently with a rubber spatula only until the flour is almost incorporated. Do not stir or mix. Repeat 7-8 more times until flour mixture is used.

If you're going for coconut cake, fold 1/2 cup of shredded coconut in with the last addition of flour (the sweetened dried kind works the best I think, of course!)

Pour batter into UNgreased pan. Bake at 350 for 35-40 minutes (I actually only baked it for about 28 minutes last time.)

Quick icing
Just beat 4 cups (1 lb, usually one box) of confectioners' sugar with 1/2 cup of butter (softened). Then add in 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract, a pinch of salt, and 5 tbsp of a liquid--not water but milk, sherry or schnapps, or even coffee works (coffee aesthetically makes the cake look a little dumpy unless you cover the outside with shredded coconut for a brown and white ensemble.)

Note: I bet you could do a really tasty orange or lemon version of this, too. I'd fold in the zest of one or two lemons or oranges instead of the coconut in that final stage. And substitute a tbsp of freshly squeezed oj for the lemon juice.

No Coulis for Me!

2007-05-08T12:23:00.000-04:00

Fancy chefs have mostly gotten over this by now, but the managers of banquet halls and "casual dining" restaurants haven't gotten the memo: Enough with the coulis already!

I understand the principle here: A drizzle of raspberry covers a multitude of sins. Dry chocolate cake? Coulis! Colorless panna cotta? Coulis! Huge slab of bland cheesecake? Coulis!

For those of us who are not big fans of the raspberry to begin with, this is sheer torture. In fact, the coulis has become so standard that many menus neglect to mention its presence at all, thus denying a polite, if fanatically coulis-averse diner from requesting that it be omitted. And it is the height of churlishness to send back a dessert due to unannounced drizzle. (Not that I haven't been tempted.) But nothing is sadder than the pure joy of a slice of chocolate cake tainted by overly sweet, radioactive red raspberry drizzle.

So...enough! We unhappy few shan't be trod upon any longer. Stand up for your right to a coulis-free dessert! Join my Anti-Coulis Crusade, small and quixotic thought it may be. Adorn your blog with one of my logos (below) and boldly speak up in restaurants: "No Coulis for me."

***
Just think what the world could have been like if great men had devoted themselves to a topic that truly mattered, like coulis:

Martin Luther King, Jr.:
I have a dream that my four little desserts will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their drizzle but by the content of their character.

Karl Marx:
A spectre is haunting American restaurants—the spectre of coulis.

The Anti-Coulis Crusaders disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing patisserie conventions. Let the ruling classes tremble at an dessert revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their coulis. They have a world to win.

Students for a Democratic Society at Port Huron:
We are people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably at the desserts before us.

The American Founders:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all eaters are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the freedom from raspberry drizzle. That to secure these rights, restaurants are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the eaters, — That whenever any dessert service becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Eaters to alter or to abolish it.

***
If you care to join my tiny, pointlessly furious anti-coulis campaign, feel free to steal my big logo, the shrunken version at bottom, or use this little guy:

Braised Bok Choy

2007-05-06T17:09:00.000-04:00

This recipe is worth a trip to Chinatown. Of course, I am a woman who will seize virtually any reason to go to Chinatown. A dim sum run is my excuse of choice, but I've been known to head out because the freezer seems kind of empty (frozen dumplings are a staple in our household), when I get a craving for a particular kind of tea with preserved lemons, because I need to get a housewarming gift for someone (a set of bowls from a cheap Chinatown supply shop is always a good choice), or just because I have nothing better to do on a Sunday.

Once there, of course, a bagful of cheap veggies is a must. On a recent trip, an old women was unloading a box of the tiniest bok choy I have ever seen. You've heard of baby bok choy? These were fetus bok choy, or potentially blastocyst bok choy. I was standing there with my plastic bag, trying to make a decision when she appeared with hands full. The decision was made. I opened my bag, and from her two hands fell 12 perfect specimens.

The recipe below couldn't be simpler. The original recipe, from Nigella's Forever Summer, calls for Boston butter or little gems lettuces. I made it once with lettuce, and wasn't bowled over. But when Nigella insists on something, it stays with you. And this version with bok choy is divine.

***
Braised Bok Choy
Inspired by Nigella's "Braised Little Gems"

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In a roasting pan or baking dish, lay in tidy rows:
12 tiny bok choy (this probably wouldn't work with anything much bigger than what I described above. For scale, the pan pictured is 9 by 16 inches.)

Pour over:
2-3 cups chicken stock

Drizzle on:
3 Tablespoons olive oil

Sprinkle on:
2 teaspoons dried thyme, or the leaves from a small handful of fresh thyme sprigs
Lots of salt and pepper

Cover tightly with foil and bake for 40 minutes, or until stalks are tender. Serve with almost anything.

***
Note: Save the stock. I used it for an outstanding matzo ball soup the following night. The herbal, green taste of the leafy bok choy infused the stock, and the mellow thyme balanced out the fresh dill I sprinkled directly into the soup.

Tibetan Momo, or Yak Dumplings

2007-05-06T14:04:00.000-04:00

Tibetans love their yaks. ToastMom's recent trip to China featured a stop in Tibet where she claims she was nearly drowned in something called yak butter tea, a horrifying salty tea drink with butter made from yaks' milk churned into it. Far more delicious, though, are these traditional Tibetan dumplings, momo (or མོག་མོག, if you happen to read Tibetan).

Nepal also lays claim to these tasty dumplings, and I first tried them at a Nepalese/Himalayan restaurant in Washington, now closed. Their warm-spiced filling and slightly fluffy skins have haunted me every since. Once I had actual yak in hand, another craving hit. It seemed serendipitous, so I made my first ever foray into dough production in an effort to recreate the magic.

This is, of course, part three of ToastPoint's exotic meat series:

***
Tibetan Momo

First make the dough. Combine in a large mixing bowl:
3 cups flour
3/4 cup water
pinch baking soda

Mix the dough until crumbly, then use your hands to knead the dough into a coherent ball. Add additional water 1 Tablespoon at a time as necessary if dough refuses to cohere. When a ball has been formed, cover the dough with a damp cloth and let it rest from about an hour.

Meanwhile, make the filling. Combine:
1 yak rib eye steak, approx 1 lb., trimmed of fat and minced (ground or minced beef would work, too)
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 small handful cilantro, chopped
1/4 teaspoon powdered ginger
1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cumin
2 cloves garlic, finely minced or microplaned
1 Tablespoon soy sauce
2 Tablespoons oil

Let this mixture rest for the remainder of the hour. When the dough is ready, remove it from the bowl, knead it for another minute or two, then divide it into 1 inch diameter balls. Roll the balls between your hands, then flatten them into 4 inch circles. I used a rolling pin dusted with a little flour, but some recipes prefer momo skins made by patting each ball of dough flat with your hands. Your call. Put 1 Tablespoon of yak filling in the middle of the skin, then fold the skin in half and pinch the edges to seal them, making semicircular dumplings.

Put the dumplings into a steamer lined with a cabbage leaf or lightly oiled to prevent sticking, like the bamboo version pictured above. Steam for 20 minutes. Eat with soy sauce or jarred chili sauce for dipping.

For a hilariously weird version of this recipe, visit the website of Momo Tours.

Remember the Wonder

2007-04-25T10:53:00.000-04:00

In today's New York Times, "A Soft Spot for the Anti-Artisanal" a brilliant pro-Kraft/Hostess/Wonderbread manifesto:

Into every life some Kraft Singles, Hostess Sno Balls and Snickers bars must fall. Could you possibly substitute a wedge of that pampered Camembert for a workaday Kraft Single on a tuna melt? Never. And equal only to the fetishistic satisfaction of eating the filling of an Oreo before you eat the cookie is peeling the Sno Ball’s coconut-sprinkled dome of marshmallow from the chocolate cupcake beneath it and saving its creamy center for last. These products are sui generis in our great American culture where variety rules; you can’t find a real substitute for any of them....

Don’t get me wrong. I’m genuinely glad about the progress being made in the culinary world, and I’m grateful that our daily diets are improving thanks to the tireless efforts of local farmers and obsessive compulsives who have chosen heritage pork as their final frontier instead of space. I salute them.
All I’m saying is that sometimes, people, you’ve still got to remember the wonder.

Kangaroo with Fig Sauce

2007-04-24T20:52:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Part II of the ToastPoint exotic meat series. Today, kangaroo in fig sauce. When we ordered from exoticmeats.com, there was some sort of procurement delay. To make up for the dreadful incovenience of tardy deliver of bits of dead exotic animals, the fine people at Exotic Meats sent some extra kangaroo with our order.

We decided to pay the windfall forward by having a kangaroo dinner party, fairly bold considering that we figured there was a decent chance the meal would be inedible, either through native nastiness or ineptitude of preparation. To up the ante, we even invited a gen-u-ine Australian to the table.

We stocked up on cheese, made extra large portions of side dishes, plied our guests with (Australian) wine, and crossed our fingers. And lo and behold, the kangaroo was awesome. The tender, extremely flavorful, appealingly rosy meat was wolfed down (apologies for mixing species) by one and all. I can only assume that the reason humanity domesticated cows and not kangaroos is that cows are easier to catch in the first place. The sweetness of the caramelized fig complimented the meat perfectly.

Discussion at the table revolved around whether a kangaroo was, in fact, a giant rodent and its status as a pest Down Under--all of which were basically efforts to keep ourselves from feeling bad about eating such a charismatic megafauna.

It will seem like there is a lot of oil in the marinade, but kangaroo is very lean so many recipes recommend variations on a oil bath before cooking. And since the meat is so lean, it will dry out if you try for anything more the medium-rare--thus the quick sear and little else.

This fig sauce would be brilliant with pork or beef as well. So if you can't lay your paws on some kangaroo, you can still give it a whirl.

***
Kangaroo with Fig Sauce

Combine:
2-3 Tablespoons fig preserves
1 small onion, minced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 inch fresh ginger, minced
4 generous Tablespoons olive oil
1 Tablespoon French mustard
1 lemon, juiced
2 Tablespoons fig vinegar, or balsamic vinegar with a bit for extra fig preserves

Pour marinade into a freezer bag and add:
1- 1 1/2 pounds of kangaroo loin filets

Marinate for as long as possible. I marinated mine overnight in the fridge.

About 1 hour before dinner, removed the bag from the fridge and bring kangaroo to room temperature.

Heat on high in a non-non-stick pan (cast iron or aluminum is best. If all you have is non-stick, it just means a little less tasty brown crust on the meat):
1 scant Tablespoon oil

When oil begins to shimmer and smoke, removed kangaroo from marinade, shake off excess and add to the pan. After 3 minutes, turn the filets. After three more minutes, removed the filets to a warm oven (250 degrees) and keep them there until ready to serve.

Meanwhile, reduce heat and pour the marinade into the pan. Deglaze with a little wine or water if things are too dry. Reduce the juices to a thick, syrupy sauce and serve on in a little pitcher or bowl on the side of the kangaroo.

Buckwheat Noodles with Napa Cabbage and Almonds

2007-04-19T20:46:00.000-04:00

Charmingly, the recipe that inspired this dish calls for crunched up packages of ramen noodles, not the snooty buckwheat soba you see above. If you have some TopRamen on hand, go for it and tell me how it turned out. I've never had anything like what this recipe--and the dozens of others like it I found online--so I don't know what it was really supposed to be like. I suspect it was meant to be more like an asiany crunchy salad or slaw. What I wound up with was more in the spirit of the sesame noodles or peanut noodles from your local Chinese place as an appetizer.

On the last sunny day in Boston before the recent bout of distinctly unspringlike weather, I tossed together this quick lunch for two while the H.V. napped upstairs between classes. When he descended, we munched these savory noodles in companionable quiet and enjoyed the warm sun coming in through the windows of our apartment. The toasty almonds and the tender cabbage seemed tentatively springlike, but the hot noodles were substantive enough to line our tummies and anchor us for one last battle with winter.

***
Buckwheat Noodles with Napa Cabbage and Almonds

Start some water boiling for the noodles. Meanwhile, melt in a large skillet:
3 Tablespoons butter

Add:
1/2 cup slivered almonds (I only had whole almonds, which I "slivered" with a large chef knife. The final result was rustic, but served its purpose)

Toast the almonds until golden, then add:
1 head Napa cabbage, chopped into coleslaw-like ribbons

While the cabbage softens, boil for a scant 2 minutes:
1 package buckwheat soba noodles, snapped in half or in quarters

Drain and rinse under cold water, then add them to the pan with the cabbage. Toss in:
4 scallions, green and white parts, chopped

Then add:
3 Tablespoons soy sauce
1 Tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1 Tablespoon rice vinegar (or other white vinegar)
2 Tablespoons rice wine (or honey mixed with water, or maple syrup)

Let the whole thing bubble away for a minute or two on high heat, then garnish with sesame seeds and serve hot.

***
For more pasta, presto!

Crocodile in Lime and Ginger (Seriously)

2007-04-18T20:57:00.000-04:00

The Human Vacuum is on the march. His campaign to consume bits of increasingly bizarre animals led him to ExoticMeats.com, where he bought crocodile and fragments of several other strange beasts, which will be featured here in the coming days. For now, our freezer is a veritable menagerie.

The results so far: I hate to say it, but crocodile really does taste like chicken. Maybe chicken with a touch of the spongy, fishiness of swordfish. But basically chicken. Which isn't to say that the dinner pictured above was lacking in any way. It was delicious. But you could probably make it with chicken or swordfish to excellent effect and at much less expense.

Still, half the fun is just beng able to casually mention that you had crocodile for dinner last night, right?

***
Crocodile in Lime and Ginger

Combine in a shallow bowl:
Juice of 2 limes
Pinch cayenne pepper
1 inch fresh ginger, minced or grated
1 Tablespoon soy sauce

Add:
1 pound crocodile, cut into 1 inch chunks (or chicken or swordfish)

Marinate for an hour, or as long as possible (see here for my laissez-faire policy on marinating)

In a large skillet over high heat, warm until shimmering:
1-2 Tablespoons olive oil

Retreive chunks of crocodile from marinade and add them to the pan, reserving the juices for later use. Sear the crocodile for about 2 minutes on each side, then remove and keep warm. Turn the heat down to medium high and pour the leftover marinade into the pan, along with:
1 scallion, minced
1 Tablespoon honey
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Let it bubble and reduce to a thick sauce. Put the chunks of crocodile, along with any juices that have accumulated on the plate, back into the pan and toss to coat.

I served the croc on a bed of cubed zucchini sauted with 1 Tablespoon butter, 2 Tablespoons of fresh mint, salt, and cracked pepper.
***
Check out more experiments in reptillian eating here.

Salmon with Soy, Maple, and Adobo

2007-04-16T23:00:00.000-04:00

Thank god for people who refuse to follow directions. I was drafted into an email recipe exchange (sort of a chain letter/pyramid scheme, but with recipes) and, for the first time in my life, actually decided to participate. It was a simple calculation--potential for a bunch of good recipes, versus almost no effort to send a recipe since I already had a website full of them. I got a decent yield, but the best of the bunch was this salmon from a person who, by the rules of the recipe exchange, shouldn't have sent it to me, but to the next person down on the list.

I opted to saute a plastic bag of baby spinach in 2 Tablespoons of olive oil and 3 cloves of minced garlic, and serve with some Whole Food corn bread muffin tops. The original recipe suggested serving the salmon with brown rice and oven-roasted asparagus, which I'm confident would be delicious as well.

The Human Vacuum said "You could get exactly this plate for $27 dollars at a nouveau cuisine-type place." It's true. The glaze was just fresh interesting enough, and the plating was very attractive, even if I do say so myself.

***
Salmon with Soy, Maple and Adobo

Mix together in a shallow bowl:
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 Tablespoon adobo, the red tomato-based sauce from a can of chipotle peppers (you can get these in the Mexican section of almost any grocery store, even though they sound fancy)
1/4 cup soy sauce

Add:
1 pound salmon filet

Marinate for a bit. (I had already broken that age-old rule and gone to the grocery store while absolutely starving. When I got home, I threw the marinade together, put the groceries away, and started cooking. 10 minutes at best. It was still awesome. The original recipe says to marinate for half an hour, which you should feel free to do. I consider it a point of honor to treat marinating times as loose suggestions at best--and am willing to do away with that step altogether if I'm in a hurry. Sort of like stop signs at deserted intersections.)

Anyway, saute the salmon in a skillet, browning both sides and cooking until just approaching opaque in the middle (see below for my super no-fail salmon sauteing technique). Meanwhile, briskly simmer the marinade in a separate saucepan until it is reduced to a scant 1/4 cup.

Drizzle glaze over fish and serve with the sides of your choice.

***
Super no-fail salmon sauteing technique
Heat up a dry skillet on high. When the skillet is very hot, drop in the salmon, skin side down. Wait for 2-3 minutes until the fat starts to render out. Then flip the salmon, scrape the skin off (which will be incredibly easy at this point), and throw the skin away. If the skin sticks to the surface of the pan, all the better. Just flip the fish to another part of the pan, scrape it up and throw it away. Sear the other side well (another 2 minutes, until a brown crust forms). Flip once more, then turn the heat to medium-low and cook until the fish starts to threaten to become opaque in the center. The gorgeous brown crust this technique creates is worth the house full of fishy smoke it produces, so open the windows before you try this technique and enjoy.

Roasted Grapefruit with Yogurt

2007-03-27T21:23:00.000-04:00

Generally, I don't do fussy weekday breakfasts. In fact, solitary breakfast is almost always consists of toasting whatever carb is at hand and smearing it with the sugary contents of the first jar that comes to my attention in the refrigerator door. I find, though, that on the rare occasions when I get my act together and do something more elaborate for my first meal, it gives me the feeling that I'm really in control of my life. To be the kind of person who prepares breakfast for herself on a weekday morning is to be the anti-Bridget Jones, the sort of person who has an organized sock drawer and an empty inbox. There's meditative serenity in kitchen puttering that I can rarely manage to leave time for on a Tuesday morning. When I actually do carry it off, I have the distinct (slightly smug) sense that I have ascended to a higher plane of being.

For Christmas, I received a subscription to Martha Stewart's pint-sized magazine Good Food. Martha, of course, dwells perennially in the aforementioned higher plane of being. To date, I'd mostly used the magazine for breakfast reading, not actual breakfast recipes. But the first recipe in this month's issue was this grapefruit concoction, which was easy and insanely delicious. It turns out that attaining a higher plane of being isn't as hard as it looks.

***
Roasted Grapefruit with Yogurt
adapted from Martha Stewart's Good Food magazine

When you stumble downstairs half awake, turn on your broiler. Do not--I repeat, do not--forget that you turned it on and fall back asleep on the couch. Cut in half:
1 red grapefruit

Sprinkle each half with:
1 Tablespoon brown sugar (more if you suspect the grapefruit of being unsweet)

Stick the sugar-dusted grapefruit under the broiler for 4-5 minutes, or until you are too impatient to wait any longer. Remove and top each half with:
Large spoonful plain yogurt
pinch cinnamon

Martha suggests that you cut the grapefruit before broiling to make it easier to separate fruit from pith and peel. If you can manage this kind of knife work before breakfast, fine. For me, there are limits even to my ascension.

Beets and Cheese

2007-03-21T22:39:00.000-04:00

The second in a series of odd eating when the Human Vacuum is out of town.

I consoled myself over the H.V.'s departure by buying about $30 worth of fancy cheese. One of the sillier purchases was a tiny glass jar of something called Miticrema, which I now know is a soft cream cheese-like sheep's milk cheese with a yogurty tang. I didn't know what it was when I bought it, of course. I'm just a sucker for tiny glass jars of expensive foodstuffs (see fig spread, caviar, french full fat yogurt, saffron, et al.)

Elsewhere in the grocery cart, a significantly less expensive pair of beets. I've never really loved beets. In salad bars, I find them quite alarming, lying there in coins that bleed magenta into the bin of chickpeas next door. But the recent craze for salads of layered roasted beet and goat cheese and walnuts/whatever in snooty restaurants has convinced me that I have been giving beets short shift. Having never bought a beet in my life, now was the time to face the beast, err, beet on my own turf. This dish always has a fancy description on restaurant menus, like "roasted beet napoleon" or something silly. You know what it really is? Beets and cheese, thank you very much.

And what better way to face the unfamiliar than with cheese?

***
Beets and Cheese

Turn the oven on to 450 degrees.

Wrap in foil:
1 beet, peeled
Put it in the oven (no need to wait for it to preheat). After an hour or so, unwrap the beet and stick a knife in to make sure it's soft and tender. If not, rewrap and give it another 10 minutes or so.

Slice the beet into rounds and rub on a little:
Balsamic vinegar (I used a nifty fig balsamic which was a gift from my oldest ToastFriend, which added even more rich sweetness to the beet)

Then build a tower of alternating layers of beet and:
Spoonfuls of miticrema, goat cheese, or other creamy, strongly-flavored cheese

Eat standing up in the kitchen with a side of leftover chickpeas from a pan in the fridge. Or as a fancy hors d'oeuvre. Whatever.

(Note: I could only make myself eat about half of a beet in this manner--the cheese is quite rich.)

Gnawing on Bones, Alone

2007-03-19T21:01:00.000-04:00

Tonight at 8:45 p.m., I found myself savagely digging the marrow out of my third and final roasted beef bone with a grapefruit spoon. All because the Human Vacuum is out of town. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I thought the absence of the H.V. would be a good opportunity to load up the sort of food he tends to shun. Thus my impulse buy of three fat beef bones at the grocery store last night. I had the vague idea that people in British novels did something with marrow, and that it was considered a treat by small children. Fueled by that single blurry thought, I tossed them in my mini-cart at Whole Foods. Tonight, after fiddling around waiting for the Falcon 1 launch (aborted, again. sigh.), I cranked up the oven and tossed them in.

In the sprirt of the novels that inspired this dinner, I must tell you, Dear Reader, that the resulting dinner was scrumptious. Crunchy lemony salad, rich unctuous marrow, warm buttery toast. It was just what I dreamed it would be, and it was precisely the sort of thing best eaten alone, away from prying eyes--even of those who love us most. While eating, I descended into savagery, rasping my spoon around the inside of the bones to retrieve the last tasty morsels.

Hey, at least I was still using utensils, right?

***
Roasted Marrow on Toast
(Despite the rarity and seeming fancy-pantsness of this meal, it was quite easy to make. Rachel Ray could do a 30 Minute Meal of marrow bones and still have time left over to make a box cake. And it's a one-pan meal, so clean up is quick, too.)

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Place on a foil-lined pan:
3 beef or veal bones, cut into 3 inch pieces

Arrange the bones cut sides down so that they stand like a tiny, meaty Stonehenge in the pan. Stick them in the oven for about 20 minutes. They'll be done when they bleed a little fat and the marrow is soft all the way through, which you can check by poking them with a skewer or thin knife.

While the bones are a-roastin', make a tiny salad. All the recipes I found online call for a parsely salad, which I'm sure would be lovely. But when you've impulse-bought beef bones, it's unlikely that you've also coincidentally impulse-bought two handfuls of parsely. So, I just used:
1 handful salad greens, torn small

Dress with the following, whisked together:
1/2 lemon, juiced
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced or microplaned (I used a squeeze of the preprocessed stuff--no one was looking, so I figured I could get away with lazy man's garlic)
Salt and pepper

Then toast:
2 pieces plain white bread

Yank the bones out of the oven, arrange everything on a plate and serve with a small spoon for savage digging. To eat: scrape out the marrow, smoosh it onto triangle of toast, and (this step is very important) sprinkle with salt. Alternate with bites of salad.

Shrimp, Black Bean, and Corn Salsa

2007-03-05T18:39:00.000-05:00

What follows is what is quaintly called a "pantry supper" in certain old-fashioned cookbooks. The genteel emphemism conceals this less-than-ladylike sentiment: "&%$#ing hell. There are zero fresh vegetables or meat in this house, but there is no way on God's green earth that I am going to the grocery store in this weather/this time of day/in this mood/in this shirt." This meal can be made entirely from the freezer and cupboards. The ingredients are, of course, suggestions. If you have pinto beans or chickpeas but no black beans, go for it. If you're fresh out of frozen corn, throw in peas or edamame, or whatever. The point is reduce stress, not create more.

***
Shrimp, Black Bean, and Corn Salsa

Combine in a large bowl:
1 can black beans, drained
2 cups frozen corn, thawed in the microwave.
1 pound shrimp, cooked and roughly chopped
1 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Salt and pepper
Splash of soy sauce

Eat directly out of the bowl with tortilla chips, enjoying the hypnotic, soothing crunch that they create inside your head. If you're very lucky, and your freezer happened to have some Costco guacamole in it, eat it in alternate bites.

Words of Wisdom

2007-03-03T20:22:00.000-05:00

"I think bacon is essentially the meat lover's version of chocolate. It does the same thing to people."

Too true.

Read more about bacon's "new sizzle" in the Pueblo Chieftain.

Or learn how to make your own chocolate-covered bacon here.

Or admire Sir Francis Bacon, at right.

Your call.

Cook's Illustrated Brownies

2007-03-02T09:48:00.000-05:00

There's something about brownies. They don't carry the Holly Homemaker baggage of cookies (cf. Hillary Clinton: "You know, I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies and had teas, but what I decided to do was fulfill my profession."), but they're not fussy either (cf. pastillage).

Inspired by Smitten Kitchen, I decided to experiment with a batch of Cook's Illustrated brownies. As is often the case, I was seized by the urge to bake at an inconvenient time. These things always take longer than you think, so it was 10:30 p.m. before the brownies were anywhere near the cutting stage. After tasting one and declaring it a success, the Human Vacuum got on the phone and called everyone we know in the apartment building. (This was an act of self-defense. An entire pan of brownies in the house only leads to the consumption of an entire pan of brownies unless steps are taken.) Next thing you know, we were hosting a mini brownie party. One visitor arrived sporting pajama pants paired with gold ballet flats. The lesson: Bake it, and they will come.

(A note: Cook's Illustrated is an outstanding magazine. So outstanding, in fact, that when the Human Vacuum and I moved to Boston, I considered applying for a job in their famed America's Test Kitchens. They make 100 pans of brownies to figure out the absolute best technique and ingredients. But before I made much progress on figuring out how to falsify my resume to make it seem like I had two years of restaurant experience, I was struck down by a bout of common sense.)

(Another note: There has been some recent controversy over brownies. From the latest in the "young women are in trouble" genre, Unhooked, by Laura Sessions Stepp: “Tying one on can be fun occasionally. Just don’t let it take over your social life. Organize weekend getaways and other events to bring people together. Bake cookies, brownies, muffins. Ask your girlfriends for assistance. Guys will do anything for homemade baked goods.”)

For more hot brownie action, check out Once Upon a Tart's browniebabe of the month event.

***
Classic Brownies

The recipe is quite involved, as Cook's recipes tend to be, and you can't improve on the directions offered by America's Test Kitchens, so I'm cutting and pasting from my source, Smitten Kitchen. It seems like a lot of work, but the perfect, crackly top and moist dense inside are worth it.

Be sure to test for doneness before removing the brownies from the oven. If underbaked (the toothpick has batter clinging to it) the texture of the brownies will be dense and gummy. If overbaked (the toothpick comes out completely clean), the brownies will be dry and cakey.

1 cup (4 ounces) pecans or walnuts, chopped medium (optional)
1¼ cups (5 ounces) cake flour
½ teaspoon salt
¾ teaspoon baking powder
6 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped fine
12 tablespoons (1½ sticks) unsalted butter, cut into six 1-inch pieces
2¼ cups (15¾ ounces) sugar
4 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position; heat oven to 325 degrees. Cut 18-inch length foil and fold lengthwise to 8-inch width. Fit foil into length of 13 by 9-inch baking dish, pushing it into corners and up sides of pan; allow excess to overhand pan edges. Cut 14-inch length foil and, if using extra-wide foil, fold lengthwise to 12-inch width; fit into width of baking pan in same manner, perpendicular to first sheet. Spray foil-lined pan with nonstick cooking spray.

2. If using nuts, spread nuts evenly on rimmed baking sheet and toast in oven until fragrant, 5 to 8 minutes. Set aside to cool.

3. Whisk to combine flour, salt, and baking powder in medium bowl; set aside.

4. Melt chocolate and butter in large heatproof bowl set over saucepan of almost-simmering water, stirring occasionally, until smooth. (Alternatively, in microwave, heat butter and chocolate in large microwave-safe bowl on high for 45 seconds, then stir and heat for 30 seconds more. Stir again, and, if necessary, repeat in 15-second increments; do not let chocolate burn.) When chocolate mixture is completely smooth, remove bowl from saucepan and gradually whisk in sugar. Add eggs on at a time, whisking after each addition until thoroughly combined. Whisk in vanilla. Add flour mixture in three additions, folding with rubber spatula until batter is completely smooth and homogeneous.

5. Transfer batter to prepared pan; using spatula, spread batter into corners of pan and smooth surface. Sprinkle toasted nuts (if using) evenly over batter and bake until toothpick or wooden skewer inserted into center of brownies comes out with few moist crumbs attached, 30 to 35 minutes. Cool on wire rack to room temperature, about 2 hours, then remove brownies from pan by lifting foil overhang. Cut brownies into 2-inch squares and serve. (Store leftovers in airtight container at room temperature, for up to 3 days.)

Shrimp Quiche

2007-01-19T13:33:00.000-05:00

I'm not going to lie: This wasn't a quick, easy dinner. I usually have a high tolerance for culinary multitasking, but this requires rather hard kitchen labor for something that sits on Pillsbury pie crust.

Which isn't to say it wasn't tasty as hell. The results were pretty amazing. Coincidentally, Mark Bittman did a New York Times video and article on a Chinese dish of shrimp with scrambled eggs and scallions, which is basically the concept here. Bittman enthuses about how the taste of the shrimp permeates the eggs, which doesn't really sound very good, but is actually delicious.

Make if you are in the mood for something familar, but with a twist. Or if you want to impress people at a potluck brunch.

***
Shrimp Quiche

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a mixing bowl, beat together then set aside:
2 eggs
1/2 cup grated cheddar, smoked gouda, or similar
1/4 cup Parmesan
salt and pepper

In a large skillet, warm over medium heat:
2 Tablespoons butter
1 Tablespoon olive oil (to prevent the butter from burning)

Add:
2 medium onions, roughly diced
1 pinch cayenne pepper

While the onions are cooking, place in a nine-inch pie pan:
1 premade crust
(Or make your own, but don't ask me about that.) Weigh down the inside of the crust with something to keep it from puffing up. People use all kinds of fancy things for this, but I just put a smaller round pan on top, and it worked fine. Cook the crust for 10 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside when it seems fairly solid, but before it starts to brown.

Meanwhile, when the onions begin to soften, add:
2 heads broccoli, peeled
Break the trees into the smallest possible florets, and cut the stem into coins
(The broccoli could be replaced with another veggie, but there's something so right about broccoli in quiche, I think.)

When the broccoli is starting to soften, and the edges are browning slightly, add:
1 pound peeled, uncooked shrimp, roughly chopped
(You could use cooked shrimp here, too. Just add it right before you dump everything into the crust)

When the shrimp turns just barely pink, turn out the contents of the pan into the pre-baked crust. Pour the egg mixture in over the veggies and shrimp, then stick the whole thing in the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, or until the top browns and bubbles. At some point in the cooking process, I sprinkled some paprika over the top, which looked nice. Remove the quiche from oven when the jiggling in the middle of the quick seems to have more or less ceased, and let sit for a few minutes. Then dive in for a hot dinner, or serve at room temperature for brunch.

Christmas Carnage in Gingerbread

2006-12-29T18:59:00.000-05:00

Every year, ToastSister assembles a gingerbread house for Christmas display. This year, she felt compelled to construct (deconstruct?) an homage to Hurricane Katrina. In gingerbread. Yes, what you see above is a nutcracker in a chalk outline felled by a piece of besprinkled roof. Yes, I fear for her sanity.

New York Times Brussels Sprouts

2006-12-01T11:51:00.000-05:00

Taking a page from The Wednesday Chef, I decided to make a recipe clipped right from the New York Times. It was a Thanksgiving suggestion, designed to "Take The Meal Beyond Tan." Obviously, the ToastFamily wouldn't put up with something as wildly unorthodox as brussels sprouts on Turkey Day (or as some would have it: The Most Adored Food Holiday in the Land)--or any non-tan, non-traditional foodstuffs at all. Later, though, the austerity of these lemony sprouts seemed just the thing to counteract all the carbolicious extravagance.

I was right to take a chance on this recipe. The result is not at all brussels sprouty, but instead more like a lemony version of those sharp-tasting salad you can get at Thai and Vietnamese restaurants. I followed the recipe very nearly to the letter, only dividing the quantities in half, so I've just cut and pasted from the NYT below, though I also own the magnificent cookbook whence it came.

***
Hashed Brussels Sprouts With Lemon Zest
Adapted from ''The Union Square Cafe Cookbook,''
by Michael Romano and Danny Meyer (HarperCollins, 1994)
Time: 25 minutes

2 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus grated zest of 1 lemon
2 pounds brussels sprouts
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons black mustard seeds or poppy seeds
1/4 cup dry white wine or vermouth
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Place lemon juice in a large bowl. Cut bottoms off sprouts, and discard. Halve sprouts lengthwise, and thinly slice them crosswise. The slices toward the stem end should be thinner, to help pieces cook evenly. As you work, transfer slices into bowl with lemon juice. When all sprouts are sliced toss them in juice and separate leaves. (Recipe can be prepared to this point and refrigerated, covered, for up to 3 hours.)
2. When ready to serve, heat oil and butter over high heat in a skillet large enough to hold all sprouts. When very hot add sprouts, garlic and seeds, and cook, stirring often, until sprouts are wilted and lightly cooked, but still bright green and crisp, about 4 minutes. Some leaves might brown slightly.
3. Add wine, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, 1 minute more. Turn off heat, add salt and pepper to taste and stir in the lemon zest, reserving a little for top of dish. Transfer to a serving bowl, sprinkle with remaining zest and serve.
Yield: 10 servings.

Pillsbury Pain au Chocolat

2006-11-29T20:25:00.000-05:00

Genius comes along ever-so-rarely in this fallen world of ours. I don't think it's immodest to say that this is one of those times.

Anyone who has every consumed a Pillsbury crescent roll knows the joys of this flaky, buttery, just shy of greasy consumer miracle. And many people know the crescent rolls make brilliant pigs in a blanket when wrapped around kosher cocktail weenies. But it wasn't until a recent Sunday morning that I realized the ultimate possibility for an instant breakfast--Pillsbury pain au chocolat.

The recipe, if once can even call it that, is simple: Follow the directions on one package Pillsbury crescent rolls, but before rolling each crescent, place one small (1 cm x 2 cm) piece of semi- or bittersweet chocolate in the middle of the wide side of the triangle. Wrap the pastry around the chocolate and cook as directed. When you pull them out of the oven, eat the rolls right away and discover a delicious, melting chocolate heart within each one.

The Human Vacuum and I ate an entire package of these for breakfast recently. And we are not ashamed of ourselves in the slightest--so don't look at us like that.

Ratatouille with No Peppers, and a Rat

2006-11-15T16:38:00.000-05:00

I hate bell peppers. They're so pretty, so colorful. And, to me, they taste like hell. So naturally, my ratatouille is devoid of them. And--if I do say so myself--it's the better for it. The peppers are often a disruption in the velvety texture of the perfect ratatouille, which should be full of luscious eggplant, falling-apart squash, and rich tomato. If your ratatouille is destined to be a pasta sauce, as the Human Vacuum insists it should always be, this recipe is particularly excellent.

A note: I don't mess around with low-fat versions of this recipe. My mother-out-law does a very solid, very easy, version of ratatouille where she roasts all the veggies then tosses them together. But when you're in the mood for a rich version, with enough olive oil to keep the Mafia in business, this is the recipe to turn to. In the recipe below, I've specified the order of veggies. After each round, you can just dump them in one big bowl to keep them ready for the final phase--no need to dirty up the kitchen with a bunch of separate containers.

***
Ratatouille

In a large, heavy bottomed Dutch oven, heat:
4 Tablespoons olive oil

Add:
2 large onions, roughly chopped (sweet ones, if possible)

Cook until translucent, remove with a slotted spoon and reserve. Turn the heat to high and add additional oil if needed, plus:
1 medium eggplant, cut into 1 inch cubes (some people do elaborate things to remove the water from the eggplant before cooking. I just cook the damn things over high heat and it seems evaporate enough water to prevent soupiness in the final product)

Cook until browned and soft, remove with a slotted spoon and reserve. Turn heat back to medium-high and add additional oil if needed, plus:
3 medium yellow squash, cubed
3 medium zucchini, cubed

Cook until soft, turn the heat to low, then return all vegetables to the pan and add:
1 can tomatoes, diced
2 teaspoons savory, or thyme
generous pinches of salt and pepper

At this point, you could stir vigorously and it would be delicious to eat right off the bat. But if you make the ratatouille in advance and leave it over the burner on low until you're ready to eat it will improve with every additional minute on the stove. Other cookbooks say that it's even better if you make the ratatouille way in advance and leave it in the fridge overnight. I've never managed to plan that far in advance, so I pass that pearl of culinary wisdom along on the strength of hearsay alone.

***
In other news, there's a movie out this summer from Pixar about a French rat who happens to be an incurable gourmand. And what else could it possibly be called, but...Ratatouille. Watch the preview here.

Indian Okra with Yogurt

2006-10-26T11:32:00.000-04:00

My first encounter with okra was at Gatsby's Tavern when I was 8. I'd been dragged there for a bit of school-sponsored historical tourism, and a soup plate was slapped down in front of me--by a costumed serving wench, of course--of some mysterious brown goo with a single okra perched on top, whole and glistening with slime in the candlelight. It looked, to my eight year old eyes, like the severed limb of some tiny space alien. Needless to say, the whole experience took some getting over. But Sam and Omie's, on the Outer Banks in North Carolina, sped along the healing process a couple of years later when the ToastFamily discovered their fingerburningly crisp, delicious little nubbins of fried okra tossed into the veggie basket.

This dish is nothing like either of those okra moments--but marvelous in its own way. I make this pretty often, as a default when I impulse-buy okra. (Editor's note: What kind of a sick person uses the words "impulse buy" and "okra" in the same sentence?)

Neither crispy nor soggy/scary/E.T., this is okra at its most vegetable-like. The soft, strongly flavored onions twine around the slightly sticky bits of lightly browned okra. Each bite has a nice pop/crunch and a slight yogurt sourness to it. If you're a fan of particularly spicy Indian food, go whole hog with the peppers here--you will be rewarded.

***
Okra with Yogurt

In a huge skillet over medium heat, warm:
2-3 Tablespoons oil

Add, and fry until soft and just barely beginning to brown:
2 large onions, thinly sliced

Add, and fry 2-3 minutes, until fragrant:
2-3 cloves garlic, minced or mircroplaned
2 medium chiles (I like Thai peppers), minced
1/2 teaspoon onion seeds (optional)
1/2 teaspoon turmeric

Add, and fry 3-4 minutes on higher heat until beginning to caramelize:
3 Tablespoons tomato paste
2-3 Tablespoons coconut milk (2 teaspoons dried coconut can be substituted)

Keep the heat on high, and add:
1 lb fresh okra, washed, topped, tailed and cut into 1/2 inch chunks (I've never made this with frozen, but I suspect that it might not be worth it.)

Stir fry for a few minutes until the edges of the okra begin to brown. The goal is to move fast to get the okra from becoming gluey.

Add:
3 Tablespoons plain yogurt
2 Tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro (optional)

Cook for 2 more minutes, stirring. Serve very hot, with rice for a meal for two, or as a veggie side for a curry banquet.

DMBLGiT: Winners!

2006-10-24T20:17:00.000-04:00

I won't do any scripted Oscar-style lead-in here. The photo submissions were of extremely high quality, and the winners speak for themselves.

The most original submission was an easy pick:

Sam from Becks & Posh effortlessly destroyed the competition with her freaky "Alien Tomato, Pregnant with Strawberry". She must have known it was a winner for originality, since it's now featured in her blog header.

The photo we wanted to lick off the screen was clear:

Peabody from Culinary Concoctions submitted a Lemon Meringue Pie that won the judges' hearts and stomachs in the edibility category.

The most aesthetically pleasing photo:

Natalia of From Our Kitchen used her submission email to try to bribe the judges with chocolate. Let this be a lesson to you all. Kidding! Her financiers won it on the merits for aesthetics.

We have a tie for Overall Winner between:

Bea of La Tartine Gourmande with her Slow Roasted Tomato Tart with Arugula, Caramelized Onions and Shaved Parmesan.

And Anita of Dessert First with her Matcha Opera Cake.

Thanks to Ian, Elaine, and Patty of the Harvard Business School Wine and Cuisine Society for judging, and thanks to everyone who entered.

A couple of honorable mentions:

Johanna at The Passionate Cook submitted raspberry & apple jam on brioche. Though it didn't quite break into the winner's circle, the judges found the photo simple and endearing.

Mellie of Tummy Rumbles sent a whimsically titled "Blood Orange which is just about to be turned into a Blood Orange Rosemary Marmalade." The crisp, sharp shot was reminiscent of the taste of citrus "which is about to be turned into marmalade." An all-around excellent photo.

Anyone curious to know their scores and/or comments can drop me a line anytime.

Honeydew Ice Cream: The September Backlog Project Continues

2006-10-16T23:36:00.000-04:00

If I may say so: I am a genius.

From time to time, I buy a melon. Not cantaloupe, which I'm convinced tastes of paint fumes. Honeydew. Delicious, cool, pale green honeydew. When I get home from the grocery store, I perform an intergenerational rite of the ToastWomen. I halve, quarter, slice, peel, and cube the melon and then put it in a Tupperware in the fridge so that I can pluck out chilly cubes for the next few days whenever I fancy a bite of something sweet. I remember being a tiny child and watching my grandmother perform this ritual with each new melon that arrived in her Florida house, to which ToastSister and I were dispatched each summer for a couple of weeks.

This particular September honeydew sat in the fridge a little too long and lost its bite. Instead of tossing it, I thought I'd use the mushy melon to lose my frozen dessert virginity. I don't have an ice cream maker, and the whole process of making ice creams and sorbets has long intimidated me. But quick, before I could psych myself out of it, I dumped the melon and its juices, some confectioners sugar, and a bit of Rose's lime into the blender. The result was a divine honeydew smoothie. After a few hours in the freezer, it was a decent sorbet. But it needed something. Namely, cream. I tossed the sorbet back in the blender, added a glug of cream, and that's when the magic happened. I fed it to the Human Vacuum, who moaned his appreciation. I snuck bites at all hours of the day and night. And each bite came with the same happy little though: I made ice cream! And not just ice cream, but gen-u-ine snooty, unusually flavored, trendy ice cream.

I am a genius. (And so modest!)

***
Honeydew Ice Cream

In the blender, add:
1/2 very ripe honeydew melon, cut into chunks
1/2 cup confectioners sugar
1 Tablespoon Rose's Sweetened Lime Juice (or 1 teaspoon lime juice and a little extra sugar)

Whirr for a long time, until very well blended. Slowly add:
1/2 to 3/4 cup heavy cream, tasting periodically to assess creaminess.

Pour into a Tupperware and freeze, stirring occasionally.

I found that the texture ice cream was improved by one or two re-blendings--I just dumped the frozen honeydew ice cream block back into the blender and reprocessed it. But it's pretty decent as-is, too.

Plum Pastry: The September Backlog

2006-10-15T14:36:00.000-04:00

In September, I had occasion to go out into the wilds of Boston's surprisingly rural suburbs. Once there, I was shunted off on a worthwhile trip to the Idylwilde market. I grabbed a pint of unsexily named prune plums (and some gorgeous tomatoes and peppers). I ate one of the purple-black plums when I got home, and was pretty underwhelmed.

As usual, my impulse buy was threatening to rot a few days later. I googled and discovered that you're supposed to bake the damn things. Who knew? They're not very juicy so they go well in pies and tarts, and when you cook them they become sweet and tender. Thus, the dessert below.

***
Plum Pastry

Wash, pit, and quarter:
20 prune plums, also known as Italian plums, or black plums

Bring a few cups of fruity red wine to a simmer (whatever's left in last night's bottle, for example) and dump in the plums. Simmer the plums until they're soft and dyed purple-red from the wine. Drain, and set the plums aside to cool.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Open up a package of:
Thawed puff pastry
Lay the pastry out on an ungreased cookie sheet and cut it into eight rectangles. Spoon the wine-soaked plums onto the centers of pastry squares.

Mix together, then sprinkle over the plums:
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon allspice

Beat together:
1 egg
1 Tablespoon milk
Brush the egg mixture onto the exposed edges of the pastry.

Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes, or until pastry puffs, turns golden, and cooks through.

Serve hot.

DMBLGiT: Round-up, The Revenge

2006-10-14T18:15:00.000-04:00

The third and final part of the DMBLGiT September round-up. See Part 1 and Part 2.

Jenjen of Milk and Cookies submits Iced Cinnamon Snails captured by her Canon EOS 300D.

Anne of Anne's Food sends over a bowl of Pink Peppercorn Biscotti snapped on her Nikon d70s.

Reb of CucinaRebecca offers Frangelico creme caramel with hazlenut praline from a Casio Exlim.

Jeff of C for Cooking serves up cupcakes snapped on his Canon 30D, "shot in RAW, processed in Canon Photo Editor."

JBD of Kiss the Hem of her Apron sends Diet Coke Cake shot with a Canon PowerShot S2 IS and with "a little lighting-tweaking in Picasa."

Nemisbeka of Domestic Goddess zips over Ladies' Kisses, "it's a cookie
originating from Piedmont, Italy," seized on her Fuji Finepix S7700.

Helen at Tartelette submits Chocolate-Filled Raspberries and Cream from her Canon PowerShot A610.

Andrea at Andrea's Recipe Box delivers Pizza Caprese hot from her Canon Powershot S70.

Haalo from Cook (almost) Anything at Least Once offers Spanish Cinnamon Doughnuts captured on her Nikon D50.

Jennifer from Bake or Break serves Alton Brown's Pizza zapped from her Nikon D50.

Julie of A Mingling of Tastes snapped a Lucky Charms Frittata on her Canon SD600.

Kendle and his wife, the team producing My Husband Cooks sent over another frittata from their Canon PowerShot S500, which arrived in my inbox just a few minutes after Julie's.

Lisa of Homesick Texan serves up chicken fried steak, hot from her D200 with a manual 55mm macro lens. And she sent a haiku, because she rocks the house:
Second day of fall--
Photo contest entry due.
Does my blog look good?

Lara of Cookbook 411 sent in a spectacularly late entry, a Thai Inspired Fresh Heirloom Tomato Bloody Mary. And her entry concludes the wrap up.

***
Stay tuned for the results of the contest soon.

DMBLGiT: The Round-Up Continues

2006-10-14T16:42:00.000-04:00

DMBLGiT September round-up, Part 2. See Part 1 and Part 3.

Amy of Cooking with Amy sent over Pasta Puttanesca, from her Canon S2 IS.

Mellie of Tummy Rumbles enclosed a shot of "Blood Orange which is just about to be turned into a Blood Orange Rosemary Marmalade" captured on her Sony Digital A100 SLR.

Scott of Eat With Me offered up Pesto Risotto with Sauteed Chickin in a Shallot Butter Au Jus from his FujiFilm Finepoint digital camera.

Anita of Dessert First creates Matcha Opera Cake and snaps it on her Canon IXUS 55.

The Chocolate Lady of In Mol Araan sends along a plum smoothie, and a rose.

Bea of La tartine gourmande offers up Slow Roasted Tomato Tart with Arugula, Caramelized Onions and Shaved Parmesan captured on her Canon 30D.

Fahara of Souperior presents Mango & Douglas Fir Puree, bavarois of lychee & mango, blackcurrant sorbet, grabbed by her Casio QV-R51 Digital.

Natalia of From Our Kitchen used her submission email to try to bribe the judges with chocolate. (It almost worked.) She submitted financiers caught on a Canon Rebel all in a row.

Mae of Rice and Noodles serves up some tiger prawn springrolls grabbed on her Canon EOS 350D.

Mary of Alpineberry enters Peanut Butter and Jelly Bars captured on a Canon Powershot A95.

Stefanie of Couteau Bonswan offers variations on blackberry pie from a Nikon CoolPix 4300.

Emma of the Laughing Gastronome submits beetroot tabouli from a Canon Digital IXUS 40.

Rachael of Fresh Approach sends Kimchi Pasta Salad from her Kodak Easy Share.

Catherine of Albion Cooks offers up squash blossoms shot on her Canon PowerShot A95.

Riana at For The Love of Baking opted for steamed brownies snapped on her Canon PowerShot A95.

Y at Lemonpi sends Mince Pies from a Canon Digital IXUS 400.

Jenny of All Things Edible took the afternoon off to find this market basket of goodies, snapped on her Nikon Coolpix 4600.

Genie from Inadvertent Gardner sent over her "First, Best Tomato," gathered on her Canon PowerShot SD450.

DMBLGiT: The Round-Up Finally Begins

2006-10-14T15:27:00.000-04:00

At long last, the appallingly late round-up for September's Does My Blog Look Good in This. Here's the first dozen or so. See Part 2 and Part 3 for more.

Johanna at The Passionate Cook submitted raspberry & apple jam on brioche.

Meena at Hooked on Heat beat the heat with Spicy Pepper Mushrooms.

Sam from Becks & Posh snapped "Alien Tomato, Pregnant with Strawberry".

Annie from Bon Appegeek captured snowy cubed fresh paneer, "with a Canon Powershot S2 IS digicam. Image cropped, resized, white balance adjusted slightly, and sharpened a bit to offset effects of resizing."

Peabody from Culinary Concoctions whipped up Lemon Meringue Pie, and caught it on her "Nikon Coolpix 4600--just my cheap-o camera."

Ninnie at Mitaine ecarlate framed Carres chocolates a la feves Tonka, au yogourt et pommes with her Canon PowerShot G1.

Luisa at Wednesday Chef offers homemade peach gelato "made during the August heatwave that practically crippled the entire Northeast." She "used a Panasonic Lumix DMC FX-7. I edited the photo with Picasa's 'I'm Feeling Lucky' feature."

Anu of Food-n-More snapped Coconut Ladoos with a touch of Saffron with her Sony DSC- P73.

Nicole at Pinch My Salt submitted cinnamon swirl bread photographed on a Canon 300D.

Andrew from Spitoon offers Ice Cream by the Thames, shot on his Canon EOS 350D, with exposure of 0.004 sec (1/250), aperture of f/5.6, focal Length of 200 mm, ISO Speed of 200, exposure Bias of 0/2 EV, and no flash.

More entries coming later today!

DMBLGiT

2006-10-02T15:00:00.000-04:00

Don't lose hope. Does My Blog Look Good in This? wrap up and judging will appear soon. Watch this space.

Smoky Honey Lemon Mahi Mahi

2006-09-13T18:29:00.000-04:00

I'm a bit of a whore when it comes to caramel. I'll try anything, as long as it involves gooey, nearly burning sugar. So when I was cruising for something to do with a package of frozen Trader Joe's mahi mahi (very good, by the by), I couldn't resist trying this recipe. And it was really excellent. You'll see that I did all sorts of futzy things to get the "smoky" flavor (since I lack a barbecue or a bottle of Liquid Smoke). In the end, it would probably be easier to just sprinkle on some smoked paprika or just use a lot of ground black pepper and call it quits. If you're feeling enterprising, and have the supplies on hand, my way did come out tasting nice, it was just a lot of work. Also, beware the occasional stray fleck of lapsang souchong in the final dish.

***
Smoky Honey Lemon Mahi Mahi

In a skillet large enough to hold the fish, combine:
1/2 cup olive oil (you could probably get by with 1/4 cup, if you're worried)
1/2 cup honey
Juice of 2 lemons
1/2 cup strongly brewed lapsang souchong tea (see above for other options)

(Note: the original recipe says to marinate the mahi mahi in this mixture for a couple of hours. As usual, I failed to plan for that step, and as usual, it turned out fine)

Cook over high heat until mixture reduces and begins to caramelize. Stir periodically to prevent sticking.

Add:
2 medium filets of mahi mahi
At this point, you have to make a judgement call: you want to add the fish when there's still enough time for it to cook without the sugar in the sauce scorching. The amount of cooking time will vary a lot, depending on your pot, stove, and fish. As a rough guideline, cook the liquid mixture for 15 minutes, then add the fish and cook for five minutes more. If the liquid isn't satisfyingly thickened by the time your fish is done, just remove it from the pan, cover with foil and keep reducing the mixture over high heat until it's gooey.

Plop the fish on a plate and pour some sauce over each filet.

Alphabet Soup: D.C. vs. Boston

2006-09-11T22:44:00.000-04:00

In Washington, alphabet soup is what happens when you start talking about a bunch of agencies without bothering to explain the acronyms. As in: "The DEA and the FDA can't decide whether carpal tunnel should be treated with medical marijuana. Better take the case to OSHA." But this week, in increasingly chilly Boston, alphabet soup had to be taken literally--a warming bowl of chicken soup with semolina pasta letters floating in it.

***
Alphabet Chicken Soup with Zucchini and Thyme

Get a pot of water boiling, to cook the pasta. Normally, I'd just throw the pasta in the soup to cook, but alphabet pasta takes on a lot of liquid, so better to use water first.

Meanwhile, in a large soup pot, warm to a simmer:
6 cups chicken stock (I made my own, and must admit I'm becoming a convert to homemade stock--something I swore I'd never be. But normal canned chicken stock would be totally fine, too. If you use boullion, add some oil to the pan for a bit of fat.)

Add to the pot:
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 cup cooked chicken, shredded (I used the leftovers from a roasted chicken, but a large chicken breast, poached and shredded for the occasion would work just as well)

When the water boils, add:
1 pound alphabet pasta

Once the pasta has gone into the water, add to the stock:
3 medium zucchini, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
You don't want to overcook the zucchini. They should retain some bite, and their own burst of juiciness in the final product, so cook carefully and test often. I cut the pieces too big in my version (see above), you should learn from my mistakes and stick with small bites and a very short cooking time.

When the pasta is soft and swollen to full size, drain and then add to the soup pot.

Grind lots of black pepper on top and salt to taste.

Pie Charts, Revisited

2006-09-08T15:38:00.000-04:00

If the phrase "funny PowerPoint presentation about the history and geopolitical importance of pie" sounds like the ravings of a madwoman to you, don't click here.

Via Mariginal Revolution by Tyler Cowen, an economist who also keeps a bitchin' food blog surveying primarily ethic restaurants in the Washington, DC, suburbs. If you ever thought eating in a strip mall was a uniformly bad idea, Tyler will change your mind.

Does My Blog Look Good in This?

2006-09-06T20:48:00.000-04:00

"It requires a certain kind of mind to see beauty in a hamburger bun. Yet is it any more unusual to find grace in the texture and softly carved silhouette of a bun than to reflect lovingly on the hackles of a fishing fly? Or the arrangements and textures on a butterfly's wing?"

And with those words of wisdom from Ray Kroc, founder of the McDonald's, I declare this round of Does My Blog Look Good in This? officially open.

Photos will be judged, as usual, on eatability, originality, and aesthetics. Serving as judges this month are members of the Harvard Business School Wine and Cuisine Society. (As you might have noticed from the sidebar, the Human Vacuum and I have relocated to Boston, where the aforementioned group happens to be based.)

The Rules:
1) You may submit one (1) photo.
2) The photo must be food-related.
3) It must have appeared on your blog in the month of August.
4) In your email, please include your name, your blog's name, what camera/edits you used, a link to the relevant photo, and a link to the original post in which it appeared. Feel free to send haikus, additional commentary, or cash as well.

This month's deadline is September 24, though (as always) creative excuses will be accepted for a short grace period. Send them to me, right here at ToastPoint.

I'll post a running round-up here as photos come in.

Indian Dessert Challenge Met!: From My Rasoi Roundup

2006-09-01T16:52:00.000-04:00

It seems that our rasois were busy this month. Below, check out a round-up of your responses to my Indian Dessert Challenge, this month's From My Rasoi event. To read what you're looking at, and see who deserves credit, just click on the image. To read the original post, and figure out how to steal the recipe, click on the description.

Visit What's For Lunch Honey? to read all about the theme for next month's From My Rasoi: Pumpkin!

Sweet and Savory Plantain Chips

2006-08-31T23:24:00.000-04:00

Plantains always beckon to me in the grocery store. They're just exotic enough to have appeal, but with a soothingly familiar banana-like appearance. The Human Vacuum isn't a big fan of this recipe, but I find it addictive. The key is to use a heavy hand with the salt. I prefer plain old kosher salt, but if you want to try fancy, chunky salt, go right ahead. For some reason, I often wind up serving these with fish. I put an attractive and reasonable size mound on my plate, and the eat the rest out of the serving bowl--compulsively--during the end-of-dinner conversation.

***
Plantain Chips

Peel and cut into thin coins:
2 yellow/black plantains
The easiest way to peel plantains is to cut off the ends with a small, sharp knife, then score the flesh all the way down the length in two places and force the peel off. The blacker the skin, the easier it will be to remove. If the plantains are very unripe, you may have to peel them like an apple, cutting the skin from the flesh all the way around. For this recipe, very ripe plantains are best, to get the most sweetness possible.

In a large skillet, heat:
4 Tablespoons peanut oil

Fry the plantains in batches, cooking each batch until golden on both sides, about 4 minutes. Dust heavily with:
Salt

Eat as hot as possible, without actually burning your face off.

From MY Rasoi: Rose-Scented Yogurt Cake with Cardamom Vanilla Syrup

2006-08-26T18:00:00.000-04:00

I poached a batch of peaches awhile back, with a vanilla bean and cardamom pods floating in the sugary syrup. The peach taste isn't very strong, but the skins of the white peaches dyed the syrup pink. It's actually the color I think of an Indian Barbie pink, because it perfectly matches the sari "owned" my mother's vintage 1960s Barbie. The vanilla bean and cardamom left tiny black flecks from their seeds--and a lot of flavor. So when it came time to assemble my entry for the From My Rasoi Indian Dessert Challenge, I couldn't resist reaching into my fridge for the leftover jar of Indian Barbie pink syrup.

The cake is excruciatingly simple. It's Clotilde's yogurt cake, of which I've also made a tangerine version. Follow either link to get the recipe. In this iteration, I substituted rosewater for the rum, and replaced half the sugar with my poaching syrup.

NOTE: Stay tuned for the roundup of the other, excellent From My Rasoi entries.

***
Cardamom Vanilla (Peach) Syrup

I started by poaching peaches for an unrelated dish, but you could just as easily make the syrup without the peaches and use a bit of food coloring instead. That said, the peaches are great eaten cold in yogurt for breakfast, or warm with ice cream for dessert.

While the cake is baking, combine in a heavy-bottomed saucepan:
3 cups water
3 cups confectioners or superfine sugar
juice of 1/2 lemon
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
6 cardamom pods, crushed

Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and add 8 peaches, cut in half, if you have some use for them. Simmer peaches until soft, then remove with a slotted spoon. Continue to simmer syrup gently until it thickens slightly. Let cool, then serve poured pooled around a slice of the rose-scented yogurt cake. Don't worry about the fact that the syrup is ultra-sweet; the cake is quite mild and unassuming.

Vaguely Asian Shrimp Cocktail

2006-08-21T22:54:00.000-04:00

OK, I know that serving unusual things in martini glasses is so over, but I can't resist a pun--or anything in a martini glass--so just deal with it. This is my variant on shrimp cocktail, inspired by leftovers from a vaguely Asian dinner last week.

There's cheating involved, in the form of bottled spicy peanut sauce. I've tried to make my own peanut sauce, really I have. But it never seems to come out better than the kind in the bottle, and I always wind up having to pick tiny fractured peanuts out of the blades of various household appliances when I'm done. But by all means, make your own peanut sauce if you're some kind of Martha Stewart goody-goody. Incidentally, you can win back a few authenticity points if you acquire your bottled peanut sauce at a shop in Chinatown where nothing is labeled in English. Just be sure to tell a colorful story about your trip into the heart of chinatown at the dinner table.

I cooked the shrimp myself in water infused with lots of garlic and onion (Zatarains's Shrimp and Crab Boil does the trick, as would actual garlic and onion, I suppose) but precooked shrimp would work just fine, too.

***
Vaguely Asian Shrimp Cocktail

In a large pot, bring many quarts of water to boil.

While waiting for water to boil, heat in a large skillet:
2 Tablespoons peanut oil
1 Tablespoon toasted sesame oil

Add:
Stalks of 1 head bok choy, cut into 1/2 inch pieces (leaves reserved)

Cover pan and wait for stalks to soften, about 3 minutes. Then add:
Leaves of 1 head bok choy, roughly chopped
2 Tablespoons soy sauce

Cook, uncovered, until leaves have wilted.

When the water in the other pot boils, add:
1 pound shrimp
1 bottle Zatarain's Shrimp and Crab Boil (optional)

Cook until just pink on the outside and opaque in the middle, then drain and rinse with cold water right away.

Peel shrimp, if necessary, and chop in 1/2 inch pieces, unless shrimp are already fairly tiny. In a large bowl, combine shrimp and bok choy with:
1-2 glubs spicy peanut sauce

Use just enough to bind the ingredients together, not enough to make the mixture gluey.

Serve in individual cocktail glasses, sprinkled generously with sesame seeds.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other Ones...

2006-08-15T21:58:00.000-04:00

Ah, Chinatown.

Salmon with Golden Kiwis and Avocado

2006-08-10T16:42:00.000-04:00

Fun facts about kiwis:
1) It annoys New Zealanders that we refer to the fruit species actinidia deliciosa as "kiwis." To them, a kiwi is (a) a bird, (b) a New Zealander, (c--last and least) a fruit.
2) Golden kiwis, or Chinabells, are sweeter and more tropical-tasting than ordinary kiwis.
3) Two to three kiwis a day actually will keep the doctor away. (Well, at least the cardiologist)
4) There is a special verb (and perhaps a special utensil), invented just for kiwis: sloop.

The plate you see above is a creation of the Human Vacuum. He hit Costco earlier that day and came home with a slab of fresh salmon and a giant carton on sweet, ripe Golden Kiwis. Also, a large net sack of avocados and an oversized bag of Tostitos. I was lollygagging somewhere else in the house, and by the time I arrived in the kitchen, this masterpiece or bulk purchasing was already well underway.

***
Salmon with Golden Kiwis

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Rinse and pat dry:
1 lb. salmon filet

Rub with:
1 Tablespoon olive oil

In a small bowl, gently combine:
2 Golden Kiwis, roughly chopped (regular kiwis would work, too, maybe with a little honey added)
1 Tablespoon soy sauce
(To get the fruit out from the prickly skin, cut the kiwis in half, then scoop out chunks of flesh with a spoon. This is easier and less wasteful then trying to remove the skin with a paring knife)

Place the filet in a foil-covered baking pan, then pour the kiwi mixture over the salmon. Bake until salmon is opaque, approx. 10 minutes. If you are a badass, and have a blowtorch, maybe try caramelizing the kiwis. We were too lazy/hungry.

Eat with a side of guacamole and chips.

Truite aux Amandes at Bouchon: Vegas, Baby

2006-08-06T22:20:00.000-04:00

It's our first night in Vegas. We're hungry but not the kind of hungry where a Vegas buffet seems like a good idea. A small sound scratches at the back of my brain--"Katherine, you just read something about a great meal in Vegas. Think!" And then it came to me: Sam's glowing, boozy review of Thomas Keller's Bouchon Las Vegas. A quick call, and a mad dash around the Venetian in a desperate attempt to find the restaurant while avoiding faux gondolas and faux bosoms--and voila!

I started with a glass of Pastis diluted with icy spring water. I've been chasing this particular cocktail for years, ever since I saw a particularly lovely bohemian French woman drink one at a bar in Paris in the wee hours of a scorching summer night. I could have just asked for help tracking it down, of course, but the logic went like this: The appeal of the drink is how fabulously in-the-know and breezy one appears while consuming it. That is negated by not knowing the name of the drink or how to order it. But everyone in Vegas is vulgar, right? So where better to be a stupid American asking for a peculiarly French drink than in a parodically Venetian hotel on The Strip, right? The drink was all I dreamed it would be, headily anise-scented and golden color when served. It turns opaque when mixed with the cold water, which I did liberally since (a) the liquor was very strong and (b) it was 110 degrees outside.

But even these glories were forgotten after the first bite of my main course: Truite aux Amandes, with green beans and brown butter. The almonds were toasted. Really toasted. They were a uniform just-this-side-of-scorched brown. The trout was meltingly delicious. The beans had the perfect bite. The butter was...buttery.

Other than the bread--the remains for which are visible at the top of the photo above--the rest of the meal was forgettable. As was nearly everything else we ate in Vegas. But the trout and the Pastis alone were the cross-country trip.

Thanks, Sam.

From My Rasoi: Indian Dessert Challenge

2006-08-03T23:49:00.000-04:00

My love for Indian food knows no bounds. I gleefully consume bhel puri, saag paneer, aloo gobi, and all manner of dosas--often in a single sitting. But when it comes to dessert, the good people of the Indian subcontinent pretty much suck.* This black mark on an otherwise transcendent cuisine must be erased.

Thus, August's From My Rasoi challenge: Improved Indian Dessert.

From My Rasoi was originally conceived by Hooked on Heat, who asks us to fuse Indian spices or techniques with other food cultures. In this case, Improved Indian Dessert could mean:

1) Creative fusion of Indian flavors in a cake, pie, tart, brownie, or other non-traditional Indian dessert technique.
2) A traditional Indians dessert, altered to appeal to the Western palate.
3) Any treat that would be particularly good after a great Indian meal, including beverages, candies, etc.

The rules:
Make a dessert with an Indian twist and email toastpoint@gmail.com by Friday, August 25. I'll post a roundup with pictures by the end of the month.

Together, we can save Indian dinners everywhere from lame dessert and lackluster sweets. Plates of sliced mango with sticky rice--begone!

*Note: This is what is known as exaggeration for effect. Of course, some Indian desserts are decent. But it's high time curry and chocolate became friends, and you know it.

Carrot Ginger Cucumber Juice in Philly

2006-07-22T02:43:00.000-04:00

No trip to Philly is complete without an excursion to the enormous Amish market in the Reading Terminal. The roommates and I stopped at the Four Seasons Juice Bar between touristing (by which I mean mostly food shopping with a quick stop at the art museum) to wait out a torrential rain storm.

I chose Carrot Ginger Cucumber juice, inspired by a few fancy restaurants that have started to serve water with a slice of cucumber in place of the boring old lemon. The drink was marvelously, radioactively orange. After four sips I decided I liked it, but the first few mouthfuls were touch-and-go. The other two drinks we ordered were sticky sweet and left their purchasers wanting water. Carrot Ginger Cucumber refreshed and hydrated, though the slivers of mushy carrot in the bottom weren't a great feature. Next time, I'd try the drink with watermelon replacing the carrot. Most important, after getting juiced we were ready to hit the wine and cheese shops to figure out what was for dinner.

Pig's Blood and Eel Soup in Philly: Sang Kee

2006-07-20T15:27:00.000-04:00

Is there anything better than a foodie friend? There are few things in life more gratifying than having someone you can count on match your order of eel soup with a request for pig blood.

I've been traveling a lot, as you might have noticed from the pathetic lack of posts. Last weekend, I was in Philadelphia for a reunion with my college roommates. I picked up one of the girls--perhaps my most reliable foodie friend--at the Chinatown bus, with the plan to grab some Chinese for lunch on Friday. Another benefit of foodie friends: She'd done research about the best place to lunch in this strange Chinatown.

We hit Sang Kee, a small place with a cartoon duck on the placard and a scenic view of the freeway. The Hong-Kong Style roasted duck, of course, was excellent. I love crispy skin on duck, but the flavorful, chewy skin on this duck made a convert of me. We branched out to less cartoon-friendly dishes as well--pig's blood with ginger and scallions and barbequed eel noodle soup. I found the taste and texture of the pig's blood was surprisingly non-gelatinous, more like a dense liver pate. The noodles in the eel soup were springy, with excellent bite. The eel was sweet and flaky, just like the barbequed eel in sushi.

I'd built up the joys of juicy buns to my companion, but Sang Kee's were a letdown, chewy and greasy. After lunch we walked down the street and picked up a glass of kumquat juice and a sesame ball--gelatinous rice dough filled with red bean paste and rolled in sesame seeds--at a corner bakery.

More Philly food soon: Best BBQ and Ginger Carrot Cucumber juice from the Amish Market

The Perfect S'more

2006-07-05T02:16:00.000-04:00

The Perfect S'more

Prepare:
Two (2) crisp honey graham cracker halves, straight from a new package
Two (2) squares Hershey's chocolate
One (1) flawlessly toasted marshmallow, slowly roasted high over glowing BBQ coals, rotated regularly for crispy golden skin and liquid interior

Squish together, allow 27 seconds for chocolate to melt. Scarf down in three (3) bites. Repeat until fingers are sticky and stomach is vaguely sick.

Happt Birthday, America.

Rustic Chicken Noodle Soup with Spinach

2006-07-04T15:45:00.000-04:00

OK, so when I say that this soup is rustic, I mostly mean that I photographed it outside with some woods in view. (The entire paternal ToastFamily is on vacation at the mountain house this week.) But it's also "rustic" because I threw caution to the wind and boiled the noodles directly in the soup.

There are chicken soup snobs out there who prefer to boil the noodles in their own pan of water, and thus keep the broth sparkling clear. To those people I say, phooey. The point of chicken soup is not to be beautiful. The point of chicken soup is to be easy to make, and warm and toasty, and not fancy. Also, I kind of like the starchy thickness that boiling the noodles in the broth creates.

Some enterprising soul (not me) made stock with the chicken bones leftover from last night's dinner, so when I got up today, all I had to do was skim some fat, chop some veggies, and toss it all together. What follows is also not really a recipe. Rough guidelines at best, really. Think of it as a rustic recipe for rustic soup.

***
Rustic Chicken Noodle Soup with Spinach

In a large soup pot, heat:
2 tablespoons schmaltz, skimmed fat from homemade stock, or olive oil

Add and saute until soft and starting to brown:
3 large carrots, cut in half lengthwise, then chunked up
4-5 green onions, whites and some green parts, minced
(Oddly, the grocery store near here was out of celery, other wise I would have added 2-3 stalks here.)
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
Pepper and salt, liberally added (especially the pepper--very important)

Reduce heat to low and pour in:
5-6 cups chicken stock
(as always, canned is perfectly fine, though I wouldn't go as far as bouillon in this case)

While the stock gently heats, add:
Some cooked chicken
(The amount is completely up to you. I used two leg quarters, which I poached in a pan of boiling water while doing the other stuff in this recipe, then pulled apart. That amount seemed about right for the broth I had. If you have leftover already-cooked chicken, use that. I recommend dark meat, but if you prefer white meat, go for it. What I'm saying here is: Whatever, dude.)

Ten minutes before you're ready to eat, bring the broth to a boil and add:
A handful and a half of dried egg noodles
(Only egg noodles are acceptable in chicken noodle soup. Wide ones for preference. Toying with noodle type is not OK.)

When the noodles are al dente, add:
6 ounces (3 handfuls) baby spinach

Reduce heat to low and let simmer until spinach wilts and noodles are suitably mushy.

Chicken with Calvados and Cream

2006-06-27T21:17:00.000-04:00

Cream. Butter. Bacon. Apples. Apple cider. Calvados (sort of). What more could you ask from dinner? This dish, Poulet Vallee D'Auge, orginates in Normandy, the land of dairy products and apple brandy. It's basically a stew--I suppose the French might call it a friccasse(?)--but it tastes fancier. I couldn't get Calvados on short notice, which was a shame, but Apple Jack did the trick. This isn't something to put into your once-a-week rotation. But it would be nice for a special occasion with some crusty bread and a vinegary green salad, or just an evening when you're feeling enterprising.

***
Poulet Vallee D'Auge
aka Chicken with Calvados and Cream
(adapted from Classic Dishes of the World, 1977)

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

In a large, wide-bottomed casserole, melt:
4 Tablespoons butter

Add, and brown well on all sides:
1 whole chicken, cut up
(Historically, I haven't really believed in browning meat before braising. My browning was lackadasical at best. But that's because I was doing it wrong. Browning chicken in a non-non-stick casserole in butter was a revelation. I'll never go back.)

In a small saucepan, warm:
1/3 cup Calvados (Apple Jack or other apple-flavored liquor works, too)

Remove the chicken from the heat and turn out most of the lights in your kitchen. Light the Calvados on fire and pour it over the chicken. When the flames die down, turn on the lights, remove the chicken from the pan and add to the drippings:
3 shallots, finely chopped
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
3 ounces fatty bacon (about 4 thick-cut strips), chopped
3/4 teaspoon dried sage
Salt and pepper

Fry until soft. Return chicken to pan and add:
1 1/2 to 2 cups hard apple cider or apple juice

Bring to a boil, then cover and transfer the casserole to the oven to cook for 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until chicken is very tender. Remove chicken from pan and place on a serving dish. Return the pan to the burner. Boil until reduced by one-third, then remove from heat. (The cookbook says to strain the sauce, but I decided I was going fot rustic charm and mine was fine without straining.)

Beat together:
1/4 cup cream
2 egg yolks

Add cream and egg mixture to the sauce, pouring slowly but stirring rapidly. Return the pan to the heat and bring to a bare simmer. Do not boil. Serve the sauce poured over the chicken, or in a gravy boat on the side.

Boozin' in Bozeman

2006-06-18T00:34:00.000-04:00

My summer travels have taken me to Bozeman, Montana this week. I suppose I expected a dusty road and a general store. I couldn't have been more wrong. Tonight I dined at a chi-chi little wine bar called Plonk in "the heart of Historic Downtown Bozeman."

I'm not much of a wine connoisseur, so I ordered for novelty. A champagne-sour glass of Vixen sparkling Shiraz started the meal. I'd never encountered a fizzy red wine before, and never thought to ask why--this glass was quite good. For "dinner," I ate the anti-Human Vacuum meal: a cheese plate. The Human Vacuum thinks it's a crime to order cheese in a restaurant. And from a fiscal point of view, I suppose he's right. But sometime a girl just wants milkfat for dinner. The star of the three cheese plate was the Belgian Capra with Honey. The cheese was just a little crumbly, but rich and milky with a great honey aftertaste and a slight, rich sweetness very noticeable in the first few bites. The Whiskey Blue, from Wisconsin, was also very excellent. A boring Spanish Manchego rounded out the trio. For dessert, I had a Piedmontese Muscato with a Keffir Lime Banana Tart. Both were nice, the wine very sweet and the tart--well, it was very tart.

The scene at Plonk is absurdly trendy. There's low lighting, tattooed waitresses with chic haircuts (who provided excellent, friendly American service), and pretentious food involving beets and endives and fancy vinegar. But this was the first wine-focused restaurant where I wasn't intimidated by the list or the waitstaff. As a result I enjoyed a couple of glasses of delicious wine with a fashionable yet personalized meal that was just what I was looking for. Who knew I'd have to go all the way to Montana to find a good wine bar.

Pork Soup Dumplings

2006-06-12T00:14:00.000-04:00

I'm still in New York, where I never miss a chance to eat pork soup dumplings at the Human Vacuum's neighborhood Chinese restaurant (at the corner of 24th St. and 9th Ave). These dumplings (officially called xiao long bao) come in an oversize bamboo steamer and are served with chopsticks and a soup spoon.

There are several tricks to eating these babies:
1) Patience: If you eat them right when they emerge from the kitchen, you'll burn your face off.
2) Technique: You can eat each dumpling in a single juicy, magical bite, or you can perfect the more subtle consumption system of holding the dumpling in a soup spoon, and using your chopsticks to hold the dumpling while biting a small hole in the side to suck out some soup. Repeat twice, then eat the remaining pork filling and dumpling skin from the spoon.
3) A Black Shirt: No matter what you do, you're going to get pork broth all over yourself. Just accept it.

Like many, I believed for years that the soup was piped into the finished dumplings through the opening at the top of the swirl of dumpling skin. In fact, each dumpling is filled in advance with a small amount of ground pork and cube of fatty pork broth that's been chilled into a kind of aspic. When the dumplings are steamed, the block melts and become a fabulous, rich broth.

Apparently these little guys were ultra-trendy in the 90s. But I wasn't. So I missed them the first time around. Thank god they live on in Chelsea, at least.

***
For those who would like to learn more about the proud history of the dumpling, go here for various dumpling flow charts, like this one depicting Modern Unified Dumpling Theory:

Road Food

2006-06-09T10:54:00.000-04:00

So, ToastMom and I are cruising up the dismal New Jersey Turnpike ("The Longest F***ing Road on the Planet") when a miraculous sight appeared before us: An eighteen-wheeler emblazoned with the Doritos logo. All that nacho cheesy goodness, just truckin' along right next to the car.

Actually, it was the second Doritos truck of the drive--we passed another one 'round about Baltimore. If that's not a good omen, I don't know what is.

***
ToastMom Says: "I don’t want to die because I'm driving like a maniac so that you can take pictures of a damn Dorito truck."

Moroccan Chicken with Lemon-Stuffed Olives and Dates

2006-06-04T21:00:00.000-04:00

Ah, green olives and ginger snaps--together at last.

There had been much upheaval Chez ToastPoint lately. We're moving, so pots and pans and spices and utensils have been inaccessible and meals have been hurried. But everything has settled down for the moment (We're crashing with ToastMom between summer travels), and the result was this fairly kick-ass Moroccan improvisation.

Two strokes of genius: 1) Crumbled ginger snaps make a delicious, intruiging topping for tagine-style stew, and 2) Instead of locating (or making) preserved lemons, I cracked open a can of lemon-stuffed green olives for the same effect.

***
Moroccan Chicken with Lemon-Stuffed Olives and Dates

In a large, heavy-bottomed pan, or dutch oven, or even a tagine if you're really hardcore, heat:
2 Tablespoons olive oil

Add and brown (about 5 minutes):
1 1/2 pounds chicken thighs

Add:
1 teaspoon ground ginger (don't use fresh)
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon chile powder

Fry spices until fragrant, then reduce heat and add:
2 onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced

Reduce heat, cover, and cook for 15 minutes.

Then add:
3/4 cup lemon-stuffed green olives (or plain green olives and preserved lemon)
4 large dates, chopped
Zest of 1 lemon
1/2 cup water

Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to low and cover. Cook for 30 minutes, until chicken is falling apart tender.

Serve over rice with:
Toasted slivered almonds
Crumbled ginger snaps
***
And introducing a new feature in which ToastMom comments on each meal prepared in her kitchen:
"ToastMom Says": "Mmmm... The house smells like dinner--cooked by someone else."

Georgian Green Beans (No, the other Georgia)

2006-05-23T01:25:00.000-04:00

In my experience, Georgians are quite serious about cooking veggies sufficiently. My experience with actual Georgians, of course, is limited to my relatives from the American South. From that side of the family, I inherited a proud tradition of well-cooked plant material, often with a pork product of some kind thrown into the mix. But these beans are a gift from the other Georgians. Usually, I just do veggies in the usual manner of yuppies-to-be: Steamed until barely cooked, or roasted with olive oil. So these beans seem frighteningly well done at first glance. But they are magnificent. Warm, spicy, creamy, flavorful, the beans themselves are oddly juicy. An altogether different beast from the smattering of long crunchy pods that occasionally turn up on restaurant platings.

(A green bean confession: When I was a child, one of my favorite snacks was can of Del Monte cut green beans. My mom would refrigerate them for me and crack open a can when I pleaded with her. And then I would gobble them up, fishing for each one in the can of briny juice. There is something about the texture of these beans that recalls that wonderful childhood memory. I know this doesn't seem like much of an inducement--indeed, you might be wondering if you can trust my taste at all at this point--but I still urge you to give this recipe a try.)

I've served them with a version of these tiny meatballs and pita bread, but they're brilliant as a side for baked chicken, too.

***
Green Beans in Herbed Yogurt
(slightly altered from Nigella's Feast)

Start a large pan of water boiling while you top and tail, then cut into thirds:
2 pounds fresh skinny green beans

Parboil the beans for about 5 minutes. They should still be bright green and crisp when you drain them and run cold water on them.

Peel and halve:
2 large sweet onions

Dump them in a food processor (or mince finely), with:
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
pinch ground cloves
good grinding of black pepper

Melt:
4 Tablespoons butter (Nigella calls for a full stick. I find them satisfying with this much, but don't let me stop you from going whole hog.)

Cook the spices and onions until soft. Add the parboiled beans and cover. Cook for 10 to 15 minutes. Meanwhile, beat together in a large Pyrex measuring cup:
1 cup Greek yogurt (or other full fat yogurt)
1/4 cup cold water
1/2 teaspoon salt (don't skip the salt)
1 clove garlic, microplaned or finely minced

When the beans are soft, add to the pan:
2 Tablespoons each of chopped cilantro, parsley, and dill
(NOTE: I have yet to make this with all of the proper fresh herbs on hand. I've compromised by adding dried versions of any of the fresh herbs I don't have to the yogurt mixture. The dish is still a hit.)

Turn off the heat immediately, put the beans on a plate and pour the yogurt over them, then sprinkle with:
1 Tablespoon chopped fresh mint

Or serve the yogurt on the side with mint (fresh or dried) blended in for your guests to pour themselves.

Cantaloupe, Tomato and Mint Salad

2006-05-21T23:19:00.000-04:00

The title of the post is also the recipe. To wit: Tomato, cut into wedges. Cantaloupe, cut into chunks. Fresh mint, roughly torn. Mix. Let sit. Eat.

The plate is beautiful, and each bite is the quintessence of juiciness. And, as a bonus, one bowlful serves as the salad and dessert courses.

I can't take a lick of credit for this recipe. It was assembled and served to me by a friend--we'll call him Potter--who I've been using as a guinea pig for years now. On semi-random, but fairly regular Sunday nights, Potter comes over to have dinner with us. He brings wine, or toasts and tapenade, or some other tasty nibble. This Sunday, for reasons related to The West Wing's untimely end, Potter had us over for dinner instead. We ate in his balcony while a drum circle thrummed from the oddly formal terraced public park across the street. Twilight settled on us slowly as we consumed a bottle of wine imported from Sicily in a suitcase, salmon on a bed of soba noodles, this marvelous salad, and then strawberries with Nutella. A perfect evening.

The cantaloupe tomato salad is 99 percent inspiration and 1 percent perspiration. Potter's done the hard part for us, so make up a batch as soon as a decent tomato is available.

Channa Masala: Dinner Malaise

2006-05-12T18:47:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night we had dinner malaise. You know what I mean: you've been eating out a lot, so you want something homemade, but there's no fresh food in house and a grilled cheese isn't quite going to cut it. Everything required for this spicy Indian staple is always in supply in the ToastKitchen. No fresh veggies or meats are involved in channa masala, and it's quick to whip up when you're otherwise uninspired and just want to chow on something tasty and enlivening. And nothing makes the Human Vacuum happier than having a tupperware full of this stuff sitting around. We've been known to double the recipe.

The base of browned onions, toasted spices, and caramelized tomato paste is also our generic Indian food base. If you want to make a curry, and don't have anything else particular in mind, this will get you off to a solid start. From here, start tossing in meat, perhaps veggies, additional spices, whatever. Taste, make adjustments and you're good to go.

***
Channa Masala

In a large skillet, heat:
3 Tablespoons peanut oil (or other oil)

Add:
1 large onion, peeled and thinly sliced

When onion begins to soften, add:
1 inch fresh ginger, finely minced or microplaned
2-3 Thai peppers, minced
3 cloves garlic, finely minced or microplaned

Cook until onions start to brown and garlic is fragrant, then turn heat to high and add:
1 Tablespoon garam masala
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon cayenne (optional, but recommended)
Ground black pepper and salt to taste

Fry spices for 2 minutes until toasted, then add:
3 generous Tablespoons tomato paste (about 1 very small can)

When tomato begins to caramelize (about 3 minutes), add:
2 cups prepared chickpeas (I used canned)
1/2 cup water

Stir well, then simmer gently until chickpeas are very tender and water has mostly evaporated, leaving a thick, sticky coating on the chickpeas. Cooking time will depend a great deal on how tough your original chickpeas were. If you started with dried chickpeas, count on a minimum of 40 minutes, probably more. My canned Goyas were done in about about 20 minutes.

Serve over basmati rice or with Indian flatbread. I like to eat mine with a dollop of cooling yogurt on the side.

Kandy-Kolored Tangerine Flake Streamline Yogurt Cake

2006-05-09T17:49:00.000-04:00

(with apologies to Tom Wolfe. Seriously, Tom, I'm really sorry.)

As is often the case Chez ToastPoint, this culinary sucess was inspired by rotting food. A tub of maple yogurt was about to expire, and it would have been a crime to throw this stuff away. A bowl of tangerines beckoned (psychedelically?), threatening to go soft and attract fruit flies.

I've stolen the recipe for Clotilde's yogurt cake. The only difference in my version was the use of maple yogurt, and the addition of two tangerines-worth of zest instead of vanilla. My take on the cake also sports a fruit topping--very American--a cool, sweet sauce of maple syrup and tangerine pulp. It required minimal effort and really amped up the corresponding flavors in this simple snazzy dessert.

***
Maple Tangerine Yogurt Cake
(a variation on Chocolate & Zucchini's yogurt cake)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl (or mixer), mix gently to combine:
2 eggs
1 cup maple yogurt (I used Seven Stars Farm Original Maple, but plain full-fat yogurt and generous pour of maple syrup would be a functional replacement)
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil (I used ghee, but it made no difference and is way more expensive)
1 Tablespoon rum
Zest of 2 tangerines

Then add, and stir gently:
2 cups flour
1 Tablespoon baking powder

Pour the batter into a greased and/or parchment-lined round cake pan. Bake until the top is lightly browned and knife inserted in the center comes out clean. I like to let it get pretty dark, which adds a nice crunch to the outer crust. Using an 8-inch pan takes about 45 minutes, a larger pan will cook more quickly.

While the cake is baking, make the topping. The cake is not tremendously sweet, so don't be alarmed by the sugar content of the assemblage below. Put into a small bowl:
4 tangerines, peeled, de-pithed, and roughly chopped (don't let the juices escape)
2-3 Tablespoon dark maple syrup
1 Tablespoon honey

Refrigerate until very cold. Spoon the thickened mixture over individual slices of cake, and be sure to soak the cake with the juices collecting in the bottom of the bowl. A little vanilla ice cream probably wouldn't go astray here, either.

Mussels with Fennel and Creme Fraiche Linguini

2006-05-08T16:31:00.000-04:00

Mussels. Two dollars a pound for good taste and good entertainment. I first learned to eat mussels under the tutelage of my elegant French roommate. In Bretagne, she showed me the trick of finding one perfect shell to use as a tool to pick the meat out of the others, like tiny pincers. And back home in the good old U S of A, she dragged me to Belgian pubs to introduce me to the various delicious broths that mussels can be sauced with. Mussels and their sauces are relatively easy, but I find the assembly process a lesson in the importance of proper order of operations. I've written the recipe below in real time, so that you can get a sense of how to make all the pieces come together at once. Very hot mussels are much better than lukewarm. I recommend preparing a vinegary salad before you get started, and having a chunk of bread on hand for sopping.

***
Mussels with Fennel and Creme Fraiche Linguini

Cut from their mesh bag:
2 pounds of mussels

Pick them over for broken shells or wide open mussels. Place them in a colander and run very cold water over them while you chop veggies, etc. In most recipes, this is the place where you would be instructed to scrub the shells and cut away the "beards," but I find that the mussels in grocery stores these days have been processed in this way already.

Pare, core and slice very finely, reserving the parings and green tops:
2 bulbs fresh fennel

Roughly chop:
2-3 large sweet onions

In a large skillet, warm over medium heat:
2 Tablespoons butter

When the butter bubbles, add the fennel and onion. Cook gently until onion and fennel are very soft and beginning to caramelize.

Meanwhile, in a large pot with a tight-fitting lid, add:
2/3 bottle white wine (a glug of pernod probably wouldn't hurt here, if you have some)
Fennel parings and tops
Bring to a simmer and let bubble while you complete other steps.

Fill a large pot with salted water for pasta. When the water has boiled, add:
1 pound linguini or other long strand pasta

Once the pasta is underway, bring the wine to a boil and add the mussels. Cover tightly. Don't peek, but occasionally give the pot a shake. After 3 minutes, check to see it the mussels have opened. If so, fish them out with a slotted spoon, discard the remaining fennel bits, and keep them warm under an inverted bowl. Leave the wine to reduce on a high boil.

When the pasta is al dente, drain it (be sure to rinse the colander first) and dump it into the pan with the onions and fennel. Add the reduced wine and turn up the heat. Watch as the pasta drinks up the salty, fennel-flavored wine. Then reduce the heat, stir in:
2-3 Tablespoons creme fraiche
Lots of ground black pepper

Serve immediately, with mussels placed on top and lemon juice generously sprinkled over the whole plate.

Saag Paneer Envy

2006-05-02T22:04:00.000-04:00

Just when you think you've reach impressive levels of D.I.Y., someone outdoes you. I picked up some samosas at our local Indian joint the other night, and then zipped home to make my very own saag paneer. But when I began to read the various recipes online (they differ tremendously), I learned that more enterprising cooks can take it the next level and make their own paneer (by boiling the hell out of some whole milk) or their own ghee (by doing more or less the same with butter). I bought my package of trademark soft Indian cheese at Whole Foods, along with a jar of ghee. Maybe next time I'll go milk a cow, make my own dairy products, and whip up a batch of samosas to boot. Yeah, right.

Note: This is not a light dish. There's butter, there's cream, there's cheese, and there's yogurt. It's basically cow worship, slightly adulterated with spinach.

***
Saag Paneer

Boil a large pot of water. When it comes to a rolling boil, add:
1 1/2 to 2 pounds fresh spinach

After 3 minutes, the spinach will be bright green. Drain it, and squeeze out a much water as possible before setting aside.

In a very large skillet over medium-high heat, melt:
6 Tablespoons ghee (or cooking oil)

Cube and add to the pan, quickly browning on all sides:
1 package of paneer (use as much or as little as appeals to you in balance with your now shrunken pile of spinach--the paneer isn't my favorite part, so I skimp on it)

Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside on paper towels.

Reduce the heat to medium low and add:
1 large onion, roughly chopped

Cook the onion until soft, then turn the heat to high and add:
4 cloves garlic, well-crushed with the side of large knife
1 inch fresh ginger, finely minced or microplaned
2 small Thai peppers, minced
2 Tablespoons garam masala
1 Tablespoon cumin
1 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon salt (I doubled that, but I like salty Indian food)

Stir continuously, and when spices become aromatic (2-3 minutes), lower the heat, dump the spinach into the pan, and stir in:
3 heaping Tablespoons yogurt (full fat is best)
1/4 to 1/2 cup heavy cream

Fold in the paneer, grind on a large amount of black pepper, and serve with your own blistered, aching hands.

Pea Soup and a Poetry Reading

2006-04-28T23:33:00.000-04:00

While making this spring green pea soup last night, I was besieged by the memory of Edward Lear's nonsense poem, The Jumblies, who sing:

"O Timballoo! how happy we are
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar!
And all night long, in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail
In the shade of the mountains brown."

They sail'd to the Western Sea, they did,--
To a land all cover'd with trees:
And they bought an owl, and a useful cart,
And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart,
And a hive of silvery bees;
And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws,
And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton cheese...

In honor of the Jumblies, we had the soup with some bread and apricot Stilton cheese. All things being equal, I would have made a cranberry tart for dessert, but one must live in the real world, so instead there was cold chicken salad.

***
Jumblie Pea Soup
(stolen from Nigella's Feast)

In a saucepan over medium-low heat, warm:
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Mince or microplane:
1 clove garlic

Heat until the garlic sizzles a bit, but don't let it brown. Then add and heat through:
2 scallions, white and green bits, finely sliced

Toss in:
1 package frozen sweet peas (About 16 ounces, or 3 to 4 cups)

Dissolve in 3 cups hot water:
1 teaspoon vegetable stock base or 1 cube veggie bouillon

Add the stock to the pot, along with:
A piece of rind from a wedge of Parmesan cheese (about 1 inch by 2 inches)

Simmer for approx. 10 minutes, until peas get soft inside. Take the pan off the heat, fish out the now-gooey cheese rind, and let cool (Note: Don't ignore the "let cool" part. I did, and suffered terribly for it). Puree the soup in batches in a blender or food processor until very smooth. Or, in keeping with the Jumblie spirit, strain it through a sieve.

Serve hot, with a sprinkle of grated Parmesan for looks.

Salt and Pepper Squid Salad

2006-04-24T22:45:00.000-04:00

Yes, those are tentacles. And yes, they are purple. Don't be afraid...they're delicious.

They say (read: Mark Bittman says) squid is only good when cooked one of two ways: ''Cook it for 20 seconds or two hours.'' I doubt I'll ever get around to the slow simmer method--not when an entire dinner as good as this can be conjured in 5 minutes flat.

As is often the case Chez ToastPoint, this quick menu was created out of a fear of decay. After a trip to the store, the three ingredients bound to be past their prime soonest were salad greens, a warm baguette, and fresh squid. So, clean the greens, toss the squid in the pan for a bare minute or two, break the bread, and eat!

***
Salt and Pepper Squid Salad
(inspired by Mark Bittman's Squid with Black Pepper, Vietnamese Style)

Wash and tear into bite-sized pieces:
1 head soft salad lettuce

Clean and cut into rings or small pieces:
3/4 pound squid, with tentacles

Chop and set aside:
4-5 cloves garlic, or enough to produce 1 Tablespoon (I used pre-chopped garlic from a jar. Long live shortcuts!)

Warm over high heat in a large skillet:
1-2 Tablespoons oil (I used grapeseed)

When the oil is hot, scrape in the squid, and cook until just opaque and the tentacles start to curl--an entertainingly creepy sight--2 minutes, max. Add the garlic, then:
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 Tablespoon fish sauce (nam pla)
1 teaspoon sea salt

Stir well while cooking for another ten seconds, then tip onto the waiting bed of salad, juices and all. Squeeze over:
1 lemon

Toss and enjoy. I used hunks of bread to soak up the salty, milky juices left on my plate.

Asian Pears with Saffron Sherry Ice Cream: SHF#18

2006-04-21T18:24:00.000-04:00

...with bonus household hint!

When I was a kid I had a love-hate relationship with Hints from Heloise. I recognized that it was banal, awful, and none-too-relevant to the life of a 7 year-old. But it was right there at the end of the Washington Post Sunday comics every week, so I read it because I didn't want the comics to be over. Now, finally, I can do Heloise proud by sharing a Hint of my own: I used to wind up throwing away half of each purchase of fresh ginger because sprouted green mold before I could use it all. Now, the Human Vacuum and I buy a huge chunk of ginger, peel it and cut it into usable pieces and store them in a sherry-filled jar. The ginger stays fresh and the sherry is a nice added flavor, compatible with sweet and savory cooking.

So, we were between batches of ginger, and I had this jar full of gingery sherry and a bunch of Asian pears. Thus was dessert born. The Asian pears stay crisp, but take on extra flavor and sweetness when poached. And the syrup that results from the poaching has the heat of ginger, a lovely saffron color, and the kick of sherry. And if you don't want to bother with the chilling-and-mixing-into-the ice-cream step, just serve the pears with vanilla ice cream and pour the warm syrup over like hot fudge.

***
Poached Asian Pears with Saffron Sherry Ice Cream

Peel, core, and cut into 12 slices each:
3 large Asian pears

In a pan just big enough to hold all the slices (don't put them in yet), combine:
2 cups ginger sherry (or plain sherry with 1 inch of grated fresh ginger)
2 Tablespoons honey
1 Tablespoon vanilla sugar (or use plain sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract)
Pinch saffron threads (turmeric would be an adequate substitute, but if you can spring for saffron, do it)

Bring to a boil, then add the pears and just enough hot water to cover. Simmer until pears become translucent, about 20 to 25 minutes. Unlike normal poached pears, they won't lose their crunch.

Remove the pears and return the liquid to a boil. Reduce until you have a few syrupy tablespoons left in the bottom of the pan. Pour the syrup into a bowl, and chill. Blend the cooled syrup with vanilla ice cream, then spoon it over the warm poached Asian pear slices. The Human Vacuum and I ate this with our fingers, using the pear slices as tiny edible ice cream scoops.

Note: This recipe is a bit fiddly, what with all the poaching and reducing. Still, I hope it's in the spirit of Lick the Spoon's Sugar High Friday Theme: "Candy is Dandy, but Liquor is Quicker!"

shf18+shf+liquor

Egyptian Tomato Salad

2006-04-19T17:26:00.000-04:00

Admire the gorgeous, un-photoshopped red of the tomato salad above. Would you believe, dear reader, that those tomatoes were a pale greenish-pink mere days before this photo was taken? ToastMom and I bought a crate at Costco is preparation for Easter lunch. I was unconcerned about the pathetic state of the fruit. A combination of poaching and steeping makes any tomato palatable (hell, delicious) in this, my ultimate salad standby: Egyptian tomato salad.

The recipe is quite quick and easy. Don't be put off by the poaching of the tomatoes. It's just boiling some water, which even the biggest kitchen retard can handle. And because the salad is best when it's been sitting around at room temperature for awhile, it's a great "I'll bring the salad" salad.

***
Egyptian Tomato Salad
(adapted from Nigella Bites*)

In a small bowl, combine and set aside:
4 Tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced or grated
4 scallions, white parts only, minced
OR
1/4 medium onion, minced
OR
2 shallots, minced (though this is what the original recipe calls for, I have never made it this way, because I have issues with shallots)
Pinch sea salt
Ground black pepper

Boil a kettle of water.

In a large bowl, place:
5 medium tomatoes (You can use any kind you like. Of course, perfect tomatoes improve the salad, but I'm not kidding when I say that this is good when made with greenish supermarket beefsteaks, too. Don't use tiny ones, though, you'll go nuts with all the peeling.)

Pour the boiling water over the tomatoes and let rest for five minutes. Drain the water, and let the tomatoes cool until you can handle them--cold water can be used to speed this process. At this point, you should be able to remove the skin from the tomatoes with your fingers. Just rub and the skin breaks and rolls away. Core and slice the now-naked, creepily fleshy, but cheerfully bright red tomatoes. I cut them into 1/4 inch disks, but do whatever works for you--skinny wedges, slightly thicker slices, haphazard massacre, etc.

Put the cut tomatoes into a serving bowl, and toss with the olive oil dressing. The beauty of this salad is that improves as it sits. I leave mine resting at room temperature for an hour or two to maximize its flavor, but refrigerate if you like. But be sure to serve at room temperature or you'll lose half the taste. As the salad sits, it generates juices. If you find them unslightly, feel free to decant to another serving dish. I usually don't. Also, the leftover juices/tomato bits make a great light dressing for spare pasta.

Right before serving, sprinkle with:
Small handful fresh basil (or other similar herb), shredded
Squeeze of lemon juice

That's it. It's simple, and offers fresh tomato tastiness, even when there are no tasty fresh tomatoes around.

*Sorry for the Nigella binge lately--there's more coming.

Ham in Coca-Cola: Try It, You'll Like It

2006-04-16T21:53:00.000-04:00

A huge ham, boiled in two liters of Coca-Cola for hours, then studded with cloves, drizzled with molasses, sprinkled with brown sugar and mustard, and zonked in a hot oven until crisp and bubbly. You know you want it.

This is totally, completely, and utterly Nigella's recipe. I'm typing up the whole thing here only because I fear that if I just include the link you won't click through. You must make it. The boiling takes the salt out of the ham and makes it moist and falling-apart tender. The glaze is perfect--none of this gaudy pineapple and maraschino cherry tomfoolery (I'm looking at you, Martha). The recipe is marvelously trashy and will make your guests quake in fear at its wild unorthodoxy. Until the first bite. Then, they will be silenced.

And when you're done, you have the best ham stock ever. Stay tuned for its uses.

***
Ham in Coca-Cola
(stolen, intact, from Nigella Bites)
Click through on the recipe name for Nigella's colorful admonitions against Diet Coke and many other helpful hints. I'm just out to give the basic idea here:

Place, skin-side down, in a large pot with a lid:
4 1/4-4 1/2 pound bone-in fresh ham
(ToastMom and I found the designation "fresh ham" confusing. We decided smoked was OK, but do make sure there is nothing on the package that says "fully cooked" or "heat and serve.")

Add to the pot:
1 onion, peeled and cut in half
2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola

Bring to a boil, reduce to a brisk simmer and cover loosely. Simmer for about 2 hours, or figure roughly an hour for every two pounds if you have a bigger ham. ToastMom and I used a 9 1/2 pounder, and it seemed quite well-boiled after a little more than 4 hours.

When the ham is getting done, preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Take the ham out of the liquid and let cool slightly. Place the ham in a roasting pan and remove the skin. Score the layer of fat below in diamond shapes and stud each diamond with a clove. This should require:
A small handful of cloves

Drizzle/smear over:
1 heaping tablespoon molasses

Mix, then sprinkle over:
2 teaspoons English mustard powder
2 tablespoons brown sugar

Pop into the very hot oven, and cook for approximately 10 minutes, or until the fat no longer looks slimy and disgusting and the glaze browns and bubbles.

Do it.

***
The Weekend Cookbook Challenge is Easter Breakfast and Brunch and this is my entry. Coca-Cola ham is perfect for Easter. But just because Easter is past, don't wimp out and wait until next year. Make this recipe today. Obviously, Nigella Bites isn't "a cookbook I've never used before" but this recipe is in the spirit of the event, since I've been flipping fearfully past this recipe for years, pretending like it wasn't there, but in some other, little-used cookbook instead.

The Lady of Shallot: Mushroom and Shallot Pasta

2006-04-10T21:57:00.000-04:00

Shallots are a royal pain in my ass. They're tiny little impertinent onion impersonators. Yes, they're sweet. Yes, they're tender. Yes, they're flavorful. But peeling and dicing ten little shallots seems like infinitely more work than one large sweet onion.

But when the lady at the farmers' market convinced me to buy a mix of gorgeous fresh mushrooms and described a pasta dish of mushroom and shallots sauted in butter, I was seduced. The next stall over sold shallots, a tiny box of ten perfect rose-gold skinned gems. I bit the bullet. And I'll grudgingly admit that it tasted pretty good.

***
Fancy Mushroom and Shallot Pasta

Start a large pot of water boiling for pasta. Meanwhile, peel and dice:
10 shallots

Melt in a wide skillet:
4 Tablespoons butter
2 Tablespoons olive oil (to keep the butter from burning)

Saute the shallots in the butter over very low heat until soft and brown (about 15 minutes). Then increase the heat to medium high and add:
2-3 large handfuls of gourmet mushrooms (I used a mix of hen-of-the-woods, honey, enoki, button, chanterelle, and god knows what else the lady at the Dupont farmers' market gave me. As I type, there is no evidence that any of the mushrooms were hallucinogenic.)

Cook until the mushrooms are softening and starting to brown. They'll drink up a lot of the butter. Add more if you're worried about the pasta being dry. Take the mushrooms and shallots off the heat.

To the boiling water, add:
1 pound tagliatelle, linguine, papardelle, or other wide egg noodle

When the pasta is done, reserve 1 cup of cooking water and drain. Put mushrooms and shallots back on the heat and add the drained pasta. Stir to combine and add the reserved pasta water slowly to moisten. Sprinkle on:
Fresh cracked black pepper
Sea salt

Pass grated parmesan at the table.

Apricot Cardamom Muffins: More Butter!

2006-04-08T19:25:00.000-04:00

"The richer and sweeter the muffin, the longer it stays moist. Reduced-fat muffins and muffins that contain only 4 tablespoons or less of butter or oil [will] go stale quickly."

Ah Irma Rombauer, you know how to win my heart. Her exhortation to use more butter cannot be ignored by any sensible cook (or at least one who doesn't intend to consume a whole batch of muffins in a single sitting).

I was in the mood for muffins and wanted something fancier than boring blueberry. My default thought was ginger, but I'm a bit gingered out these days. I am newly obsessed with cardamom, though. And everything is better with dried apricots.

My dream of delicious cardamom-scented muffins was briefly stymied when I realized that I couldn't very well throw whole cardamom pods into the batter. Worse, I had no ground cardamom and no spice grinder. Yankee ingenuity prevailed, however. I picked the seeds out of about 8 crushed pods, put them in a gallon-sized baggie and beat the hell out of them with the back of a huge enameled metal ladle. No problem.

UPDATE: Tigers and Strawberries is hosting a new event: The Spice is Right. April is Ancient Spices month and cardamom is, of course, a classic entry in that category. I offer instruction--unusual ways to process cardamom in a pinch--and inspiration--Indian spices in all-American buttery muffins.

***
Apricot Cardamom Muffins
(a fancy variation on Joy of Cooking's Basic Muffins with Cream)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Grease a 12 muffin tin, or line it with paper muffin cups.

Combine and set aside:
2 cups flour
1 Tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
Pinch ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

Whisk together in another bowl, or in a standing mixer:
2 eggs
1 cup cream (if you're a pansy, use milk)
2/3 cup packed brown sugar
8 Tablespoons (1 stick) warm melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla

Add the flour mixture and quickly combine. Don’t overmix and don't worry about lumps.

Very gently fold in:
1/2 cup dried apricots, diced
(I used a scant half cup, but recommend that you be more generous)

Spoon batter into muffin cups and bake for 15 to 20 minutes.

Makes 12 normal-sized muffins

Comparing Apples to (Gr)apples

2006-04-06T15:30:00.000-04:00

I might need to reconsider my Wegmans impulse buys. After the kiwano incident, you'd think I would have learned my lesson. But no. I was initially enticed by the lovely grape-y smell emanating from the plastic four-pack of something called "grapples." I though I was having olfactory hallucinations until I saw the label, which proclaimed: "Looks like an apple. Tastes like a grape." I had to take them home with me.

But when I got home, I visited the official website, where I learned that (a) grapples will solve childhood obesity, and (b) "They are not genetically altered in any way." Damn. Turns out they just dip them in superconcentrated Concord grape flavoring. My mental picture was of a sweet, juicy lab full of crack scientists struggling to cross the apple and the grape. Exhausted and stained with grape juice, they are about to give up hope when one of them yells "eureka!" and the grapple is born.

Biting into one reveals that the tagline is slightly off. It should read: "Looks like an apple. Tastes like an apple. Smells like grape Bubblicious." Sigh.

A Note on Lamb Consumption

2006-04-03T17:24:00.000-04:00

This is a tragedy for our great nation:

"To tell the truth, Americans don't eat much lamb, let alone mutton. For all the lamb chops consumed in WASP-y households, all the legs of lamb eaten on Easter and all the lamb shanks that seem as common these days on restaurant menus as strip steaks, we consume on average only slightly more than a pound a year for each adult, compared with 50 pounds of pork and 65 pounds of beef. New Zealanders eat 40 pounds of lamb apiece every year and Greeks eat 31."

Don't let America fall behind! Eat lamb.

(Photo credit: Lamb Day Parade participants, 1984, by Richard Menzies)

Semi-Moroccan Lamb Shanks and Couscous

2006-04-03T01:36:00.000-04:00

I've never been a fan of couscous, which is a shame because I love the things that get spooned over it--spicy Tunisian vegetable stews, tagines with dried fruit, sweet braises with meat falling of the bone. So imagine my joy when I discovered Israeli couscous, which isn't couscous at all, but tiny pearls of semolina pasta. In my ongoing campaign to evangelize the stuff to the world, I present this recipe for semi-Moroccan lamb shanks with a fantastic stew-y broth, perfect for pouring over the UnCouscous. The recipe has the added benefit of being exotic, yet non-threatening--both for cooks and diners. A few of the spices are wacky, but everything else should be sitting pantry and the technique and equipment are very basic--no scary tagines or couscoussiers.

***
Semi-Moroccan Lamb Shanks
(slightly adapted from Aromatic Lamb-Shank Stew in Nigella Bites)

In a large heavy-bottomed pan, heat over medium-high:
3 Tablespoons peanut oil (I added a drizzle of toasted sesame oil as well, which is virtually always an improvement)

Brown, in batches if necessary:
6 lamb shanks

While the lamb is browning, drop into your food processor and whir to a pulp (or finely chop):
2 onions, quartered
6 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed

When nicely browned (I'm very impatient on this step, but I do think that waiting for genuine brown crunchiness is worth it) remove shanks and set aside. Then add the onion mash to the pan, along with:
2 additonal Tablespoons peanut oil
1 pinch salt

When the onion start to brown and gets softly translucent, add:
1 Tablespoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4-1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (I'm sure freshly grated is better, but I can never manage find the whole nutmeg and the grater in my kitchen at once, so I always use pre-ground and it works out OK)
black pepper

Stir to combine the spices with the onion mash, and cook for a minute or two, until fragrant. Then add:
3 Tablespoons honey
1 Tablespoon soy sauce
3 Tablespoons Marsala wine, sherry, port or whatever you've got on hand

The honey will bubble alarmingly, but when you add the soy (of all things) there will be a moment of magical kitchen alchemy when the contents of your pot suddenly smell like Moroccan stew.

Dump the lamb shanks back in and add enough cold water to the pot to barely cover the meat. Bring to boil then cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until meat is very tender.

Here Nigella instrcts us to uncover the pot and add:
6 Tablespoons red lentils
And cook for 20 more minutes "until the lentils have softened into the sauce and the juices have reduced and thickened." This didn't happen in my pot, so I removed the now-tender lamb shanks from the pot and boiled the hell out of the juices for another 15 minutes until things really did start to "reduce and thicken." Then I dropped the meat back in and let the pot sit on a very low burner, uncovered, until it was time to eat. In retrospect, I'm not sure it matters much which route you take, but my way doesn't seem to have done any harm and the juices were just right for my taste.

Serve in a big vat, alongside a bowl of couscous, with little side dishes of toppings, like:
Toasted slivered almonds
Yogurt
Chickpea puree or hummus
Whatever else appeals to you

***
Buttery Israeli Couscous
(adapted from my own recent encounter with Israeli couscous)

In a large dry skillet over low heat, toast:
1/2 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup slivered almonds

When nuts are beginning to turn golden, turn up the heat to medium/medium-high and add:
4 Tablespoons butter

When the butter is melted, stir in:
3 cups Israeli couscous (also called super couscous, maftoul, or pearl couscous)
4 cardamom pods, lightly crushed

Cook for about 3 minutes, stirring, to toast the couscous, which will make little popping sounds and brown slightly.

Have ready:
6-8 cups stock, white wine, or water (I recommend using 2 cups chicken stock, and the rest water, but whatever you have will be fine)

Pour in the 2 cups of stock, and cook over medium heat until most of the liquid is absorbed. Continue to add the water slowly (about a cup at a time), allowing all the liquid be almost completely absorbed each time--think risotto.

Couscous is done when there is no floury core left, but the individual pearls still have some bite.

Spicy Hummus: We Heart Chickpeas

2006-03-29T16:02:00.000-05:00

In the past week, I've somehow wound up discussing the unending virtues of the chickpea in three different conversations. Everyone is eager to defend their own native land's work with the chickpea, or garbanzo bean. And while Italian soups are nice, and curried chickpeas are marvelous, Middle Easterners win hands down when it comes to the chickpea. One word: hummus. Creamy and satisfying, hummus is the perfect base for an infinite variety of flavor variations. It's also cheap and easy to make at home. If you have a food processor, don't settle for the watery (and pricey) offerings of the Tribe of Two Sheiks. It takes three minutes to make better stuff your own.

Chickpea chauvinism aside, hummus has a co-MVP: tahini. Tahini is just a paste of ground toasted sesame seeds, so if you feel enterprising you can make your own in the food processor before adding the chickpeas. My experience is that buying premade tahini is much cheaper than buying the sesame seeds whole, fiddling with toasting, and then trying to successful grind the tiny things.

Our household's number one chickpea booster is the Human Vacuum. He's also the official hummus maker. H.V. is the one who first insisted we purchase our first industrial-sized can of chickpeas at Costco. He is a wise man.

***
Spicy Hummus
(The Human Vacuum's patented recipe)

Dump into a colander and rinse well with cold water:
2 cups canned chickpeas
(Canned chickpeas can be pretty salty. When you first start rinsing the water will foam. Keep going until the foam subsides.)

Pour the chickpeas into the food processor and add:
2/3 cup tahini paste
1/4 cup lime juice (lemon is traditional, but lime is zingier)
3 cloves garlic, smashed
2 teaspoons cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
2 Tablespoons Potbelly Hot Peppers or other spicy pickled pepper (optional, but awesome)
Pinch salt

Whir the whole mess in the food processor until very smooth. Some people like a little chunky texture, but they are fools. Go for the consistency of Greek yogurt. Stick some pita, or your fingers, into the processor occasionally (stop the blades first) to allow your girlfriend to taste test. If the hummus sticks together in a ball, or otherwise and seems too thick, thin it with a few Tablespoons of water or olive oil. H.V. prefers to use water and drizzle the olive oil over the top at the end.

Serve drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with:
Fresh cilantro, or
paprika (smoked for preference)

Ghee Whiz!: The "Secret Name of Butter"

2006-03-25T01:28:00.000-05:00

Ghee is pretty amazing stuff. Let's start with the plug it gets in the Rig Veda:

This is the secret name of Butter:
"Tongue of the gods," "navel of immortality."
We will proclaim the name of Butter;
We will sustain it in this sacrifice by bowing low.
These waves of Butter flow like gazelles before the hunter...
Streams of Butter caress the burning wood.
Agni, the fire, loves them and is satisfied.

This hymn is sung while pouring ghee into a fire, an act which literally reproduces the story of Prajápati, Hindu Lord of Creatures, rubbing his hands together and pouring out ghee onto the flames to create progeny--thus the "navel of immortality" bit, I suppose.

Ghee, for the uninitiated, is mega-clarified cow's milk butter used primarily in Indian cooking. It's basically butter that acts permanantly melted and doesn't spoil because the milk solids have been removed. It also has the power to render any food cooked by anybody (even unclean folks like myself) pakka, "complete" or "superior," and thus acceptable for consumption by Brahmins. Virtually all major Hindu rites involve ghee. That's right people, it's a butter-based religion. What's not to love?

Ghee was the answer to my prayers this week. Dinner was about to hit the table when I realized I'd forgotten to do anything with a huge vat of boiled new potatoes. I had the usual French-syle rosemary, garlic, cream default in mind. But when I stuck my head in the spice cabinet looking for a quick fix, there was the jar of ghee and a packet of kalonji (black onion seeds). Indian spices+tiny French potatoes=Problem solved.

Perhaps Prajápati was smiling upon me.

Citations update: There are some great Indian food blogs out there, including Hooked on Heat and One Hot Stove, both of which inspire this aspiring Indian home cook. Hooked on Heat is hosting a food blog event called From My Rasoi with a "fusion" theme this month, for which I'll be entering this ghee experiment. Ghee trivia stolen from this butterblog.

***
Curried, Smashed New Potatoes with Ghee

Fill a dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed pot with water and set on a hot burner. Don't watch the pot--it'll never boil. Instead, scrub and halve:
2 pounds new potatoes

When water boils, add potatoes and boil for 20 minutes, or until very tender. You can do this ahead and leave them in the hot water until you're ready to use them. Just don't forget about them.

Just before you eat, drain the potatoes in a colander. Return the pan to the burner, crank up the heat to medium-high/high and add:
4 Tablespoons ghee
If you don't have ghee, you can use a combination of butter and vegetable oil, but the result won't be as flavorful.

When the ghee starts to bubble, add:
2 generous Tablespoons Penzeys Maharajah curry powder, or other curry
1 Tablespoon kalonji (aka onion seeds, nigella, black cumin, etc)
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Fry spices for 2 minutes, until fragrant, then add the potatoes and stir to coat. Lightly smash the potatoes with the side of the spoon. Don't get too enthusiatic, or you'll end up with a gluey mess. I like my potatoes with browned crunchy bits, so I left them in the hot pan for awhile longer, but they're basically ready to eat whenever you are.

Shrimp Toast: A Quasi-Recipe

2006-03-22T19:11:00.000-05:00

This is barely a recipe. Hell, this barely qualifies as cookery. But it was damn tasty and the snapshot is rather colorful, so I thought I'd share anyway. Ten minutes max, start to finish.

***
Bottled Shrimp Toast

Thaw in lukewarm water:
1 pound pre-cooked, peeled shrimp

Meanwhile, turn on your broiler. On the stovetop, heat in a large skillet:
2 Tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon garlic, minced (I won't lie, I love the garlic that comes pre-minced in a jar, and it works just fine for dishes like this "recipe")
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, minced (optional, but also available pre-minced form)

When butter starts to foam and garlic and ginger sizzle, drizzle the mixture over 2 large slabs of bread and pop them in the oven to toast. I nearly set mine on fire, so be vigilant.

In the same skillet (no need to rinse), dump:
1/3 cup peanut sauce
2 Tablespoons chutney or minced fresh herbs (I used mint and cilantro chutney)
1 teaspoon fish sauce (nam pla)

Remove tails from thawed shrimp, which are always irritatingly left attached (why is that, I ask you? It's not like I'm going to make shrimp stock with those things). Roughly chop the shrimp and toss them in the pan with the sauces. Heat through, then dump the spicy, peanutty mixture on garlicky, gingery, buttery bread, and snarf it down.

Gingerbread Pancakes, Haroset and Yogurt: Brunch!

2006-03-19T01:43:00.000-05:00

My sister came to town this weekend, and brunch was in order. I pondered venturing into quiche territory, but when it comes to brunch bang for your buck, pancakes can't be beat. You don't have to get up early to prepare them and the ingredients are always around. Even if you're sleeping and ruin the first batch, there's more batter where that came from. Still, it's not every day that I get to cook for ToastSister (and ToastMom) so I wanted something a bit special. Gingerbread pancakes were the solution. Homey, but with a whiff of cooking superiority. ToastSister says that reading the blog fills her with guilt, all the more so because the recipes aren't that hard--they're just more creative than she's capable of day to day. Here's one more for the list, sister.

I served these fluffy, gingery pancakes with Deconstructed Haroset, yogurt, a million kinds of jam, and bacon. This assemblage of food perfectly meets national standards for brunch balance: Something warm, something sweet, butter, something fruity, and some form of nitrite-laden meat.

***
Gingerbread Pancakes
The recipe is mostly stolen from Nic at Bakingsheet. I've tweaked (and doubled it) but the heart of these cakes is hers.

Combine in a large bowl:
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 Tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
pinch nutmeg
a few grounds black pepper

In a seperate bowl, whisk together:
2 1/4 cup buttermilk
2 eggs
2 Tablespoons melted butter
5 Tablespoons dark molasses

Pour the wet stuff into the dry stuff and stir gingerly (haha) until just barely combined. Very lightly grease a large skillet or griddle, and warm over medium high heat. Pour 1/4 cup of batter at a time to form small pancakes. (The idea is to make pancakes small enough that your guests won't feel guilty eating more than three.) Flip when tiny bubbles break through the exposed surface of the batter and edges start to solidify, approx. 2-3 minutes. Lightly brown other side. If you're making several batches, stash 'em in a 200-degree oven while you make the rest.

Serves 4 extremely generously when slathered with marmalade or maple syrup.

UPDATE: I served leftovers at room temperature with warm baked pears and ice cream for dessert. A dinner guest noted: "They're like gingerbread blinis!"

Roasted Fennel Chicken Salad

2006-03-15T15:30:00.000-05:00

Don't you hate it when you have diligently filled your fridge with fresh food, which you're all set to turn into some kind of culinary masterpiece, and then suddenly you're struck down by a serious attack of after-work lethargy? The tiny cries of fresh fennel and plump pink chicken breasts were almost drowned out by the Sci-Fi channel's various cheesy Monday night marathon offerings this week. In a carefully negotiated compromise between my stomach and my numb brain, I managed to get together this low-impact chicken salad to go with my low-budget TV. Perfect.

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Roasted Fennel Chicken Salad

Preheat your broiler.

Rinse and dry:
2 large skinless chicken breasts
(if you're lucky enough to have cooked leftover chicken already on hand, even better)

Peel, core, and cut into haphazard chunks or slices:
1 bulb fennel

Arrange chicken and fennel in a single layer in a shallow roasting pan and sprinkle with:
Salt and pepper to taste
Olive oil

Roast under the broiler, turning occasionally until fennel is soft and starting to brown, and chicken is cooked through (approx. 15 minutes). While chicken and fennel are roasting, go back to lolling on the couch and watching junky TV.

Combine in a large bowl:
1 tart apple, diced
2 Tablespoons Potbelly Hot Peppers or other spicy pepper/condiment, roughly chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
1-2 Tablespoons mayonnaise
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
Whatever else you have in the fridge door that looks good
When chicken and fennel are cooked, cut into bite-sized pieces and toss, still warm, with the contents of the bowl.

Sprinkle with:
1 Tablespoon fresh basil, mint or cilantro

Serve in the mixing bowl with two forks. Eat while marveling at cheap special effects and implausible plot twists involving alternate universes.

Serves two lazy geeks.

Braised Short Ribs with Guacamole: A Cautionary Tale

2006-03-12T21:48:00.000-05:00

Ah, peer pressure. As I was cruising the meat aisle at the supermarket today, I heard a little voice in my ear: "C'mon... everybody's doing it. Don't you want to be cool? Try some, you'll like it." And, despite years for D.A.R.E training, I barely hesitated before I reached into the refrigerated case and picked up a pack of short ribs.

I did, however, draw the line at polenta. Nor did I serve my short ribs with a "comforting root puree." (What is it about turnips and parnips that culinary souls find so comforting?) I served mine with guacamole, dammit.

And I gotta say, my seat on the bandwagon is pretty comfortable. I'm a late joiner, I know. Every restaurant in D.C. has had the short ribs in regular rotation for months and the entire blogosphere has already whipped up their batches. But the Human Vacuum was a big fan, and I do rather like having a big pot o' food food for dinner. Plus, my latin variation gave me a chance to use up some of cilantro threatening to push out the other herbs in my window garden and a chance to experiment with the star anise I've been hoarding in my spice cabinet.

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Wine-Braised Short Ribs with Guacamole

In a large, heavy-bottomed pan, heat until smoking:
2 Tablespoons olive oil
(If you happen to have some pancetta or fatty bacon around, throw it a couple tablespoons, diced, when you add the cold olive oil and let the fat render for extra flavor)
Add:
2 pounds short ribs
Brown very well on all sides. Don't crowd the pan. You'll probably have to do this in batches. Remove the ribs and set aside.

Reduce the heat to medium-high, and pour off the all the fat but two tablespoons. Then add:
1 large onion, diced
2-3 large carrots, diced (I used about a cup of sliced baby carrots, since I never seem to have real carrots around)
3 stalks celery, diced
Cook until they vegetable soften and start to brown (7-8 minutes), then add:
4 cloves garlic, well crushed with the flat of a large knife
2 Tablespoons tomato paste
Cook for an addition 1-2 minutes, until tomato starts to caramelize.

Return the short ribs and any juices to the pan and add:
2-3 cups hefty red wine (I used claret)
2 cups beef or chicken broth
2 whole dried bay leaves
3 dried guajillo chiles (or other sweet, mild chile), rehydrated and finely minced
1 whole star anise (optional but awesome)

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and let simmer very low for at least two hours, or as long as 6 hours.

When you're ready to eat, remove the ribs and set them aside. Bring the remaining liquid to a rapid simmer and reduce until it's as thick as you want. I made mine very thick, like chunky salsa.

To serve, I put a tortilla spread with guacamole on each plate, arranged the ribs on top, squeezed lime over them, poured the reducing braising liquid over, and sprinkled fresh cilantro on top.

Serves two with gonzo leftovers.

Impromptu Mustard Fruit

2006-03-10T15:50:00.000-05:00

After bragging about my participation in the digital cooking revolution, I'm a bit ashamed to post this recipe--it's directly from a book, and I followed the instructions to the letter. "Impromptu Mustard Fruit" is an eye-catching mini-recipe in Marcella Says..., a chatty cookbook from Marcella Hazan, dictatorial Italian home cook and regional cuisine expert. It strives to duplicate a native Italian fruit preserve, mostarda, prized for its mustardy kick. The whole thing takes about 30 seconds to assemble, and you've never tasted anything like it.

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Impromptu Mustard Fruit with Mascarpone

In a small bowl, combine any amount in the following proportions:
1 Tablespoon heavy, rich jam (Marcella specifically recommends the Dalmatian Fig Spread from Whole Foods pictured above, but quince or really good apricot jam would work)
1 teaspoon strong mustard (like Colman's)

Stir well. Marcella prefers a butter knife for this task, and who am I to question her?

Add mascarpone (about half the amount of jam) and stir lightly to swirl together. Marcella says this versatile condiment works for an accompaniment to a charcuterie platter, as a side for cold chicken, spread on toast, or added to a sandwich.

I dolloped some on top of a mustard-glazed broiled ribeye. It melted a bit, but added an interesting creamy, sweet, spicy flavor to the already kicky steak.

Confessions of a Google Chef: Recipe Collection Meme

2006-03-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

I can't stop googling recipes. Sure, I like a nice cookbook on dead tree now and then, but it's Google that I turn to when I need ideas quick for dinner. When the Web Sorceress hit me with the Recipe Collection meme a couple weeks back, I started paying attention to where my recipes come from. Here are the results:

1. Where do you obtain the recipes you prepare?
Nearly all online--mostly googling, sometimes other blogs--though I also read the NYT and WaPo Wednesday food sections (usually online), and am recovering from a desperate love affair with Nigella. I read cookbooks while eating breakfast for ideas, but very rarely consult them while actually cooking a new dish. I tote my laptop into the kitchen to keep the recipe(s) handy, cheerfully placing it in nightly mortal danger from spatters and splashes.

2. How often do you cook a new recipe?
Twice or three times a week on average, though many of those "new" recipes are variations on an existing theme--new stuffing for the same roast chicken, new glaze on the same broiled ribeye, new dressing and different veggie in a familiar chickpea salad.

3. How do you store your favorite recipes?
Ctrl+D, baby. Bookmark 'em. The "Favorites" list on my home computer is embarrassing--more or less all random recipes, often in ingredient clusters (i.e. when desperately trying to find something to do with red currants, I bookmarked seven recipes and left them there. Maybe I'll get around to them eventually.)

4. How large is your to-try pile? Is it organized? How?
The bookmarks list is long. And, as I noted above, embarrassingly long. Dozens of recipes, simply in the order that I encountered them. Sometimes I store recipes by emailing them to myself. Since I use Gmail, I just do a search for the ingredient keyword on my inbox when I'm ready to make them. Ah, the glory of total, perfect searchability.

5. What is the oldest recipe in your to-try pile?
(see Question 8)

6. Are you really ever going to make all those recipes in your to-try pile?
No. I'm an unrepentant inspiration shopper, so I almost never make grocery lists with specific new recipes in mind. The way I see it, if I've had a recipe in the hopper for along time but never bothered to make it, other people probably won't be psyched for it either.

7. Do you follow a recipe exactly, modify as you go, or 'What Recipe?' I invent new recipes every time I cook.
Sometimes I bookmark a recipe because it has a great ideas for a unique combination of ingredients. I often bookmark if I find a good description of a tricky technique (poaching eggs) or a helpful hint (what to do if food is too spicy/salty/sticky). The technique recipes I follow carefully, but I'm an inveterate tweaker otherwise.

8. What is one new recipe that you're scared to try?
Char Siu Bao--dim sum roast pork buns. I've never made anything with yeast. I am afraid. Someday I hope that my deep, abiding love for these buns will conquer my fear of the words "Leave the dough to rest in a warm place for six hours."

Now for the real challenge:
1. Tag at least one new food blogger for this meme. (New as in only blogging a few months)
The beautiful Traveler's Lunchbox is young but elegant.
2. Tag at least one food blogger you visit regularly but never interacted with.
I'm secretly envious of people who act as though tempering chocolate an ordinary sort of thing to be able to do--like tying one's shoelaces. And I love the funky retro colors on his blog. Thus David Lebovitz.
3. Tag at least one food blogger you constantly visit and leave comments.
I'm not much of a commenter. But the chatty Haverchuk fits this description best.
4. Tag anyone else you want.
For her blog-naming prowess, Toast.

Eating Chicken Little

2006-02-26T21:13:00.000-05:00

Cornish game hens are, in fact, nothing more than little chickens. I just looked it up, and I'm rather disappointed. Somehow I'd hoped they were some sort of exotic game bird, supplied to the market by industrious shooting parties traipsing around Cornwall in red hunting coats. But it turns out that there's really no one here but us chickens after all.

As a matter of historical interest, these little chickens used to be littler chickens. As the Joy of Cooking tells us: "Just like the rest of us, rock Cornish hens seem to put on a little weight with each passing year."

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Ginger-Glazed Cornish Game Hens

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Rinse and pat dry:
2 Cornish game hens (1 to 1 1/2 pounds each)
Place the hens in a large roasting pan, with enough room for them to sit apart.

Combine in a small bowl:
2-3 generous Tablespoons honey
1 1/2 Tablespoons soy sauce
1 Tablespoon brown sugar
1 Tablespoon mirin, or sweet cooking rice wine (sherry works too)
2 Tablespoons candied ginger, minced
2 cloves garlic, grated or minced
1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

Stir to combine. If the honey is stubborn and sticks to the bottom of the bowl, microwave for 10 seconds at a time until the honey is liquid and the ingredients are integrated.

Paint the hens with the glaze and pop them in the oven, uncovered, for 40 minutes to an hour. Baste every ten minutes or so. The hens are done when a meat thermometer in the thickest part of the thigh reads 170 degrees. Since the hens are small, there seems to be little danger of overcooking the white meat, and they really are better when the meat is falling of the bones, so letting them get closer to 180 degrees wouldn't be terrible. When the hens are done, the skin will be deliciously brown and crackly.

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Serving note: I stuffed the hens and served them with cucumber salad dressed with toasted sesame oil, peanut oil, ume plum wine vinegar and soy sauce.