No Coulis for Me!

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."

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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

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

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:

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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

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

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

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)

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

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.

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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

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.

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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.