D.C. Farmers Market

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.