Shrimp Quiche

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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.