Chocolate, Cheese, and Chianti

I've moved!

2011-06-23T11:02:00.004-04:00

Hello followers. Thanks for being loyal readers over the past few years. In pursuit of better, more attractive and "cleaner" blogging, I'm moving over to the following site: http://katesonders.com/blog/

Please continue to follow me by subscribing to the new site. This blog address will remain on the www but I will no longer be posting on this site.

http://katesonders.com/blog/ is a work in progress but is currently readable and online.

Thanks so much for your continued support and readership and I hope you will subscribe to the new site.

Kate

Billy's Bakery

2011-06-10T22:39:00.005-04:00

I’ve been sadly and unapologetically remiss at maintaining this blog, which had become my metaphorical baby. Since letting things slide (not only my blog but the cooking and eating escapades I featured), I have become mother to a real-life, cherubic almost-toddler. My focus has shifted from cooking, eating and wine to dirty diapers, drool, board books and now, getting my incredibly stubborn kid to eat that which I put in front of him. I’m hoping, over the course of 2011 and 2012, to resurrect my gastronomical adventures as well as feature more product reviews than ever!

Speaking of which, I recently heard on the pontifical nightly news that in 2011, by and by, the cupcake will no longer be relevant. Really?!?! Will the iconic cupcake really fall out of favor with eaters? Is it really “so three years ago?” I’m 33 and have been eating them for 32 years! In fact, New York City boasts more cupcake shops than ever and the very hip Sweet Revenge in the West Village even pairs artisanal cupcake creations with wine and beer.

All the same, the tongue-wagers insist the Lilliputian confections have become a bygone trend. In response to naysayers, anti-sweet toothed crusaders and curmudgeons, I would like to give an extremely loud shout-out to Billy’s Bakery. As far as I’m concerned this is the best cupcake in Manhattan and rumor has it, one of the top five reasons my sister moved back to NYC after a year in the South!

The original Billy’s proprietor and baker Billy Reece (now Lauren after her gender reassignment) was trained in cupcake art by the famous Magnolia Bakery. Though I like Magnolia’s cupcakes, Billy’s has upped the ante. They are rich and flavorful without eliciting a toothache. Their batter is not overbeat, resulting in a moist, fluffy but substantive confection. The masterful buttercream frosting is not in the least gritty but whipped until ridiculously smooth and creamy.

Billy’s most beloved cupcakes flavors are, not surprisingly, classic chocolate and the yellow daisy (aka vanilla vanilla). Their menu consists of other retro desserts (which I admit to never tasting because why would I order anything but a yellow daisy?). If the mood strikes, try one of Billy’s other cupcake flavors: carrot, red velvet, banana, German chocolate and coconut. You want an ice box cake? Billy’s bakes ice box cakes. Have a hankering for cheese cake? Junior’s be damned! Billy’s also has a selection of pies, cakes, cookies and bars.

Chelsea
184 9th Avenue
212-647-9956
Monday to Thursday 8:30am-11pm
Friday and Saturday 8:30am-midnight
Sunday 9am-10 pm

Nolita
268 Elizabeth Street
212-219-9956
Monday to Thursday 10am-9pm
Friday and Saturday 10am-10pm
Sunday 10am-6pm

Tribeca
75 Franklin Street
212-647-9958
Monday to Friday 7am-9pm
Saturday 9am-9pm
Sunday 10am-5pm

Levain Bakery

2010-04-07T18:20:00.003-04:00

It has been a while since I’ve posted on this sad and neglected site and what better way to resume than with the best darn cookies in Manhattan! Heck, let’s just go for the gold and call them the best darn cookies I’ve ever tasted (sorry, Mom)!

And speaking of the best, I have a hard time labeling anything “the best.” Unequivocally once something is branded the best, a host of “the better” crop up. I should know. I’m a hard-core judgmental eater: never fully satisfied and always on the prowl for the Holy Grail of eating.

Without a doubt, however, I have never ever tasted a more perfect cookie than those made by Levain Bakery on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I stand by my bold statement (and feel free to play devil’s advocate). My cookie monster husband and I both agree- Levain makes the most bang-up cookie in town.

Each cookie weighs a whooping six ounces. Though their choices of chocolate chip walnut, oatmeal raisin, dark chocolate peanut butter chip and dark chocolate chocolate chip seem limited, once you take a bite out of any one of them, you will crave anything but diversity. My Achilles heel is the dark chocolate peanut butter chip but all varieties leave their competition in the dust. Each are perfectly chunky mini-mountains of dough, slightly crispy yet tender on the outside and if warm, gooey (read: almost raw) and soft in the middle.

A Levain cookie costs $4 and worth every cent, ample enough to satiate even the most consummate sweet tooth.

The bakery itself is a petite and uber-French-looking subterranean hole-in-the-wall on 74th and Amsterdam. The sweet aroma of chocolate morsels, decadently fresh baked bread, baked jelly doughnuts, scones, and cinnamon brioche wafts onto the street level, making it difficult for anyone, even exclusive salt lovers, to resist.

Tony Danza’s Sunday Sauce with Meatballs

2010-01-12T09:30:00.000-05:00

Last year I became a very fortunate fan-girl when I was asked to interview Tony Danza, one of my favorite childhood television stars, for a holiday-centric profile that was never published. Since we spoke, I have made his Sunday sauce with meatballs countless times.

With his son Marc, he wrote the adorable, pint-sized cookbook Don't Fill Up on the Antipasto: Tony Danza's Father-Son Cookbook (Scribner, 2008) jam-packed with his beloved Italian-American family recipes. And I have to admit, Mr. Danza is one hell of a cook!

“Food was what we did in my family,” reminisced Danza. “We met over food, and not just during the holidays. It was always about food: what we were having, who was making what. I had a real Italian upbringing: my grandfather made wine, my grandmother made homemade olives. And you never know what would appear in the Sunday sauce. I’m sure a pigeon or two made it in!”

The Christmas meal was particularly significant for Danza’s family, especially his grandparents. It signified their journey to the United States, their struggles, their successes and, most of all, their desire to make a better life for their children and grandchildren. “They tried to assimilate into the country and wanted to do better for their kids,” he says. “Christmas became a sign that they made it.”

Danza told me that their Christmases consisted of Italian-American dishes such as his family’s beloved lasagna, manicotti, an array of antipasti and very American roast turkey. He also gave me the recipe for his meatballs and sauce, which includes two ingredients his family used to make their holiday lasagna: meatballs and Sunday sauce.

I didn’t know what to expect the first time I tried the recipe. I guess you could say I was skeptical. I mean, isn’t this the man known for the catch phrase “ay oh- oh ay?” The sauce is cooked in the true Italian mode: low and slow. And with pork ribs and meatballs simmering in the red sauce for hours, the taste is deep, rich and complex. In fact, it may be the most layered, full-bodied red sauces I have ever tasted.

Sunday Sauce with Meatballs

Sauce:
2 cans (35 ounces each) plum tomatoes with basil
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup red wine
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves, cut into thin strips

Meatballs and Ribs:
1 pound ground sirloin or lean ground beef, pork, turkey, veal, chicken, or any combination
2 eggs
6 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
1 tablespoons salt
1 tablespoon black pepper
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup milk
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 pound pork spareribs, trimmed
1 can (6 ounces) tomato paste

1. Strain the tomatoes in a colander to extract the juice, breaking the tomatoes apart with your hands. Discard the pulp. (This eliminates the bitter part of the tomato.)

2. Now make the meatballs. Put the ground meat in a mixing bowl. Beat the eggs and add them to the meat along with 6 cloves garlic, the bread crumbs, salt, pepper, Parmesan, and milk. Mix this all together with your hands. Wet your hands with water and continue to wet them as you pinch meat from the bowl and roll into 2-inch balls. Roll the balls in the flour.

3. Heat the oil in a large skillet. Add 3 cloves chopped garlic and sauté until golden brown. Remove the garlic with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add the meatballs and sauté over medium-high heat, turning them, until they are brown all over. As soon as you can pick them up with a fork, they are ready. You don’t want them to be well done. (If the meatball slides off the fork when you pick it up, it needs to cook a little longer.)

4. Cut the ribs apart. Sauté them in the hot oil until very brown and remove. Return the garlic to the oil and add the tomato paste to the pan. Cook, stirring, over medium heat for about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat.

5. Back to the sauce: Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add 4 cloves garlic, the onion, red and black pepper and sauté until the onion is soft and beginning to brown, about 5 minutes. Add the juiced tomatoes, red wine, Parmesan, and salt. Add the tomato paste and the water and stir together over medium heat. Add the meatballs and spareribs. Bring to an easy boil, then simmer over low heat for 2 hours.

6. Add the basil and simmer for 15 minutes more. The spareribs should be very tender, falling off the bone, and the meatballs should float in the sauce.

Yield: Serves 4 to 6.

French Lemon Tart

2010-01-01T19:45:00.000-05:00

I used to cower away from baking desserts. With cooking, a misstep can unfold into a surprising success. Accidents in baking, on the other hand, yield unwanted trash weights. Searingly salty cookies and sunken soufflés weigh down garbage cans all over the world.

That’s why I always bypassed pastry-making. I was unable to handle the precision, an ironic turn for a type-A cook like myself. However, as of late, I have become increasingly drawn to baking. Blame it on my newly anointed sweet tooth, but sugar has wormed its way into my salt-encrusted heart.

So, when life gives you lemons, make French lemon tarts! This recipe, which I gleaned from epicurious.com, is as indelible and it is delectable.

The almond crust tastes earthy and buttery, which contrasts and balances the sweet and mouth-puckeringly tart lemon curd. Olive oil acts as a secret ingredient, giving the crust a complex flavor and crumbly texture and deepening the richness of the lemon curd. I recommend topping individual pieces with slightly sweetened homemade whipped cream. C'est bon!

French Lemon Tart
Updated from Epicurious.com

For tart shell:
2 tablespoons almonds with skins, toasted and cooled
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup confectioners sugar
Pinch of fine sea salt
1/2 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 large egg yolk
3 1/2 tablespoons fruity olive oil

For lemon curd:
3 large lemons
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 whole large eggs plus 2 large yolks
1/2 stick unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 tablespoons fruity olive oil

Equipment:
a 9-inch round tart pan with removable side; a small offset spatula

Make tart shell:
1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees with rack in middle.

2. Pulse almonds with flour, sugar, and sea salt to a fine powder in a food processor. Add butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal with some small (roughly pea-size) butter lumps.

3. Add yolk and oil and pulse until just incorporated and a very soft dough has formed.

4. Spread dough evenly over bottom and up side of pan with offset spatula. Chill until firm, about 30 minutes.

5. Bake shell until golden brown all over, about 13 minutes. Transfer to a rack to cool completely, about 30 minutes.

Make curd:
1. Grate enough zest from lemons to measure 1 tablespoon, then squeeze 3/4 cup juice from lemons.

2. Whisk together lemon zest and juice, sugar, cornstarch, whole eggs, and yolks in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking constantly. Boil, whisking, 2 minutes.

3. Remove from heat and strain through a fine mesh strainer to remove lemon zest and other lumps. Whisk in butter and oil until smooth.

Assemble tart:
Pour lemon curd into cooled shell and chill until set, at least 2 hours. Serve with homemade whipped cream.

Cheese of the Month- Ardrahan

2009-12-14T09:00:00.000-05:00

I’ve fallen off the cheese wagon lately. Chalk it up to my move to Brooklyn and away from my apprenticeship at the inimitable Sprout Creek Farm. Though I live among a plethora of some of the country’s best cheese shops, I’ve been a very bad and lazy taste-tester, existing in an existential state of cheese limbo.

However, I recently got my paws on a choice piece of Ardrahan, a wash-rind, semi-soft cheese hailing from a small family farm in Cork, Ireland. Those of you who know my cheese sensibilities won’t be surprised that I’m featuring this particular cheese on this particular blog.

Ardrahan proved itself a complex cheese, worthy of the awards it has garnered. Splitting open the golden, saffron-hued exterior reveals an ocre-colored flesh that’s both firm and springy. Like some of my other stinky cheese favorites, Ardrahan possesses a somewhat sticky rind and a meaty interior that’s delivers a subtlety pungent barnyard aroma and an earthy, mushroomy flavor, which becomes slightly tangy as it ages. On the tongue, the mouthful is buttery, nutty, salty and slightly chalky.

Ardrahan is made from pasteurized cow’s milk and vegetarian rennet, hand-made in small batches by the Burns family on their Kanturk, County Cork farm.

Grape Focaccia

2009-12-07T21:38:00.000-05:00

I’m always pleasantly surprised to sit down at a restaurant and find a bread basket filled with salty, warm focaccia instead of the ubiquitous hunks of nondescript bread that fill the stomach while leaving the soul empty. I can think of nothing better to start a meal than this soft and spongy Italian specialty, its moon-like craters filled with hot pools of olive oil, coated in an inviting layer of crusty salt and crispy herbs.

And with the holidays upon us, I begin a treasure hunt for inspired recipes and flavor combinations, familiar and homey, but with a twist. This focaccia recipe is utterly simple to assemble, yet the interplay of flavors- sweet and fruity grapes and sea salt, tangy shallots and earthy rosemary- give way to synergistic bread, a marriage of aromas and tastes more dynamic than the sum of its individual parts.

The flavor combination is traditionally Italian. I used both red and green grapes as that is what I had in stock. If using sea salt, be sparse- a little goes a long way.

Requiring only premade pizza dough, there is no need to slave away with packets of yeast and no need to massage the dough. This recipe is like a holiday recipe in itself: simplicity gift-wrapped and served-up in the form of piping hot, springy bread that packs a serious flavor punch.

Grape Focaccia

1 pound pizza dough, preferably from your local pizzeria
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium shallot, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary leaves or 2 teaspoons dried rosemary
1 cup red grapes (or 1/2 cup red grapes and 1/2 cup green grapes)
Coarse sea salt or kosher salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Honey for drizzling

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Roll the pizza dough into a rectangle on sheet of parchment paper or a silpat. Place the dough and parchment paper (or silpat) on a baking sheet.

2. Brush the dough with the olive oil and sprinkle with salt, garlic, shallot and rosemary. Spread the grapes evenly on dough and push slightly into the dough. Drizzle honey and black pepper to taste.

3. Bake about 25 minutes or until golden.

Blini

2009-11-30T14:30:00.005-05:00

I had been conducting research on Jewish gangsters and their noshing habits. Believe it or not, they eat, just like us. They don’t inject themselves with a mercury-based liquid metal to gain mental and physical powers over the layman. Nor do they eat a solid diet of bullets and other gangster-tested, mobster-approved paraphernalia.

My gangster research was myopically focused on finding a recipe suitable for contribution to a satire magazine for their crime-themed issue, which ended up being an exercise in futility professionally, but very interesting on personal and academic levels.

I needed to find a solid dish, beloved by the Jewish mob, and recreate it in my own culinary style. In order to do my research, I spoke with notable New York historian Dr. Phil Schoenberg, a NYU PhD best known for his historic tours of New York City. I also spoke with a retired NYPD detective who, before his exit from the force, worked on Russian organized crime cases as an undercover and an investigator.

We spoke of the Kosher Mafia and their preferred restaurants. Never men to shy away from the hyperbolic lifestyle, many could be seen frequenting the kitschy, over-the-top banquet halls in Brooklyn’s Brighton Beach, such as the famed Rasputin. Others like Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Leven preferred cuisine like their bubbies made, holing up inside the mystical Ratner’s vegetarian restaurant, a kosher dairy enclave that served up to 1,200 per diem in their heyday. And still others went the way of the Jewish deli, specifically Katz’s. Maybe they sent a salami to their loved one in the army? On second thought, they probably used the salami as a club.

Since my research took me back to the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn, I started to crave Russian specialties and decided to whip up a batch of Thomas Keller’s mini blini. Though he’s not exactly a Russian cook, Chef Keller’s blini are light, airy, creamy and as opulent as the Russian nightclubs in Brighton Beach. The savory, silver dollar-sized pancakes are made from Yukon Gold potatoes and as Keller notes, the waxy potatoes allow the batter to absorb more cream. Garnishes can be as simple or lavish as you wish, ranging from a dab of rich butter, a tomato confit like Keller uses, caviar, or smoked salmon and a dollop of crème fraîche, the latter being my personal favorite.

Blini
Adapted from The French Laundry Cookbook

1 pound Yukon Gold potatoes
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 to 3 tablespoons crème fraîche, at room temperature
2 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
Kosher salt and freshly ground white pepper

1. Place the potatoes in a saucepan with cold water to cover by at least 2 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat, reduce the heat, and simmer until the potatoes are thoroughly cooked and tender.

2. Peel the warm potatoes and press them through a potato ricer. Immediately weigh out 9 ounces of puréed potatoes and place them in a medium metal bowl. Working quickly, whisk the flour into the warm potatoes, then whisk in 2 tablespoons crème fraîche. Add 1 egg, whisking until the batter is smooth, add the second egg, and then add the yolk.

3. Hold the whisk with some of the batter over the bowl. The batter should fall in a thick stream but hold its shape when it hits the batter in the bowl. If it is too thick, add a little more ore me fraîche. Season to taste with salt and white pepper.

5. Heat an electric griddle to 350 degrees. If you do not have a griddle, heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-low heat. Spoon between 1 and 1-1/2 teaspoons of batter onto the griddle or skillet for each pancake. Cook until the bottoms are browned, 1 to 2 minutes. Then flip them to cook the second side, about 1 minute. The blini should be evenly browned with a small ring of white around the edges. Transfer the blini to a small baking sheet and keep warm while you make the remaining blini, wiping the skillet with a paper towel between batches. Serve the blini as soon as possible.

Yield: About 3 dozen small blini.

Frosted Brownies

2009-10-21T10:06:00.005-04:00

After a several month hiatus from food blogging, I return with glory. And nothing exemplifies glory like my mom’s luscious brownies.

My mother makes the world’s best brownies. Her brownies could save the world: peace in the Middle East, global warming, America’s healthcare crisis, and even Rush Limbaugh’s drug problem. Debonair men have been seen obsequiously begging to lick the batter-coated spoon. Genteel women throw manners to the wind, picking the crumbs from the baking dish (or the floor). My mom’s brownies are a coup in the world of baking.

Everyone who knows my family knows that my husband gets killers sugar cravings. His sweet tooth is uncanny, something of ancient myths. I’ve never seen a man single handedly wipe out a pint of ooey-goey ice cream with such fervor, or inhale a dozen chocolate cookies in seemingly one superhuman breath. Mike’s appetite for sugar destruction is bordering on otherworldly. If he could, he would live and thrive in Willy Wonka’s candy factory, living happily amongst the sugary tea cup and larger than life candy trees.

However, this is reality and many store bought cookies contain suspicious toxins and bizarre unpronounceable ingredients. If he’s going to single handedly decimate the world’s sugar supply, I’d like him to do it with homemade baked goods. Furthermore, my mom’s brownies never fail to feed his monstrous sugar craving, yet another coup in the world of baking.

The brownies are densely rich, fudgy and deeply chocolately. The brownie itself is not overly sweet, yet we do something not commonly seen in the world of brownies: we frost them with a rich, slightly cocoa-infused butter-based frosting. The combination is sinful: smooth, moist, rich cake slathered in velvety ripple of extravagance. I’ve also added a pinch of cayenne which is more or less tasteless in the final product, but really deepens the chocolatey richness.

* Let it be noted that my mom uses the Silver Palate Cookbook’s recipe as a skeletal template for her own brownies. However, she’s managed to make them her own. I’ve had other people’s versions of the Silver Palate brownie recipe and nothing comes close to my mom’s.

Brownies:
1/2 pound salted butter, unsweetened
4 ounces unsweetened baker’s chocolate
1/2 cup unbleached flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
Pinch cayenne (optional)
Butter for greasing the pan (or nonstick spray)

Chocolate frosting:
1/2 cup of butter, softened
3-4 cups confectionary sugar
1-2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1-2 tablespoons whole milk
Vanilla extract to taste (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 10x10 baking pan with butter or non-stick spray.
Melt chocolate and butter in a double boiler over high heat until melted (you can also do this in the microwave).

2. While the chocolate and butter mixture melts, beat eggs and sugar until thick and add salt and vanilla. Mix until well combined.

3. Once the chocolate and butter melt, pour immediately into egg mixture and fold quickly so as not to cook the eggs. Sift flour and fold into the batter until well blended.

4. Poor batter into the greased pan and bake for 25 minutes. Make sure not to overbake--the edges will be firm and the center will appear unset.

5. Cool brownies in pan for 20-30 minutes before frosting.

6. To make the frosting: beat butter with a mixer at medium speed and slowly add sugar, beating well. Add cocoa and continue mixing until well combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Beat in milk and vanilla until the icing reaches a spreadable consistency.

Yield: About 12 brownies.

Parmesan Crisps

2009-08-10T11:44:00.010-04:00

In the summer months, I prefer recipes that require little forethought and little time. However, there’s no need to sacrifice flavor and substance at the hands of simplicity. In August, we often feast on cold cucumber soup with aromatic lemon, ambrosial mint and tangy buttermilk, fresh pasta tossed with ripe heirloom tomatoes, spicy basil and a light splash of sweet aged balsamic or a summer salad of fresh, crisp spinach and honeyed strawberries. Some recipes are so effortless, clean and restrained that utilizing a bevy of ingredients seems excessive.

Recently I found myself in need for a little extra something to accompany bowls of chilled truffle-oil infused pea soup. I contemplated slices of toasted baguette, but have used garlicky toast points ad nauseam to accompany soups, salads and the like and was a little weary of dipping something so hearty into the light and delicate soup. I wanted to step it up, celebrate our evening with a Thomas Keller-inspired meal, and something a little more sophisticated and airy. As I flipped the pages of The French Laundry Cookbook, I remembered Italian frico, or wafer-thin cheese crisps, from my days as a cook.

Keller’s recipe for Parmigiano-Reggiano crisps is effortless. I have a hard time calling it a recipe as it only requires one ingredient: the parmesan. I have made frico many times before, sometimes throwing in herbs and spices, or a little flour for texture. Sometimes I fry them in a cast iron skillet, rather than bake them. For Keller’s parmesan crisps, all you need is a cheese grater, a silpat (or parchment paper) and a cookie sheet, and you’re in business.

The act of baking grated cheese yields an intensified nutty flavor, a crackling texture and the most beautiful, cobweb-esque structure. Like crystallized snowflakes, no two frico are exactly the same, the cheese melting artistically into fragile, edible doilies.

Frico are perfect served alongside your favorite meal or as a crunchy snack with a glass of red wine.

Parmesan Crisps

1/2 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (from a moist piece of cheese)

1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat (or parchment paper). Sprinkle about 2 teaspoons of the cheese in one corner of the Silpat. Use your fingers to spread the cheese into a 2-inch circle. Repeat with the remaining cheese; you should have about 12 rounds.

2. Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until they are golden brown. Use a small spatula to transfer them to paper towels. They will be soft when they are removed but will stiffen as they cool. Store the crisps in an airtight container for up to 2 days.

Yield: Makes about twelve 2-inch crisps.

I scream, you scream- Crème Fraîche Ice Cream with Nutella Swirls

2009-07-28T11:13:00.004-04:00

The summer weather hasn’t yet reached its peak, but the humidity has been nestling in my pores and showering my skin with an impenetrable layer of ick. There’s little to cool a body down without plunging head first into a crispy-cold pool or setting up a cot in the icy frozen isle of the supermarket.

Ice cream is one of the few foods that brings reprieve from the heat, whether it be from your block’s Mister Softee-in-residence or a fancy gelateria. Ice cream tickles the tongue and penetrates body heat like the ephemeral sting of a slap in the face.

Since my stove and oven get little air time during the summer months, I need to get my kitchen fix in other ways. My ice cream maker is one lucky appliance, doing double duty in bringing existential satisfaction and physical relief.

Though I often prefer sorbets and fruit-based ices on hot days, I went with crème fraîche and buttermilk as my primary ingredients, rendering an ice cream that was slightly tart, delicately tangy and subtly sweet. Building on the richness of the silken crème fraîche, I used four eggs to create a custard base, though the finished product was less full bodied and more clean and crisp.

Of course, being the fun loving youngsters that we are, we added Nutella swirls to give the otherwise sophisticated recipe a cheerful facelift, yielding a sleek dessert with a playful twist.

Crème Fraîche Ice Cream with Nutella Swirls
1 cup crème fraîche
1 1/2 cup heavy cream
5 ounces can evaporated milk
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
1 1/4 cups superfine sugar
4 large egg yolks
1 vanilla bean pod
Pinch of salt

1. Place the heavy cream with the sugar, salt and vanilla pod, sliced lengthwise, over medium-high heat until the milk just begins to foam. Remove from heat, extract the vanilla bean and scrape the seeds from the pod with a knife. Mix the seeds back into the cream. Turn off the heat and let stand for 10 minutes.

2. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks. Slowly add the warm cream into the egg yolks, whisking constantly. Return the mixture to medium heat and stir constantly with a rubber spatula, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula.

3. In a bowl, mix crème fraiche, evaporated milk and buttermilk. Pour into blender and whip until well combined and very smooth, scraping down the sides.

4. Pass custard through a strainer into a clean bowl. Chill both custard and crème fraiche mixture until cold, about an hour.

5. Combine custard and crème fraiche and mix well. Transfer the cold mixture to the container of ice cream machine and process according to manufacturer’s instructions.

6. Layer about one third of the ice cream into a storage container. Gently swirl spoonfuls of Nutella over the ice cream and repeat with another layer. Top the second layer of Nutella with remaining ice cream and store in the freezer prior to serving.

Summery Deviled Eggs

2009-07-17T17:35:00.000-04:00

An egg is a thing of beauty: simple in form yet representative of life, birth and sustenance. And when it comes to eggs, I like to eat around. More or less any and all egg preparations are fair game in my book of gastronomical love. While the egg can be a vehicle for some of the loftiest soufflés and custards, sometimes love comes in the form of easily accessible, simple pleasures.

Deviled eggs tend to be my go-to appetizer and snack when all else fails and I’m feeling spontaneous. That isn’t to say that I don’t hold deviled eggs in high esteem. Nothing can be further from the truth. But I always have spicy Dijon and creamy mayonnaise at my finger tips and it takes little more to whip up a batch of deviled eggs, fleshing them out with whatever sundry ingredients I happen to have available.

Like the stand-alone egg itself, deviled eggs are so malleable that one is likely to unleash the beast of versatility on the lemon-colored yolks. You can add anything from smoked paprika or Tabasco for a fiery red spiciness for which the deviled egg is named. A helping of chives, dill or tarragon herbs can also do the trick, if you are in the mood for a more of a fresh, summery flavor. Or else go both ways. Add heat in the form of cayenne and a touch of freshly minced garlic, a squirt of acidic lemon and your herb of choice. And don’t say I didn’t warn you. These puppies are highly addictive!

Summery Deviled Eggs

6 hard boiled-free range eggs
1/4 cup good mayo
1/2 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
Pinch cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon fresh Garlic, minced to a paste
Chopped tarragon to taste
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Put eggs in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil and then cover the pan and turn off the heat. Let the eggs sit in the water bath for 20 minutes.

2. Remove eggs from pan and cool them under cold running water. Crack and peel and cut in half lengthwise. Scoop out yolks with a spoon and into a bowl. Using the back of a fork, smash eggs yolks until no large pieces remain.

3. Add mayonnaise, olive oil and mustard to the yolks and mash until the mixture is smooth. Add cayenne, lemon juice, garlic, salt and pepper to the paste and continue to mix until well combined. Add chopped tarragon to taste and mix thoroughly.

4. Spoon mixture into the eggs whites or pipe in with a pastry bag and sprinkle with a little more chopped tarragon.

Yield: 12 deviled eggs.

Demel’s Amadeus Cookies

2009-06-23T22:11:00.006-04:00

During my college sojourn in Italy, my friends and I travelled to Vienna for a long weekend that turned out to be one of the most poetic times of my life. My memories of our brief but poignant stay in Vienna feel culled from a mystical dreamscape.

Regardless of reality, my mind’s eye views a shimmering indigo Danube (not muddy and murky), ruby red cobblestone streets (not crowded with clueless tourists), luxe palaces, old world charm and enchanted sophistication (memories of the late night bar fights have faded).

The memory of our rustic (and let’s be honest, somewhat soiled) hotel room has evanesced, leaving only pristine, pearly sheets, lush, down-filled comforters, a charming yet exposed shower, and a gasp-inducing view (which probably didn’t even exist). In my mind, Mozart’s beautiful music wafted through the air as we sipped strong coffee and sampled buttercream-coated, meringue-piped and custard-filled cakes, chocolate-glazed pastries and marzipan-filled confections.

Recently Saveur Magazine published an article on the Demel, the famous Austrian confectioner that, ten years later, I still hold in the highest esteem. I ascertain that my memory of Demel is not caricatural. I recall obscene cases of layer cakes, pastries, buttery cookies, apricot jam filled chocolate Sachertortes, flaky strudel, dainty petit fours and endless coffee cakes. I recall white, starched tablecloths, baroque art lining the walls and a majestic air of formality tingeing the air.

The magazine features recipes for Demel’s chocolate truffle cake, marbled coffee cake, Russian punch cake and Amadeus cookies, a buttery sandwich wedged together with Kirschwasser spiked almond/pasticcio paste and dipped into velvety chocolate.

The sumptuous cookies well represent the grand and luxurious Demel. Visually, they are gorgeous: two golden cookies delicately fastened together with neon green paste, half coated in a dark, silken chocolate. They also taste pretty insane: the liquor spiked paste nestled between crisp, buttery wafers, all playing off the dark, slightly bitter chocolate; not too sweet, but without a doubt, decadently rich.

For the cookies:
1 3⁄4 cups flour
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3⁄4 cup confectioners' sugar
2 egg yolks
1⁄2 teaspoon fine salt

For the filling:
1⁄2 cup shelled and unsalted pistachios
1 tablespoon sugar
3 1⁄2 ounces almond paste, at room temperature, chopped
2 tablespoons cherry liqueur, preferably kirsch
1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla extract
For the glaze:
1⁄2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons light corn syrup
4 ounces semisweet chocolate, preferably 54%, roughly chopped

1. Make the cookie dough: In a bowl, beat 1⁄2 cup flour, butter, and confectioners' sugar with a handheld mixer on medium speed until pale and fluffy, 1-2 minutes. Add yolks one at a time, beating until smooth after each addition. Add salt and remaining flour; beat to make a dough. Halve dough, flatten into 2 disks, and wrap each with plastic wrap. Refrigerate dough for 1 hour.

2. Make the filling: Heat oven to 325 degrees. In the bowl of a food processor, process the pistachios with the sugar until finely ground. Add almond paste and process until combined. Add the kirsch and vanilla and process until combined; set filling aside.

3. Transfer 1 dough disk to a lightly floured surface and roll with a floured rolling pin to a 1⁄8-inch thickness. Using a 1 3⁄4-inch round cookie cutter, cut out 24 cookies. Repeat with remaining dough disk. (Combine and reroll scraps to make 48 cookies in all.) Place cookies 1-inch apart on 2 parchment paper-lined baking sheets and bake, rotating pans halfway through, until cookies are pale golden, about 20 minutes. Let cool.

4. Meanwhile, make the glaze: Bring sugar, corn syrup, and 3 tbsp. water to a boil in a 1-quart saucepan over high heat. Remove from the heat, add chocolate, and swirl pan to coat the chocolate with the sugar mixture. Let sit without stirring to allow the chocolate to melt, about 5 minutes. Slowly stir the chocolate with a rubber spatula until smooth; set aside to let cool slightly.

5. Spoon about 1 teaspoon of the filling onto 24 cookies and top with remaining cookies. Gently press cookies together to sandwich them. Dip half of each cookie into the chocolate glaze. Transfer to a rack and let the glaze solidify.

Yield: Makes 24 cookies.

Raw Sweet Corn and Cashew Chowder

2009-06-18T10:25:00.003-04:00

I’ve been feeling strange lately; inexplicably so. Nothing is wrong, per se, but I’m off.

And for once, I am at a loss for words to describe my condition (and I’m rarely at a loss for words!). Is it general malaise? Have a group of angry aliens snuck into my bedroom while I slumber and administered a probe? Has a Star Trek ear bug wormed its way into my system, shedding its exoskeleton in my stomach? Do I have a tapeworm? Is it simply the “jumping out of one’s own skin” syndrome?

I digress. I feel strange.

I need a quick cure and obviously a hard and fast dose of penicillin will not suffice. I’ve never tried any sort of master cleanse and I refuse. I do not care to buy packs of unmarked powders from a Yoda-style guru online and I refuse to drink that odd, unappealing and seemingly dangerous lemon juice/cayenne concoction. Anyhow, I’m not interested in starvation. But I do need to detox, whether my turmoil is physical or of the existential breed.

In preparation for our move to Brooklyn, I have been going through stacks of old food magazines and clipping inspiring recipes for my recipe book. I revisited the article “Simply Delicious Raw-Food Recipes” profiling raw-food enthusiast Ani Phyo who creates healthful and flavorful dishes using fresh, uncooked ingredients. She stays clear of a preachy, holier-than-thou stance on the subject. Her goal is to inspire others to “cook” and enjoy raw-foods recipes as well as make the lifestyle more accessible to the layman.

Upon reading Phyo’s recipes, I knew right away that eating raw would be the cure for my malaise. (And no, I’m not converting to a raw lifestyle! Who do you think we’re talking about here?!)

I decided to eat all raw, vegan foods for two days (and then continue eating as many fruits, vegetables and grains for the rest of the week). This means no cooking anything, no processed or cooked foods. All food consumed will be organic, uncooked, unprocessed and for me, vegan (though many raw foodists do eat honey and therefore are not considered vegan). My goal was to boost my energy and cleanse my system while opening the vortex of my mind to a totally different lifestyle.

I initially went into this experiment with skepticism. I had never had a raw foods meal that I fully enjoyed and although Phyo’s recipes appeared expertly crafted, I doubted their ability to satisfy my cravings while leaving me both satiated and spiritually content.

While I could never adhere to this lifestyle for a multitude of reasons (I believe cooking enhances flavor, kills germs and even enhances the nutritional value of a lot of foods), I was pleasantly surprised by Phyo’s recipes. Of the recipes on her website, we tried her corn and cashew chowder with cilantro and black pepper, the zucchini “pasta” was raw marinara, the fuzzy navel orange and pecan smoothie, the raw cacao “milkshake” and the apricot pudding. Everything was fresh and bursting with nuanced flavor.

Spring and summer are a particularly wonderful time to enjoy raw recipes as fresh produce reaches its peak and eating raw can definitely connect a person to the dynamic vitality of a fruit or vegetable.

Phyo’s chowder is a perfect early summer soup, taking advantage of easily accessible sweet yellow corn. The combination of corn and cashews seems so natural after tasting the soup. The sweetness of the corn plays so nicely off the earthiness of the nuts and when whirled together, you get a really creamy concoction. The recipe requires a hefty six tablespoons of olive oil so make sure to use a very good Extra Virgin Olive Oil as the flavor hits right up front.

Although we have a high speed blender, my soup was slightly grainy. I might suggest straining it through a China Cap if you have one handy or soaking the cashews in lukewarm water for 1-2 hours, yielding a more velvety texture.

The chowder literally took ten minutes to prepare, not including chucking my corn, which I did at the grocery store. I cannot recommend this soup enough. It is perfect for a light, healthy dinner or as part of a summer picnic in the park.

Raw Sweet Corn Chowder with Cashews
Adapted from Ani Phyo

3 1/4 cups fresh yellow sweet corn, shucked and kernels removed
2 cups water
1/2 cup raw cashews, soaked for up to 2 hours, drained
4-6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 small garlic clove
2 teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
2 teaspoons of chopped fresh cilantro, or to taste
Black pepper to taste

In a blender, combine 2 1/4 cups of the corn with the water, cashews, olive oil, garlic and salt and puree until smooth. Taste for seasoning. Refrigerate if desired for a colder soup.

Pour the soup into bowls. Garnish with the remaining 1 cup of corn kernels, the cilantro, a sprinkle of pepper, and any other garnish of choice.

Yield: Makes 4 servings.

Macaroons, Two Ways

2009-06-11T11:13:00.002-04:00

This year’s Passover has already matriculated, yet my unadulterated love for the iconic macaroon perseveres.

Macaroons have become the hallmark finish to the Passover feast, leavened with silken egg whites rather than the taboo flour that’s temporarily outlawed by observant Jews.

Whether you prefer almond or coconut macaroons is an age-old debate, though many traditionalists argue that almond macaroons are the only sacrosanct version of the cookie.

Though I obsess over everything and anything touched by almonds, there’s something sublimely knockout about Mark Bittman’s coconut macaroons with caramelized sugar, custardy egg whites and textured coconut flakes. Like a perfect almond macaroon, they unfold in a symphony of sensations: moist on the tongue, sweet to the taste and chewy to the teeth.

Meanwhile, Cooks Illustrated almond macaroons have a gossamer thin, crisp shell with a pillowy, yet chewy center, slightly reminiscent of elegant French macaroons; earthy like almonds themselves, yet sweet as if lovingly caressed with honey.

As the macaroons bake, you will notice the air tinged with an ambient perfume of sugary sweetness, a therapeutic and relaxing aroma that coddles the mind and stirs the stomach.

Both versions of the cookie are refined, yet comfortably nourishing and familiar.

Mark Bittman’s Coconut Macaroons

1 cup sugar
3 cups shredded unsweetened coconut
3 egg whites, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Pinch salt
Method

1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Combine all ingredients in a large bowl and mix well with a rubber spatula or your hands.

2. Use a non-stick baking sheet, or line a baking sheet with parchment paper. To make the pyramids, wet your hands and scoop out a rounded tablespoon of the mixture into the palm of one hand. Using your other hand, press in gently on both sides of the mixture, bringing the macaroon to a point. Continue pressing with your thumb and forefinger on both sides until you have an even shape. For cubes, start as you would for the pyramids, then gently press equally on all sides, turning the macaroon to square off each side. You can use a butter knife to gently smooth the sides of the pyramids and cubes if you like. For balls, roll the mixture between your palms gently until round.

3. Place each macaroon about an inch apart on the baking sheet. Bake until light brown, about 15 minutes. Remove the baking sheet and cool on a rack for at least 30 minutes before eating. These keep well in a covered container for up to 3 days.

Yield: Makes 2 dozen cookies.

Cooks Illustrated Almond Macaroons

7 ounces almond paste or 7 ounces blanched almonds
6 ounces blanched almond (silvered or whole)
1 1/4 cups sugar (regular or vanilla)
3 egg whites from 3 large eggs
1 tablespoons Amaretto (optional)
1 teaspoon almond extract

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Cover two cookie sheets with parchment paper and set aside.

2. Place almonds into the bowl of a food processor and process until roughly chopped. Add the sugar and continue to process until the almonds are finely ground. Crumble in the almond paste (if using) and continue to process until the paste is pulverized and you have a fairly uniform mixture. If you are not using almond paste, process until the almonds are fine and crumbly but not powdery, about 1 minute to 90 seconds.

3. Add the egg whites, extract, and Amaretto and continue to process until the dough is smooth and begins to form into a ball at the edge of the processor blades. Remove from the food processor and allow mixture to stand for 20 minutes.

4. Drop level tablespoons of the mixture onto your prepared parchment paper leaving about 1 1/2 inches of space between each cookie. For an even prettier cookie, gently roll the dough into a ball.

5. Bake for 20-25 minute, rotating the cookie sheets top to bottom and side to side during the baking process. The cookies should be golden on top but should not be over baked as they will have a tendency to harden.

6. Remove cookies from the oven and allow to cool completely on the parchment paper. To make removal easier, scrape the cookie off with a table knife or thin spatula to reduce the chance of tearing. Once cooled the cookies can be stored air tight for up to 4 days or frozen for 1-3 months.

Yield: Makes about 3 dozen cookies.

Gluten Free Cheddar Crackers

2009-06-02T09:00:00.000-04:00

Coping with food allergies or intestinal diseases seems to be par for the course in today’s environment. With toxins lacing the food we eat, compounded with the noxious air we breathe, it is no surprise that our bodies react in extreme and bothersome ways. You hear more cases of nut allergies, lactose intolerance, IBS, Celiac, and wheat and soy allergies than ever before.

New eating needs necessitate the demand for newfangled cooking.

Having recently come across the book Healing Foods by Sandra Ramacher, I was extremely surprised to find such interesting and versatile recipes geared towards those who experience digestive diseases. All her recipes are grain free, gluten free and sugar free in addition to being simple, gourmet, inspired and layered with flavor.

Ramacher’s cheddar cheese crisps are one of the best salty, cheesy, crunchy snacks on the planet. They are comprised simply of almond flour, a frequently used substitute for wheat flour, cheddar cheese, cayenne pepper, baking soda and water. I left out the suggested thyme as I thought it might detract from the cheesy, spicy boldness with too much earthiness. The taste, compounded with the fact that it is gluten free, make it a foolproof snack with a zesty bite and crackling texture.

Ramacher’s book proves that dietary changes need not be arduous and painful. Sacrificing flavor and quality proves unnecessary with carefully written, elegant, thoughtful recipes.

Cheddar Crisps, adapted from Sandra Ramacher

1 cup almond flour, processed in food processor until flour is finely ground
1 cup sharp cheddar, grated
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
2 1/2 to 3 tablespoons cold water

1. Preheat oven to 275 degrees. Line 2 baking trays with parchment paper.

2. Mix almond flour, cheddar, baking soda and cayenne pepper. Add the cold water and mix to form into a flat dough. Cover and place into the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

3. Take the dough from the refrigerator and take about 1 teaspoon of dough and roll each one into a ball and squeeze down with your fingers onto the prepared baking tray. Each cracker should be about 1/8 inch thick and at least 3/4 inch away from the next cracker. Bake in oven for about 25 minutes OR until edges start to brown. Be very careful to monitor your crackers. You do not want them to overbrown during this stage. The crackers still need to look pale in the center.

4. Turn the oven down to 200 degrees. Take the trays out of the oven and let cool for 5 minutes. Turn each cracker over and put the trays back into the oven. Bake for another 30 minutes, turn the oven off and let the crackers sit in the oven until the oven has cooled down.

5. Take the trays out of the oven and let cool completely. Crackers should be slightly browned, but still pale. It is important not to brown beyond a faint golden hue, as the crackers will not taste good.

Store in airtight container, between kitchen paper.

Makes 20 crackers.

No-Knead Bread

2009-04-02T09:05:00.000-04:00

I am one of those home cooks that is constantly at odds with yeast. I love baking bread, don’t get me wrong, but it seems to be a thankless and everlasting exercise in futility. My yeast never blooms, my dough never rises, and I never wind up with fluffy, airy loaves of bread. Rather, I’m an expert at creating hard chunks of flour-based rocks that sink like lead blocks.

In my world, baking bread is the cause of most of the violence in my household. I occasionally take out my aggression on puff pastry or pie crust, but I’ve been known to punch the daylights out of a piece of unleavened dough, kneading it to a bloody pulp, yielding not a tasty loaf of homespun goodness, but an unrecognizable hunk of shattered hopes and dreams. I’ve even read the Miranda rights to an unbaked pile of dough, hoping to instigate a fair and balanced resolution to crimes beyond my control. Of course, the bread never rose to the occasion and I stealthily disposed of its ashes in my trash.

When I saw Mark Bittman’s article on Speedy No-Knead Bread in the New York Times, I had to take a step back and scratch my head. The yeast doesn’t have to bloom? No starter necessary? Is it possible that bread baking could be…gulp…easy and fool proof? The recipe has become something of a technological phenomenon, spreading like light-speed wildfire through the online community, inspiring droves of home cooks and bakers.

This recipe is indeed so easy that even an evil wizard of apocalyptic and profitless bread baking could do it. Let a simple mixture of yeast, salt, flour and water proof in a bowl for a few hours, yielding wet and sticky dough. Bake, first covered, then uncovered, in a pre-heated cast-iron pot. The result is crunchy, golden crust with a soft, chewy, light interior. The sublimely perfect artisanal loaf has an airy, open texture that’s simultaneously dense, chewy and moist. Never again will bread baking doldrums rule my world!

3 cups bread flour
1 packet ( 1/4 ounce) instant yeast
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Oil as needed.

1. Combine flour, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Add 1 1/2 cups water and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest about 4 hours at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Lightly oil a work surface and place dough on it; fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest 30 minutes more.

3. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 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 dough and put it into pot, seam side up. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes.

4. 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: 1 big loaf.

Benton's Bacon

2009-03-16T17:07:00.001-04:00

The haunting scent from frying Benton’s Smoky Mountain Country Hams’ artisanal bacon lingers in your house for days, sticks to your clothing like a moth to a flame and infiltrates every fiber of your hair with a hickory smoked aroma. And that’s not a bad thing! In fact, it is really, really remarkable.

Mr. Allan Benton, talented and dedicated owner of Benton’s, told me that one of his customers recently asked him how to remove some of the salty, smoky goodness from his bacon. “Remove flavor from my product? I consider that quite the compliment,” he says.

Benton’s hams are slow cured using salt, brown sugar, and sodium nitrite and aged to perfection, typically 9-10 months. This is a time-honored practice, dating back to the days before refrigeration, when meat preservation was a necessity. Benton insists he isn’t doing anything remarkable by upholding the traditional dry-curing process. “What I’m doing is what my grandparents and most of their neighbors did in their backyard,” says Mr. Benton. “We cure bacon and ham in a 180 year-old smoke house. We do everything exactly the same way.”

Benton has been curing hams since 1973, elevating the process to a magical culinary art form. He makes mouthwatering pork products such as prosciutto, smoked country bacon, aged whole country hams, unsmoked country hams and hickory smoked country hams, all of which have garnered him a reputation as a national treasure, and a favorite among professional chefs across America.

Benton’s bacon is seriously and extremely intense. The meaty, marbled slabs are addictive, with a smoky aroma that is no less intoxicating. The individual strips are thick, with a heavy ratio of fat to meat. Benton suggests undercooking, rather than overcooking the meat, in order to maintain the hickory smoked flavor and for an unctuous mouth-feel, closer to pork belly, rather than the crunchy, lifeless strips of bacon to which we’ve grown accustomed. That ethereal hickory flavor lingers in the back of the throat, a powerful confluence of salt and smoke.

Benton's Smoky Mountain Country Hams
2603 Hwy. 411
Madisonville, TN 37354
423-442-5003
https://bentonshams.com

Vietnamese Spring Rolls

2009-02-11T11:00:00.000-05:00

I have found that in America, Vietnamese food hasn’t won over the hearts and stomachs of Americans in the same way as the cuisines of China and Japan. With the use of fresh fruits and vegetables, minimal oil, and meat as accent rather than the focal point, the food of Vietnam is one of the healthiest cuisines in the world.

Vietnamese food is earthy and ethereal, a cuisine of sharp contrasts, harmoniously married in delicate flavors; a zen-like balance of fresh herbs, vegetables, light protein and nuanced spices. Complex sweet and sour, salty and spicy flavor profiles are coaxed from fish sauce, rice, lemon grass, sugar, chilis and lime.

Perhaps winter isn’t the most apropos season for light, crispy, summery appetizers, but I make an exception for these mouth-watering, flavor-coma inducing Vietnamese spring rolls. I serve them crispy and hot, along with a tangy raw carrot salad and dipped in a sweet and sour nuoc cham, a condiment as pervasive in Vietnamese cooking as soy sauce is to Chinese cooking.

The original recipe, from Bach Ngo’s The Classic Cuisine of Vietnam, requires deep frying. I prefer to bake them in the oven on a cookie sheet, which eliminates some of the fat content while maintaining the essential otherworldly crunch and tender interior.

Filling:
2 ounces cellophane noodles, soaked in warm water for 20 minutes, then drained and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound ground pork
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 garlic large cloves, finely chopped
3 shallots, finely chopped
1 can (7 ounces) jumbo lump crabmeat
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

20 sheets dried rice papers (triangle shaped banh trang)
Water
1 tablespoon peanut oil plus more for greasing the baking sheet.

Lightly grease a baking sheet with peanut oil.

Heat 1 teaspoon peanut oil in a pan over medium heat and sautee the onion and shallots until just translucent. Let cool. Combine the filling ingredients, including the cooled onion and shallots, in a bowl and set aside.

Place the rice paper on a flat surface. Using a pastry brush, paint water over the entire surface of each of the pieces; this is to make the brittle papers soft and flexible.

When the wrapper looks soft and transparent, place about 1 tablespoon of filling near the pointed edge. Bend the corner over the filling and roll twice, then fold the sides over and continue to roll into a cylinder. Place spring rolls on the baking sheets, with the open end on the underside to prevent unrolling, while you fill the remaining rolls.

Place the rolls in the oven, directly on the oven rack, without preheating (They can be crowded together while baking so that you can get many onto 1 rack). Turn the oven to 350 degrees and bake them approximately 40 minutes, 20 minutes on each side, until crispy and golden brown.

To serve the spring rolls:
Mix 1 tablespoon of carrot salad into the nuoc cham and serve spring rolls with individual dipping bowls.

Accompaniments for serving:

Nuoc Cham:
2 cloves garlic
1 fresh hot red chili pepper or 2 dried
4 heaping teaspoons granulated sugar
1/4 fresh lime
4 tablespoons fish sauce
5 tablespoons water

Peel the garlic. Split the chili pepper down the center and remove the seeds and membrane. Cut into pieces and put into a mortar, together with the garlic and sugar. Pound into a paste. Squeeze lime juice into the paste, then with a small knife remove the pulp from the lime section and add it as well. Mash this mixture and add the fish sauce and water.

Yields 5/8 cup.

Carrot Salad:
1 carrot
1/2 cup water
1 teaspoon vinegar
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar

Peel the carrot, then, using your feeler, cut long strips of carrot, trying to get as wide a slice as possible, or shred the carrot in a food processor. Take each strip, roll it up tightly, and then cut into thin strips.

Combine the water, vinegar, salt, and sugar. Add the thin carrot strips to the mixture and marinate for at least 15 minutes, or until ready to use. This can be prepared a day ahead. Before using, always drain and discard the liquid.

Triple recipe to serve as a side dish. Carrot salad is always added to Nuoc Cham when it is served with spring rolls.

Yield 1/3 cup

Chocolate Sandwich Cookies

2009-01-22T10:00:00.002-05:00

Oreo cookies are a time-honored snack long favored by children and big kids-at-heart. There’s no denying that the 97 year-old toothsome snack is not healthy. But that hasn’t stopped cross-generational consumers from snapping up bags upon bags of the historic cookie, making it one of America’s most enduring and beloved treats.

Eating an Oreo has never been a simple act: twisting the cookie open, licking down the creamy center, dipping the crunchy halves into milk until rendered soggy. But the pure, unadulterated joy of Oreo consumption can turn any stone-cold scrooge into a jubilant kid.

Lets face the facts, though. Home baked goods are always a better alternative to the trans fat laden commercial desserts from your local grocer. Rather than devour an entire bag of chemically processed (albeit yummy) goodness, why not make your own?

This recipe for chocolate sandwich cookies is not difficult, but it is certainly tedious, a perfect activity for a blustery, snowed-in day. Although time consuming, the finished product is well worth the effort.

The cookies are sublime, like a homemade version of the Oreo: crunchy, wafer-thin, slightly flaky and subtly salty cocoa-infused biscuits wedged together by a sugary, creamy white chocolate ganache. The effort is certainly a worthy indulgence. These “Oreos” are a grown-up, sumptuously mature reworking of the childhood classic.

For dough:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks (1/2 pound) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

For ganache:
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 1/2 tablespoons light corn syrup
3/4 pound fine-quality white chocolate, melted
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Equipment: a 1 3/4-inch fluted round cookie cutter

Make dough:
Whisk together flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt.

Beat butter and sugar with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy, then beat in yolk and vanilla. At low speed, mix in flour mixture in 3 batches just until a dough forms. Divide dough in half and form each piece into a 6-inch square, then chill, wrapped in plastic wrap, until firm, 2 to 3 hours.

Make ganache while dough chills:
Bring cream and corn syrup just to a simmer in a small heavy saucepan, then stir into melted chocolate. Stir in butter and vanilla until smooth. Cover surface with parchment paper and chill, stirring occasionally, until very thick, about 30 minutes.

Cut and bake cookies:
Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Butter 2 large baking sheets.

Roll out 1 piece of dough between sheets of parchment paper into a 14- by 10-inch rectangle (1/8 inch thick). Slide dough in parchment onto a tray and freeze until dough is firm, about 10 minutes. Repeat with remaining dough.

Cut out as many rounds as possible from first chilled square with cutter, reserving and chilling scraps, then quickly transfer cookies to a buttered baking sheet, arranging them 1/2 inch apart. (If dough becomes too soft, return to freezer until firm.)

Sprinkle half of cookies with decorative sugar (if using), then bake cookies until baked through and slightly puffed, 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on sheet on rack 5 minutes, then transfer to rack to cool completely (cookies will crisp as they cool).

Make more cookies with remaining dough and scraps (reroll only once).

Assemble sandwich cookies:
Beat ganache with an electric mixer at high speed just until light and fluffy. Transfer to a sealable plastic bag (snip off 1/8 to 1/4 inch from 1 corner with scissors). Pipe ganache onto flat sides of plain cookies, then top with sugared cookies to make sandwiches. Chill, layered between sheets of parchment, in an airtight container until filling is set, at least 1 hour.

Sandwiched cookies keep, chilled, 4 days.

Makes 3 1/2 dozen cookies.

Potatoes Gratin

2009-01-06T14:00:00.001-05:00

Potatoes are one of those versatile foods that apply to any season. In summer, potato salad is served cold, coated in a thin layer of crisp mayo or oil and livened up with herbs. In the cooler weather, potatoes beckon to be baked or roasted in their little fall jackets, perfect for a hearty, warming snack. In winter, however, I want something meatier, something heavier, richer and creamier. I want 1000 calorie potatoes! And nothing fits the bill better than potatoes au gratin.

Over the past few years, I have been on an aggressive hunt for a life-changing au gratin recipe. I’ve cooked through the steakhouse cookbooks, the grill and grill accompaniment cookbooks, a few classic cookbooks, an “all things potato” cookbook and just about everything in between. After undertaking dozens of recipes, I was left cold, unsatisfied and carbo-loaded.

With a little help from famed chef Alice Waters’ cookbook “The Art of Simple Food,” I found enough inspiration to create the perfect gratin. Chef Waters’ recipe is incredibly simple, bare-bones and even somewhat healthy: thinly sliced potatoes baked, 3 layers deep, with salt, pepper and milk. It is her post-recipe suggestions that bring the everyday au gratin to heightened levels. She recommends rubbing the pan with garlic to ramp up the flavor, or adding a dash of cheese toward the end of baking to create a flavorful, crispy top layer.

I went full throttle with the casserole, 4 potatoes sliced paper-thin, the layers sprinkled with salt, pepper and cayenne, slathered in a caloric mixture of half & half and heavy cream, a layer of thinly sliced garlic on the bottom, baked off and topped with a crispy, crunchy layer of gruyere. This, my friends, is the ultimate au gratin, garlic flavor infused in every bite, the top browned and crunchy, the bottom golden, the layers perfectly tender, gooey and velvety.

Butter
2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced
4 potatoes, thinly sliced with a mandolin, about 1/16 inch thick
Salt to taste
Black pepper to taste
Cayenne to taste
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup half & half
Greyere for sprinkling, grated

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Rub a 9x12 inch baking dish with butter until well coated. Layer the bottom of the buttered dish with the sliced garlic.

Make a layer of potato slices on top of the garlic, overlapping them slightly. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and cayenne. Continue to layer the potatoes, seasoning each layer to taste, until the potatoes are used up or until you make 3 layers.

Pour cream and half & half over the potatoes.

Bake potatoes for about 1 hour total. Halfway through the baking, take the gratin dish out of the oven and press the potatoes flat with a spatula to keep the top moist. Sprinkle gruyere over top of potatoes for the last 15 minutes of baking. The gratin is done when the potatoes are soft and the top is golden brown.

Yield: 4 servings.

Another season, another reason for makin’ whoopie (pies)

2008-12-21T21:36:00.007-05:00

Whoopie pies are equally a New England and Pennsylvania concoction, attributed both to Mainers and the Pennsylvania Amish. Some believe the pies were introduced in Maine by the Amish themselves while others believe they were conceived in Maine. The argument behind the birth of the sweet snack runs deep, a perennial “whodunit.” Many believe the legend that Lancaster County, Pennsylvania Amish children would shout a gleeful “whoopie!” when presented with the dessert, hence the quirky name.

No matter the truth, whoopie pies are considered classic comfort food, essential to Maine’s culinary history. For the uninitiated, traditional whoopie pies consist of two disc-shaped springy cocoa-flavored cakes filled with a sweet, creamy frosting often made with a combination of vegetable shortening, confectioner’s sugar and Marshmallow Fluff.

I recently had the pleasure of getting to know the ladies who run the famous Maine-based whoopee pie establishment Cranberry Island Kitchen. I had always wondered about the origins of the dessert on which my sister and I were weaned and they helped demystify the snack, which is virtually unknown in the non-Northeastern corners of the United States.

Carol Ford, one of Cranberry Island’s proprietors, says that Mainers and Pennsylvanians indeed have varying, conflicting opinions on the creation of the cakes. She says that while historians suggest the cakes origins may lie with the Amish, created as a way to use up leftover batter, Mainers steadfastly defend their state as the source of the sweet treat.

Ms. Ford and her business partner Karen Haas use only natural ingredients for their pies, which they sell in a variety of gourmet flavors. They use only fresh homemade butter, local eggs from free range chickens, Maine spring water, unbleached flour and organic vanilla.

Personally, I love the classic, traditional whoopie pie. I have tried both butter-based and shortening-based fillings and much prefer my cakes with shortening-based frosting. I find using butter yields a cloyingly sweet product, while shortening acts as a blank canvas for the sugar and marshmallow. The following is my favorite whoopie pie recipe….ever. The cakes are moist, springy and not too sweet. The frosting is miraculously creamy, fluffy and luscious, without being saccharine.

The recipe makes a large amount of pies. Cut down to desired proportions.

Cakes:
3 cups sugar
1 cup butter
4 eggs
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
6 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 tablespoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
3 cups milk

Filling:
1 1/2 cups shortening
3 cups confectioners' sugar
1 1/3 cups marshmallow topping
Dash salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 to 1/2 cup milk

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a large bowl of an electric mixer, beat the sugar, butter, and eggs together until well combined. Add the oil and vanilla and beat again.
3. In a separate bowl, combine all of the dry ingredients. Add half of the dry mixture to the egg mixture and beat or stir to blend. Add 1 1/2 cups milk and beat again. Add the remaining dry mixture and beat until incorporated. Add the remaining 1 1/2 cups milk and beat until blended.
3. With a large spoon, scoop out circles of batter onto a baking sheet. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes. Let cool. Repeat process until all the batter is used.
4. To make filling, combine all ingredients except the milk in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat well. Add just enough milk to achieve a creamy consistency. Spread filling across cooled cookie circles and place remaining circles on top to make whoopie pies.

Makes 32 pies.

Wild Mushroom Bread Pudding

2008-12-08T19:30:00.001-05:00

Food is very, very important to my family. At family get-togethers, food is always the centerpiece, almost as significant as the family members who labored over the stove. You can say that food is like my sibling or cousin: we fawn over it, scrutinize it, romance it, love it, struggle with it and best of all, examine it as it changes with the generations. Like people, dishes in my family develop gray hairs, and then are reborn as shiny new babies.

As my grandmother ages, Thanksgiving has started to change. My grandmother epitomizes a top- notch home cook. Her food is fragrant, flavorful and always comforting. In the past, she has always taken on the whole kit and caboodle- the shopping, the cooking and the cleaning. The rest of us were always thrown out of the kitchen, never asked to help, and we reveled in being served by the culinary figurehead.

Times are changing, though, and new traditions are taking shape. Like some of her dishes themselves, this is a bittersweet sentiment: while she is less energetic, she has finally allowed the younger generations to enter her kitchen and make a big, giant mess.

This year, I had the honor, along with my aunt Paula, of steering the Thanksgiving ship. Paula and I have perpetuated the comfort food tradition, although our dishes were edgier and perhaps more modern. Paula made many dishes such as cheesy mashed potatoes with sage, a nutty sweet potato casserole, green beans with shiitake. My grandmother, of course, worked magic with her famous pies and the turkey centerpiece. I was in charge of a handful of dishes such as roasted Brussels sprouts with a cranberry, orange and thyme butter, a carrot and fennel soup, parsnip gratin and a mushroom bread pudding, to contrast my mom’s more traditional stuffing.

I rarely cook with mushrooms since my husband Mike hates them. I occasionally attempt to disguise them and slip them into various dishes. But they are always mushrooms and he always tastes them, always holds them in contempt and I am always forced to move on.

I take any given opportunity to cook mushroom-laden dishes since I have a forbidden romance with the fungus and rarely indulge. This bread pudding is infused with a thyme-perfumed mushroom broth, bread packed thick between layers of wild chanterelles and shiitakes. It emanates a sweet and nutty aroma and tastes rich, creamy and earthy.

Bread pudding is a special treat, whether sweet or savory. This custardy mushroom bread pudding takes the comfort food to the next level, a luxurious, warming alternative to stuffing.

Mushroom bread pudding
Adapted from The New York times
1 1/4 cups rich mushroom stock (recipe below)
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
1 cup milk
4 eggs
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup minced shallots
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
4 cups stemmed and sliced wild mushrooms, preferably shiitakes and chanterelles (reserve stems to make mushroom broth, if desired)
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1 Small loaf brioche or challah, crust removed, cut into 3/4-inch-thick slices and toasted on both sides.

1. Place the stock in a saucepan over medium heat and reduce by half. Add the heavy cream and simmer until the mixture is reduced to 1 1/2 cups. Whisk the milk, eggs and 3/4 teaspoon of the salt together in a mixing bowl. Whisk in the reduced stock mixture and set aside.
2. Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots, garlic and thyme and saute until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the sliced mushrooms and cook until wilted, about 10 minutes. Season with the remaining 1/2 teaspoon of salt and pepper to taste.
3. Line the bottom of an 8 1/2-by-4 1/2-by-2 1/2-inch loaf pan with a layer of bread slices. Top with half of the mushroom mixture. Repeat the layers and top with a third bread layer. Pour the egg mixture over the bread. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.
4. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Unwrap the dish and press the bread down into the liquid. Cover the pan with foil and place in a roasting pan. Pour enough boiling water into the roasting pan to come halfway up the sides of the loaf pan. Bake until the pudding is set and the top is puffed and browned, about 2 hours. The pudding can be made ahead and reheated. Cut into slices and serve warm.

Yield: Six to 8 servings.

Mushroom stock:
1 ounce dried cepes, porcini or other wild mushrooms
2 pounds white mushrooms
1/2 pound shiitake mushrooms
1 sprig fresh thyme
1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
3 quarts cold water.

1. Combine all the ingredients in a large pot over medium low heat. Simmer for 2 hours and strain.
2. Discard the mushrooms. The broth will keep for up to one week in the refrigerator or up to two months in the freezer.

Yield: One quart.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

2008-11-21T15:30:00.002-05:00

I have a new title to add to my resume: pig wrangler.

My working at the creamery to learn the fine art of cheesemaking has taught me an invaluable lesson, a lesson I will recall for years to come, a lesson in strength and endurance: I am much weaker and less tenacious than a farm pig!

In the midst of crisp autumn morning, one of my Fridays at the farm making cheese, a voice rang out from close range, breaking the routine of cheese churning and cheese washing….. I had to perk my ears to realize that, yes, I had just heard: “the pigs have escaped!”

Having worked on the farm for 6 months, I have befriended the cows, the goats and the resident farm cats, but had yet to see the pigs. I had no idea that these stalwart creatures each weigh in from 200-250 pounds and that I was about to I get an intimate, crash course in rodeo-style, frantic pig chasing.

I’ve been face to face with pigs before, but usually postmortem and on my plate: crisp bacon, salty pancetta, briny prosciutto, a juicy pork chop. I’ve also seen cute, diminutive pot belly pigs in pet stores at the mall. But never have I wrestled with a stubborn pig, a female Conan the Warrior in sow’s clothing.

The farm staff was able to wrangle most of the porky harem back into its pen, with the exception of one stubborn swine. The pig was unruly, zigzagging through the pastures, barreling through a maze of hay barrels, content to knock over any human that stood in its way of world domination. There were two of us to this pig: myself and the cheesemaker, Colin. In a wrestling contest, me versus the pig, there’s no question who would prevail: surely, the pig. I figured the pig was no match for me and Colin combined, a strong and confident team, but I could not have been more wrong than a horse and buggy going 90 miles-per-hour down a one way street!

This thing whipped through prickly trees, bushes, in between small spaces, until we had trailed it, fast as the dickens, down an incline into an area confined by an electric fence. Add another colleague to the mix: three against one. The situation remained unyielding, the pig dead-set on human dominance.

By now we were dripping with sweat, laughing out of control, out of breath. We had attempted to move the pig with sheer brute force, humans pressed up against the hairy body of the pig, while it stood steadfast, grazing for mushrooms and snorting. This thing had to go down, down like a misbehaving teenager, down like tonight’s pork roast dinner. We had become caricatures: lab coat wearing, hair-net donning fools, running around like blind bats in our rubber boots, wielding thick sticks, while the darn pig got the better of us. We know we looked ridiculous and yes, it was darn funny.

So, roused by my piggy encounter, here is a delicious Italian-inspired recipe for pork slow-cooked in milk. After simmering the roast in the milk with juniper berries, rosemary and sage, you get extremely tender, silken meat in a clear, clean broth: a perfect meal after a day of chasing unruly pigs.

Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 (4 1/2- to 5-pound) boneless pork shoulder roast (without skin), tied
3 juniper berries, crushed
2 large rosemary sprigs
2 large sage sprigs
4 dried bay leaves
1 garlic clove, chopped
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/2 cup dry white wine
3 cups whole milk

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle.

Heat oil in a wide 5- to 6-quart ovenproof heavy pot over medium heat until it shimmers, then lightly brown roast on all sides with juniper berries and herbs, 8 to 10 minutes total. Add garlic and sprinkle roast with sea salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper, then cook until garlic is golden, about 1 minute. Pour wine over roast and briskly simmer until reduced by half. Pour milk over roast and bring to a bare simmer.

Cover pot and braise in oven, turning roast occasionally, until tender (milk will form curds), 2 to 2 1/2 hours.

Transfer roast to a carving board and loosely cover. Strain juices through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl (discard solids), reserving pot, and skim off fat. Return juices to pot and boil until flavorful and reduced to about 2 cups. Season with sea salt and pepper. Slice roast and serve moistened with juices.

Serves 6.

Cheese (Shop) of the Month: Neal’s Yard Dairy, London.

2008-11-13T20:18:00.006-05:00

My obsession with cheese has gone international! On a recent trip to England, I made cheese an important part of my itinerary, which included stomping around town with the English faction of my family. Our schedule read something like this: Buckingham Palace, Covent Garden, Royal Albert Hall, Westminster Abbey, Neal’s Yard Dairy. You can take the girl out of her country, but you can’t take the cheese away from the girl. Although it was a tourist affair extraordinaire, I needed to recall a bit of home: I needed some cheese!

Neal’s Yard, considered London’s most venerable cheese shop, has two locations: the original in Covent Garden and their bigger location in London’s Borough Market.

Found in 1979 by Nicholas Saunders, Randolph Hodgson, an employee who acquired the shop soon after its inception, was making his own cheeses at the time. Early in their business, they began buying and selling mature cheeses. After their requisite growing pains, they grew into a haven for high quality farmstead English, Irish and Welsh cheeses.

Their staff is armed with an arsenal of knowledge and I ended up spending a huge chunk of time in their Covent Garden shop, tasting everything I could fit in my seemingly bottomless stomach. I probably tasted more cheese in-house than I actually purchased in the long-run. I was lucky to have met Martin, behind the counter, whose passion for cheese equaled my own. We talked shop and tasted together. We compared English cloth-bound cheddars and blues, and compared quince pastes to accompany my selection; we sniffed stinky cheese until I burned all the hairs from my nostrils.

To give a sense of their undeniable and almost inconceivable generosity, I was able to sample Montgomery’s Cheddar, unpasteurized cow’s cheddar from Somerset, Lincolnshire Poacher, a hard cow’s milk, unpasteurized cheddar, Crozier Blue, and Irish blue sheep’s milk cheese, Mileens Dotes, a soft cow’s milk washed-rind cheese and Ardrahan, a semi-soft pungent cheese from Cork, Ireland, among others.

Cheese is piled high, cloth bound cheddars towering over the customers like lactic skyscrapers. This shop fired me up. If I could, I’d live in Neal’s Yard Dairy. I love the smell of a ripening room, I love the ammonia it emanates. Back in the States, I am missing Neal’s Yard like Dorothy missed Kansas while trapped in Oz. There’s no place like an artisanal cheese shop.

How I came to love the anchovy

2008-10-24T12:00:00.000-04:00

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, salty anchovies lined up in tins, these are a few of my favorite things.

Yet, as a child I hated anchovies. Ok, hate is not a strong enough word. I despised anchovies. I happened to be one of those rare (read: bizarre) children who shunned sweets in exchange for the healthy and the salty. I had no business with apple sauce, cupcakes, and other childhood favorites; I would have much rather feasted on a bright bowl of beets and an earthy side of wilted spinach. As I got older and entered my inevitable junk food phase, I preferred the crunchy, salt coated potato chip to the gooey, saccharine chocolate chip cookie.

My mom always loved salt and sweet equally and although my dad claimed to have no propensity towards eating sugar, he would sneak off with a dozen of my mom’s homemade cookies and return with a clean plate. I, however, loved everything and anything salty: everything except the anchovy. I found the tiny fish mysterious and offensive- a dubious combination of oil, fuzz, and brine. My mom would order pizzas coated end to end in these distinctive fish and I would lament the ruined pie, picking off the anchovies and then shunning the slice with the lingering, potent flavor.

As I got older, I became known as an unbridled culinary adventurer. Like Anthony Bourdain, I would put just about anything between my lips, smacking my gums and smiling, while friends reeled at the knowledge that I had consumed something wholeheartedly unsavory and often inedbile. However, I always drew the line at anchovies.

And then I discovered the cuisine of Italy. After living in Italy and consistently sampling the simple, aromatic food, I realized that anchovies were the backbone to beloved dishes such as Puttanesca. Anchovies bring out the taste of their accompanying ingredients, building round, complete flavor profiles.

Since I loved Italy’s cuisine with such an open heart (and open stomach), it was only a matter of time before I stopped hating the anchovy, starting loving it, and learned how to utilize it properly. Anchovies quickly became a member of my holy trinity of cooking, in addition to acidy lemon and aromatic garlic. I began picking up anchovy undertones in the foods I ate regularly, the salty ocean flavor dancing on my tongue. I began welcoming anchovy laden dishes into my recipe repertoire.

They say your taste changes every 5 to 7 years. Perhaps this was the case with my newfound love affair with my former fishy nemesis. I became excited to cook with anchovies, creatively slipping them into friendly foods, opening up hermetically sealed minds, convincing anchovy foes that they, too, hold a rightful place in the culinary scheme of life.

Caesar salad is a perfect example of an overwhelmingly popular food often made with anchovies. The salad, named in the 1920’s for its creator Cesar Cardini, did not originally contain anchovies. They were added later by Cesar’s brother Alex, at the Tijuana restaurant owned by Cesar. Culinary lore suggests Cesar begrudgingly added anchovies to appease his brother, thinking them unnecessary in his masterpiece. Personally, I’m on Alex’s train. The combination of salty fish, creamy parmesan, and crunchy crouton will have you saying “yes, please!” to the anchovy.

Anchovies also provide an important base flavor for a dish I recently found in my favorite publication, Gourmet Magazine. One taste of pasta with spicy anchovy sauce and dill bread crumbs will have you trying and trying to identify the subtle, hidden flavor. A quick and simple dish, I love how the fish plays up the sweet, almost caramelized onions and delicate, fresh dill. Using bucatini pasta gives it a whimsical texture. Make sure to cook the breadcrumbs until they are very, very crispy, but not burnt.

Caesar Salad

1 very large head of romaine lettuce, torn into bite-size pieces
Baguette, cut into 1 inch cubes, yielding 2 cups croutons
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
Cracked black pepper

Vinaigrette:
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
6 oil-packed anchovy fillets, drained, very finely chopped
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 1/2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 cup olive oil

Whisk all ingredients except oil in small bowl to blend. Gradually whisk in oil. Season to taste with salt and pepper. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill. Rewhisk before using.)

Makes about 1 1/3 cups.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Whisk 1/4 cup oil and a pinch of course salt in large bowl to blend. Add bread cubes and toss to coat. Transfer croutons to baking sheet. Bake croutons until golden brown, about 12 minutes. Cool completely. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Store airtight at room temperature.)

Place lettuce and croutons in large bowl. Sprinkle with cheese and toss with enough dressing to coat. Serve with any remaining dressing.

Makes 6 servings.

Pasta with Spicy Anchovy Sauce and Dill Bread Crumbs

3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided
2 cups fresh bread crumbs (preferably from a baguette)
1/4 cup chopped dill
1 pound red onions, thinly sliced (3 cups)
1 (2-ounce) can flat anchovy fillets, drained and chopped
1 pound bucatini or perciatelli pasta (long tubular strands)
1/2 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes

Heat 1/4 cup oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then cook bread crumbs, stirring constantly, until deep golden and crisp, 6 to 8 minutes.
Transfer bread crumbs to a bowl and toss with dill and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and black pepper.

Wipe out skillet, then cook onions with 1/4 teaspoon salt in remaining 1/2 cup oil over medium heat, stirring frequently, until very soft, 12 to 15 minutes. Add anchovies and cook, mashing anchovies into onions, until dissolved.

Meanwhile, cook bucatini in a pasta pot of boiling salted water (2 tablespoons salt for 5 quarts water) until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup cooking water, then drain pasta.

Stir red-pepper flakes and reserved water into anchovy sauce, then add pasta and toss to combine. Add about half of bread crumbs and toss to coat. Serve sprinkled with remaining bread crumbs.

Makes 6 servings.

Rancho Olivos Olive Oil

2008-10-09T08:00:00.002-04:00

Olive oil is one of the most historically precious products, having been used for cosmetics in Ancient Egypt and in religious ceremonies in Ancient Minoa. Bygone people used it to give bright light while the modern use it to brighten their cuisine. The olive branch is a timeless symbol of peace, purity and forgiveness. Its oil has been used as currency and for fuel. It has been considered magical and medicinal. Olive oil is sacred entity with sacrosanct and pedestrian uses, fit for deities, athletes and cooks. No wonder Homer called it liquid gold.

Although Mediterranean oils are generally esteemed as the world’s finest, highly valued for their full bodied flavors, deeply rich hues and fragrant aromas, California is at the apex of quality oil production, a vital member of the industry. Spanish missionaries first brought olive trees to California towards the end of the 18th century and the modern market is thriving. American producers are giving the Greek, Spanish and Italian oil makers a run for their money, harvesting a diverse crop that yields dynamic and respected oils.

On a trip to the Santa Barbara wineries a few years ago, I made a stop at Rancho Olivos in Santa Ynez after being beckoned by a sign offering olive oil tasting. The proprietor, Shannon Casey, greeted us with warmth, hospitality, rustic bread, knowledge, and a few very friendly dogs. We were offered generous tastings of her olive oils and were thoroughly wowed by their complexity on the tongue, the intense strength of their fragrant aromas. Yet we somehow managed to leave without a purchase.

I thought of the superior oil every time I cooked so I finally contacted Ms. Casey and ordered a few bottles, which ended up being some of the most vibrant, richly flavored olive oils I have tasted. I continue to use her oils, which coax deeper flavors from ingredients and really stand out on their own, soaked up simply with bread.

At the moment, Rancho Olivos is selling three types of oils: Arbequina Extra Virgin, Italian Blend Extra Virgin and Garlic flavored. In the past, they have featured a wonderfully fruity Meyer Lemon infused olive oil.

Arbequina is a Spanish olive varietal. Rancho Olivos notes that this oil is “renown for its round buttery flavor.” They state that “Arbequina’s ability to pollinate itself allows the oil to be called by its own name”. While the Arbequina oil has a somewhat creamy flavor, the Italian blend is far more sharp, peppery and earthy. It is made from a blend of Frantoio, Leccino and Grappolo olive varieties.

Lastly, the garlic flavored oil displays the bold taste of roasted garlic. Rancho Olivos notes that since “there is no organic matter in the oil, it will keep like a regular olive oil.” The flavor is so upfront, so powerful, the garlic flavor anything but subtle. They have really captured the essence of garlic in a bottle and it is almost good enough to drink!

Rancho Olivos
2390 N. Refugio Rd.
Santa Ynez CA 93460
Phone: 686-9653
Fax: 688-6174
Website: http://www.RanchoOlivos.com
E-mail: info@ranchoolivos.com

Almond Ricotta Tart

2008-09-11T14:45:00.003-04:00

What do you do when you have an exorbitant amount of fresh ricotta piled high in the fridge like fluffy snow? You get resourceful - the ricotta so fresh you resort to baking late at night in order to capture its perfection in a confection. Unless eaten bashfully naked, piled high in scoops and spoonfuls, creamy fresh ricotta must be baked into something equally perfect, worthy of its lusciousness.

I was recently given a whopping two pounds of fresh, farmstead ricotta and although I barely put a dent in the stash, I was able to transform at least a sliver of the cheese into something supremely sweet, bountifully buttery and yet, decadently delicate.

For a richly custardy tart, only a flaky cream cheese crust will do. Baked until golden brown, the crust stands on its own. Perfecting flaky crust has been the subject of dispute for years, but I find that using a simple cream cheese pastry crust exalts any pie or tart, although the baker must act hastily- overworking dough that utilizes cold butter and cream cheese will yield a sticky mess.

This tart is ad-lib pastry, an amalgamation of beloved flavors and textures, thrown together on a whim. The filling, a little bit Italian, a little bit French, makes use of ricotta and toasted almonds, baked until eggy, nutty and aromatic. Toasting the almonds yields a marzipan-like flavor and a crunchy texture, excellent contrast to the springy custard. The taste is somewhat reminiscent of resplendent French almond croissants, best when served alongside morning coffee and dusted with a sprinkling of confectioners sugar.

Almond Ricotta Tart
For the crust:
1 cup all purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 ounces cream cheese
1 stick cold, unsalted butter, cut into small cubes

For the filling:
3 eggs
4 tablespoon butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup whole milk ricotta
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 cup almond slivers, toasted until brown

In a food processor, combine the flour, salt and cream cheese. Process until the mixture resembles coarse meal, about 8 seconds. Add the cold butter and process in short bursts until the mixture resembles small peas, about 3 seconds. Turn the dough out onto a work surface and knead lightly, just until the dough holds together.

Between 2 sheets of lightly floured plastic wrap, roll out the dough into a large round, 1/8 - 1/4 inch thick. Cut out a 12 inch circle. Dust the pastry lightly with flour and fold in quarters. Place it in a 9 1/2 or 10-inch tart pan or pie pan. Open up the pastry dough and fit into the pan, folding down the excess to reinforce the sides. Press the pastry against the side of the pan, trimming off any excess dough. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. To maintain the best shape, freeze for at least 15 minutes before baking.

Preheat oven to 425°. Line the pastry with foil and fill with dried beans, making sure they are pushed up well against the sides. Bake for 15 - 20 minutes, or until the dough is almost dry. Remove the foil and beans, prick with a fork and continue baking for about 5 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown.

Remove from oven and let cool for a bit while you make the filling.

Using an electric mixer, beat the egg yolks until lighter in color and fluffy. With the mixer still running, add the egg whites and continue whipping until bubbly. Add the softened butter and beat until well blended; add the sugar, vanilla and ricotta and continue to whip until, being careful not to overmix. Using a large spatula, fold in the almonds with a spatula. Spoon the ricotta custard mixture into the crust and cover the exposed edges of the crust with foil. Bake in the oven until browned and firm to the touch, about 35 minutes.

Meyer Lemon Gnocchi with Butter Poached Lobster

2008-09-03T09:00:00.001-04:00

August has reared its head and then hastily ducked out of sight. Already the sunlight is noticeably absent from the late evening horizon. Even the air takes on a different texture and scent. Fall is just around the corner.

But before we pack up our grills and prepare to exhume our deeply buried wool sweaters, take in your surroundings, inhale a deep breath of summer air and savor the opportunity to enjoy the fading notes of summer’s iconic foods.

To me, nothing speaks of summer more than lobster- the crack of the shell, the squirt of the juice, the ceremonial dipping in drawn butter, the smell of sea-like air wafting from a giant salted pot of water. It invokes images of the rolling surf, majestic sand dunes and late-night salmon colored sunsets.

A well cooked lobster, tender and soft rather than rubbery, is the king of foods. It speaks of elegance to some and to others it suggests a relaxed backyard feast. Either way, there’s no denying the pleasure of sinking your teeth into the succulent, sweet and seductive meat of a perfectly cooked lobster.

On the other hand, gnocchi is a food I associate more with winter. Making homemade gnocchi is a labor of love and not necessarily an undertaking I crave on a warm summer’s day. It is time consuming to hand sculpt the little pillows, each with their own quirky shape and character yet uniformly light and fluffy. Tender gnocchi require respect, patience and a gentle touch and beckon one to spend quality time at the kitchen counter, rolling and cutting the dough simply to keep warm on a cold day. A little tip: if you don’t have a potato ricer, an ordinary food mill is an infallible alternative for ricing potatoes.

I love Chef Steve Corry’s Meyer lemon gnocchi. Adding the essence of fragrant Meyer lemons to the potato dumplings unequivocally gives the gnocchi a fresh, summer appeal. After boiling his pasta dumplings, he sautés them in a light butter bath to crisp them up. This adds an enticing texture dimension and provides a nice contrast between the soft center and the crispy exterior. When tossed with a rich lemon butter broth and topped off with butter poached lobster, you get a hearty, comforting and luxurious dish that’s flirty, zesty and a consummate use of summer’s finest and most symbolic ingredients.

For poached lobster:
2 lobsters, 1 1/2 pound each
1 pound butter for poaching lobster
Salt for boiling lobsters

For gnocchi:
1 pound baking potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch chunks
3 large egg yolks
Finely grated zest of 2 lemons, preferably Meyer lemons
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 stick plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces and chilled
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Salt
Snipped chives, for garnish

To remove the lobsters from their shells, flash boiling the lobsters for 1 to 2 minutes in heavily salted water with a dash of vinegar. Remove lobster from the water and twist its tail off in one motion. Using a pair of kitchen scissors, cut from the belly towards the head and down each claw. Cut down the belly-side of the tail and spread back the shell. Pull the meat out, keeping pieces as intact as possible. Set aside in refrigerator while you make the gnocchi.

In a medium saucepan, cover the potatoes and bring to a boil. Simmer over moderately high heat until the potatoes are tender, about 8 minutes. Drain the potatoes, then return them to the pan; shake over moderately high heat until dry.

Working over a large rimmed baking sheet, rice the hot potatoes in an even layer. In a small bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the lemon zest, 1 teaspoon of olive oil and the salt and pour over the potatoes. Sprinkle the flour over the potatoes and stir gently just until a dough forms.

Gently roll the dough into four 1/2-inch-thick ropes. Using a sharp knife, cut each rope into 1/2-inch pieces. Roll each piece against the tines of a fork to make ridges. Transfer the gnocchi to the baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.

In a small saucepan, bring the chicken broth to a simmer. Remove from the heat and whisk in the 1 stick of butter, a few pieces at a time, until the sauce is creamy. Warm the sauce on low heat if necessary. Stir in the lemon juice and season with salt.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the gnocchi until they rise to the surface, then cook them for 1 minute longer. Gently drain the gnocchi, toss with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil and transfer to a baking sheet until cool.

To clarify the butter, slowly melt 1 pound of butter and remove the foam that appears with a ladle. Discard foam and reserve remaining clarified butter.

Cook lobster tail and claws in clarified butter for 4 minutes over medium heat. The butter should barely be simmering. Remove from butter and break up the lobster meat with your fingers.

In a large nonstick skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter reserved for the gnocchi. Add half of the gnocchi and cook in a single layer over high heat until browned on the bottom, 2 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and repeat with the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter and gnocchi.

Reheat the sauce; pour it over the gnocchi and fold gently with a rubber spatula until they are evenly coated. Transfer to a platter and garnish with the chives and the lobster meat.

Makes 8 first course servings or 4 main course servings.

Jewstalgia- Touring and Exploring in NYC

2008-08-20T12:00:00.001-04:00

A few months ago, my aunt Paula decided that we need to capture our culture’s tradition through food, bottling up as much Jewish culture in a day’s work, touring New York City’s most iconic Jewish and Russian food spots. It would be an intimate family affair and we would sacrifice our stomachs to the pickled herring of New York, we’d spew Yiddish sayings at will, we’d start an annual tradition filled with nostalgia, humor, and self-discovery. Hence, Jewstalgia was born.

June 7 was the day of our first annual Jewstalgia and the behemoth gods of hot, hot heat were upon us. The oppressive sun hit our backs like the heavy, scorching roof of a Panini press. Sweat dripped down our slick backs like flowing, living waterfalls. However, we persevered. It was the type of severe weather where the appetite is suppressed, yet we kept eating like it was our last meal(s) on earth, our tenacious minds quarrelling with our contentious bellies.

We began the day on New York’s lower east side, a part of town brimming with Jewish heritage: Houston Street, Essex Street, Grand Street, Orchard Street- all painted with vestiges of a turn of the century immigrant history. The Lower East Side was once an epicenter for American Judaism, a neighborhood where immigrants, in particular Jewish immigrants, settled and developed a new capital of Jewish culture in America.

Arriving at our first destination, Russ and Daughters, at 179 East Houston Street, our feet were already pavement-weary, our faces coated with slick and salty sweat, our mind’s questioning our day’s work. But when met with the bounty of Jewish delicacies in the shop, we quickly forgot the weather’s curse, mustered our appetites and delved in.

Russ and Daughters is a polished yet authentic Jewish specialty shop filled with the foods we’ve come to identify with being Jewish- smoked fish, herring, cured salmon, caviar, chopped liver, and only the best of everything. We sampled items such as traditional pickled herring, rolled in dainty rounds, filled with tart pickled onions, rich chopped chicken liver like your Bubby made, tangy-sweet smoked salmon tartar, and the famous “Super Heeb Sandwich”, a pillowy bagel filled with creamy whitefish salad, horseradish cream cheese and the piece d’resistance- wasabi flying fish roe.

I honestly could have quit our adventure right then and there! The entire Russ and Daughter’s staff was not only helpful and courteous, but wholeheartedly joined in on our fun, teaching us eccentric and humorous Yiddish anecdotes, surveying our printed itinerary, and even taking our photo for their upcoming blog.

Just down the street from Russ and Daughter’s is Katz’s, a kosher deli dating back to 1888, a tourist hotspot and a quintessential New York Jewish deli. Some argue that Katz’s is overrated, overcrowded and unfriendly, but it is a truly historical New York experience, and a truly Jewish one. There’s something mischievous about eating at Katz’s: the ominous, never-ending rows of tables, the World War II décor, the ever-effusive patrons, the conveyer belt efficiency of the staff.

Some argue that the service is unpleasant and even abrasive. But let’s be honest, who comes to Katz’s Deli for the Michelin star service? They come to take a bite out of truly mouth-watering, spicy, juicy brined pastrami on rye, some of the city’s best. They come for the corned beef, the hot dogs, the tongue. They come for the tart, mouth-puckering dill pickles and pickled green tomatoes. They come to remember their pasts- the boys of World War II. They come to revel in their present- the salty, juicy deli meat filling their bellies and the frothy, sublime egg creams. Little known Katz’s fact: their latkes are splendid discs of perfectly crunchy and lightly salted potato with a piping hot, soft interior; a surprising find for folks not known for their latkes. We also ordered a mandatory Kasha filled knish, a staple of the Jewish household of yore.

At this point, you are probably thinking, “did they possibly move forward, did they possibly consume more? “ Yes, we did move onward and we did eat more, although begrudgingly at this juncture. The heat of the mid-afternoon sun was becoming increasingly oppressive. On our walk to our next destination, we had to seek shelter in a hole-in-the-wall convenient store, air conditioners lovelingly blowing blusteringly cold wind onto our sun kissed backs, providing us with a fleeting moment of reprieve. Our stomachs were growling, filled with the relics of our mornings work while our lungs and hearts were working overtime, fighting nature’s torridness.

And unfortunately, our subsequent two destinations were closed for the Sabbath. It is obvious you are dealing with a secular bunch when Jewish gastronomy day is planned on the Sabbath!

Guss’s Pickles on Orchard Street is the place to go for a briny bite of Jewish history. They offer an array of pickles including garlicky kosher sour, the salty half-sour, the spicy pickle and the pickled green tomato. Just down the street, Kossar's Bialys was also resting for the Sabbath and thank goodness for small favors: could we really consume another carbohydrate?

Yes, apparently we would could. And we did. Our next stop features otherworldly carbs, like manna from heaven! Mark Isreal’s Doughnut Plant’s confections are astonishing- pillowy doughnuts so fluffy they melt in your mouth like cotton candy. We sampled the Valrhona chocolate, mango glazed and coconut cream doughnuts, although the coconut cream blasted the competition out of the sugary water with its subtle sweetness, coconut glaze sprinkled like snow on the outside of the yeasty pastry, a refined coconut cream running evenly through the perimeter of the doughnut like a silken river. Mr. Isreal makes use of only the freshest and most high quality ingredients, including fresh fruit in the glazes, high-end chocolate and homemade jelly.

Before our final and most memorable eating experience of the day, we made a required stop at the educational Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street. The tour takes you deep into the past, directly into the lives of newly minted Americans and their preserved home, a tenement built in 1863. The building has been restored to display the dismal living (and in-home working) conditions of the immigrants that inhabited the building over the course of half a century.

Our night began and ended not on the Lower East Side, but in Little Odessa in Brighton Beach (Brooklyn). We stumbled into Primorski in a collective delirium, more hungry for the air conditioner and stiff seats than for the actual meal and the cruise ship-like ambiance. Our experience at Primorski was truly trippy, authentically Russian, cheesy to the max and more kitschy than Pee Wee Herman. Everything at Primorski is grandiose and over-the-top.

This is the place to go for a never-ending Russian/Georgian family style meal, all you can drink vodka, live technoesque Europop, all under dizzying disco-lights. Suffice it to say that words cannot convey the utterly hilarious and simultaneously bizarre experience of Primorski. The restaurant is a dimly lit, windowless ballroom and as the night progresses and the patrons become increasingly intoxicated, the music crescendos and frenetic dancing fills any potential void in the sprawling room. Like clockwork, the singers treated the eaters to their raspy rendition of “Happy Birthday” eleven times, complete with larger than life birthday cakes. We began to assume that we were not only the only non-Russian speakers in the room, but also the only table not celebrating a birthday.

Some of the food at Primorski was questionable, at least to our sensibilities, which was okay, since the banquet menu is essentially ceaseless. We jettisoned the seafood dishes in favor of salty meats and the plethora of carbohydrates. The menu went something like this: crab salad, chicken in jelly, Caesar salad, eel salad, seafood salad, duck salad, chicken in jelly, herring, pickled tomatoes, cucumbers and cabbage, smoked fish platter which included smoked white fish, smoked salmon, smoked sturgeon, various cold cuts including tongue, galantine, smoked pork meat and other mysterious meats, crispy fried potatoes with garlic, khachapuri (Georgian bread patty filled with cheese), bilinis with red caviar, warm seafood platter, chicken Kiev, various fried meats, a fruit platter and fruit filled crepes. If you feel exhausted reading that list, try to be on the receiving end of the plethora of shameless gluttony, especially after a marathon day of excessive eating.

We ate, we drank, we conquered. Our first annual Jewstalgia was filled with great food, vivid history, bright new memories forged and yes, nostalgia.

Russ and Daughters:
179 E. Houston St.
New York, NY 10002
(212) 475-4880
http://www.russanddaughters.com/

Katz’s Deli
205 E Houston St
New York, NY 10002
(212) 254-2246
http://www.katzdeli.com/

Guss's Pickles
87 Orchard St
New York, NY 10002
(212) 334-3616
http://www.gusspickle.com/

Kossar's Bialys
367 Grand Street
New York, NY
(877)-4-BIALYS
http://www.kossarsbialys.com/

Doughnut Plant
379 Grand St
New York, NY 10002
212-505-3700
www.doughnutplant.com

Primorski
282 Brighton Beach Ave #B
Brooklyn, NY 11235
http://www.primorski.net/

The Tenement Museum
97 Orchard Street
www.tenement.org/tours.html

Ode to the Sandwich

2008-08-14T14:45:00.004-04:00

I grew up writing silly poems. Some families hike, some go camping, others play board games. We wrote silly poems very often about food. Yes, we were (and still are) a quirky bunch. We threw evocative language and traditional meter to the wayside in exchange for pure sophomoric entertainment.

I continue the trend with my Ode To The Sandwich (with recipe below).

Marbled pumpernickel
Thickly toasted white
Carbohydrates aplenty, have to take a bite

Turkey, pastrami
Liverwurst and onion
A concoction hefty enough even for Paul Bunyan

Aioli and horseradish
Mustard and mayo
Or nature’s condiments- simple lettuce and tomato

Make it a Ruben
Complete with Russian dressing
A deli style sandwich is hunger’s sweet blessing

An Italian meatball hero
A steak and cheese in Philly
A Greek gyro, topped with rich tzatziki

A pickle on the side
Or potato chips with salt
A lobster BLT, in my tracks I will halt

Lamb burger on a bun
A Cuban with shredded pork
Eat it with your hands, no need for spoon and fork

Grape jelly or peaches
Buck flavor tradition
Unconventional toppings, surpass the competition

Sticky or gooey
With cheese or peanut butter
Using Marshmallow Fluff yields a fluffernutter

Call it a Monte Cristo
Or a curry chicken Panini
Work the lunch-time magic, and you’ll be a sandwich Houdini

Charcoal-Grilled Greek-Style Lamb Pita Sandwiches with Tzatziki
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated, America's Test Kitchen

For Tzatziki Sauce:
1/2 cup Greek Yogurt
1/2 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, and diced fine (about 1/2 cup)
3/8 teaspoon table salt
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 small garlic clove, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 1/2 teaspoon)
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint

For Lamb Patties:
Vegetable oil for cooking grate
4 (8-inch) pocketless pita breads
1/2 small onion, chopped coarse (about 1/3 cup)
4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 tablespoon minced fresh oregano leaves
2 medium garlic cloves, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 2 teaspoons)
1 pound ground lamb

Accompaniments:
1 large tomato, sliced thin
2 cups shredded iceberg lettuce
2 ounces crumbled feta cheese (about 1/2 cup)

For the Tzatziki Sauce: Combine cucumber, 1/8 teaspoon salt, and lemon juice in colander set over bowl and let stand 30 minutes. Combine thickened yogurt, drained cucumber, remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, garlic, and mint in clean bowl.

For the Patties: If using charcoal- About 20 minutes before grilling, light large chimney starter filled 3/4 full with charcoal (4 1/2 quarts, or about 75 briquettes) and allow to burn until coals are fully ignited and partially covered with thin layer of ash, about 20 minutes. Build modified two-level fire by arranging all coals over half of grill, making sure they are in even layer, leaving other half empty. Position cooking grate over coals, cover grill, and heat grate until hot, about 5 minutes; scrape grate clean with grill brush. Dip wad of paper towels in vegetable oil; holding wad with tongs, wipe cooking grate. Grill is ready when side with coals is medium-hot (you can hold your hand 5 inches above grate for 3 to 4 seconds). If using propane grill- About 10 minutes before grilling, heat propane grill on medium heat. Just prior to grilling, scrape grate clean with grill brush. Dip wad of paper towels in vegetable oil; holding wad with tongs, wipe cooking grate.

Use quarter of fifth pita and tear into 1 inch pieces, and discard saving remaining part of pita for future use. (You should have about 1/4 cup pita pieces.) Process onion, lemon juice, salt, pepper, oregano, garlic, and pita bread pieces in food processor until smooth paste forms, scraping down sides of workbowl as necessary, about 30 seconds. Transfer onion mixture to large bowl; add lamb and gently mix with hands until thoroughly combined. Divide mixture into 4 equal pieces and roll into logs. Gently flatten logs into rectangular patties, about 1/2 inch thick, 2 1/2 inches wide, and 7 inches long.

Place patties on hotter side of grill. Cook, turning once using spatula, until well browned and crust forms on each side, 8 to 12 minutes. Transfer patties to plate. While patties rest, place pita in single layer on hotter side of grill. Cook, turning once, until each pita is thoroughly warmed and faint grill marks appear, 30 to 40 seconds. Remove pita from grill and wrap tightly with aluminum foil.

Spread 1/8 cup Tzatziki Sauce inside each pita. Put 1 patty in each pita and top with tomato slices, 1/2 cup shredded lettuce, and 2 tablespoons feta. Serve immediately.

Pickle Love

2008-08-07T21:00:00.002-04:00

In my eyes, there is no food as profoundly romantic as the pickle. Like a good relationship, canning, brining and pickling require a labor of love along with a sprinkling of time and a dash of patience.

Pickles begin their journey with fresh ingredients and over time develop a completely new set of flavors, an entirely new identity. They experience a hyperbolic rebirth: subtly flavored fresh vegetables become boldly tart, intensely sour, sweetly tangy, aromatic, acidy and crisp.

Pickling began as a necessity: a way to preserve foods as preparation for cold, dark, bleak winters. Although pickling has fallen by the wayside as a means of survival, it has become a way to tap into family histories, to serve as a reminder of simpler eras or to simply capture time in a mason jar.

I’m a fan of all pickles: simple bread and butter, garlic dill, pickled watermelon rind, kimchi, tsukemono, pickled eggs. Some pickles require preservation, canning, sterilization; others are fresh and ready to eat fairly instantaneously. I made two very different types of pickles over the course of a weekend, in an attempt to capture summer’s essence in my own set of mason jars.

Southern-style pickled watermelon rind is a process, requiring jar sterilization and a kit and caboodle of appliances, such as a kettle and several pans. Since I made half the recipe, I was able to sterilize one jar at a time in my handy All-Clad asparagus cooker, which comes equipped with a removable basket insert. Ultimately, I filled a gallon jar and a pint jar with watermelon rinds. Pickling rinds requires overnight marination, though worth the effort, as the finished product is mouth-puckeringly sweet-tart.

Since I am a die-hard lover of kimchi, I wanted to try making my own, but ended up straying from an aged version and headed for the fresh cabbage patch. This fresh kimchi requires a beef broth for marination and I had luckily made a batch that morning for our evening dinner, although canned broth would do just fine. After half a day of salting and draining, the cabbage was ready to be whipped into form. I decided to jar the bold and fiery kimchi for aesthetic purposes, although it can be stored in an air-tight container.

Pickled Watermelon Rind
Adapted from Molly O’Neill, NY Times

7 cups 1-inch-cubed watermelon rind, dark green skin and all red flesh removed
1/4 cup kosher salt
4 cups sugar
2 cups white vinegar
1 thinly sliced lemon, seeds removed
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon whole allspice.

1. Place the rind in a large bowl and toss with the salt. Cover with 1 quart cold water. Refrigerate overnight.

2. Drain the watermelon. Bring a large kettle 1/4 full of water to a boil and add the rind. Cook until tender when pierced with the tip of a knife, about 15 minutes. Drain and set aside.

3. Return kettle to the stove. Add sugar, vinegar, lemon, cinnamon stick, cloves, allspice and 2 cups water. Bring to a boil. Add the rind and simmer until tender and translucent, about 10 minutes.

4. Have ready 3 hot, sterilized pint (2-cup) canning jars and lids. (See pickled peppers for sterilizing instructions.) Gently pack the hot rind into the jars, leaving 1/4inch of space below the lip. Pour enough liquid into the jars to cover the rind. Wipe rims with a clean, damp towel and screw lids on securely but not too tightly.

5. Fill a large kettle fitted with a rack halfway with water and bring to a boil. Meanwhile, bring a teapot full of water to a boil. Place the filled jars on the rack (do not let them touch -- work in batches if necessary) and pour in boiling water from the teapot until jar tops are covered by 2 inches. Bring to a boil and boil 10 minutes.

6. Using tongs, remove jars from the kettle. Using potholders, tighten lids. Allow to cool. Store in a cool, dark place.

Yield: 3 pint jars.

Fresh Kimchi
Adapted from Molly O’Neill, NY Times

1 2-pound head Napa cabbage
2 tablespoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 cup very thinly sliced sticks of daikon
4 scallions, sliced into long, thin, strips
1 cup leaves and tender stems of watercress
3 tablespoons ground Korean hot-pepper flakes
1 cup beef broth
1 tablespoon sesame oil
4 1/2 teaspoons sugar
1 tablespoon fish sauce
3 cloves garlic, minced.

1. Quarter the cabbage and remove the thick, white core at the base. Halve each quarter. Place the cabbage in a large strainer set inside a large bowl. Toss the cabbage with 2 tablespoons of the salt. Place another large bowl on top of the cabbage and fill it with heavy cans or other weights so that the cabbage is compressed. Set aside to drain for 5 hours.

2. Rinse the cabbage briefly under running water and wrap it in clean tea towels to remove excess water. Cut cabbage into strips and transfer to a large, clean bowl along with the daikon, scallions and watercress.

3. In a small bowl, combine the remaining ingredients and stir until the sugar is dissolved. Pour mixture over the vegetables and toss until well coated. Season with additional salt, if necessary. Serve at room temperature.
Yield: 6 cups.

Would you like fries with that?

2008-07-30T16:15:00.001-04:00

After a recent trip to a Queens eatery for brunch with Mike and my sister Jess, I found myself thinking back to my most absurd, silly, outlandish, asinine, and confounding restaurant encounters.

We had spent a lazy Sunday morning lingering over food and beverages. Minutes turned into hours and after requesting several rounds of mimosas, tea, and coffee, after begging our server for refills on the complimentary mini-muffin basket, and after feasting on eggs Benedict AND cheese cake for dessert, our server greeted us tableside and asked “Are you ready to order?”

“Um, okay there, buddy!” We had been gorging ourselves for several hours, requested the young lad’s service almost a dozen times, and he appeared sheepish and perplexed when we shot him baffled facial expressions. That’s putting it mildly- my face was contorted into a giant question mark, complete with dotted I’s and T’s!

After he ran away, tail between legs, to pick up remnants of self-respect (and gather our check), we all burst out in uncontrollable, although uncomfortable laughter. We had developed a superficial relationship with this kid and he failed to recognize that he had already served us brunch and dessert and many, many drinks. I don't want to say we were the bain of his morning, that we were voracious, ravenous pests, horrible heathens of hedonism, every servers worst nightmare, but we were surely demanding in our hunger that morning.

We started questioning our identities, wavering between confusion and laughter and started to speculate- were we that unmemorable, faceless gluttons in a sea of hungry infidels? Or was he just having an off-day? Or perhaps he'd been hitting the mimosas! Either way, it was strange in a Twilight Zone kind of way.

I tried to recall any similar circumstances that rang out in my mind, anything as oddly humorous, as quirky, perplexing. As I surveyed past eating experiences, I conjured images of undercooked pizza crust, soggy fries, forgotten orders, misplaced meal tickets, spilled beverages. Obviously, this is one of those “you had to be there” moments, but it has become one of those things we mention in passing, just for a quick laugh. I began referring to this event as a “would you like fries with that?” moment. And yes, we would have liked fries with that, but of course, our server neglected to ask!

Do you have a similar "would you like fries with that?" tale? A tale of humor, a tale of bad service, a tale of bad food, a tale of restaurant darkness?

"Would you Like Fries with That" Salt and Pepper Oven Fries
Adapted from Bon Appetit Magazine

Serves 6

3 large baking potatoes (about 2 1/3 pounds) peeled, cut lengthwise into 1/2-inch-wide planks, each plank cut lengthwise into 1/2-inch-wide strips
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon pepper

Place rack in top third of oven and preheat to 400°F. Place potato strips on rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil; toss to coat. Roast 25 minutes. Using spatula, turn fries over. Roast until tender and golden brown around edges, about 25 minutes longer.

Mix salt, pepper, and sugar in small bowl. Sprinkle over chips.

Mango Fool

2008-07-23T23:00:00.000-04:00

In the still, thick, sticky summer heat, sometimes the only thing that satiates the palate is a shockingly chilly frozen treat. Ice cream is so satisfying, so right, that is seems as salubrious as an icy cold cucumber. Sometimes banal summer desserts, however, can leave you wanting more, wanting something different. When ice cream seems too cloying, a popsicle too hackneyed, consider the fool, a cold and silken dessert so simple - the essence of cream and summer fruit whipped together in an instant.

Fool is an old-fashioned dessert made from pureed fruit mixed with whipped cream or custard. I admit I had never heard of this formidable classic until recently. Mark Bittman states that it is a “once commonplace dish that has all but vanished from the repertory of most home cooks.”

Popular flavors of the vintage English dessert include strawberry, raspberry, peach, traditional English gooseberry and mango, which was common in British colonial Africa.

The historical recipe recently popped up in an issue of Gourmet, too effortless a recipe to forgo. The combination of pureed mango and whipped cream yields a satiny custard and a hint of fresh lime juice gives it a refreshing, lively tang. Served over blueberries, it is a great alternative to ice cream on a hot summer’s night. There’s a true charm to this declaration of simplicity.

Mango Fool
Adapted From Gourmet Magazine
Start to finish: 10 min
Servings: Makes 6 (dessert) servings

1 1-pound ripe mango, pitted, peeled, and cut into chunks
1/4 cup sugar, or to taste
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice, or to taste
1 cup chilled heavy cream
1 1/2 cups blueberries (1/2 pound)
Grated lime zest to taste

Purée mango, sugar, lime juice, and a pinch of salt in a blender until very smooth. Add cream and blend until very thick. Blend in additional lime juice and sugar to taste.

Transfer to a bowl and fold in most of blueberries, then divide among 6 glasses. Top with remaining blueberries and zest. If desired, chill, loosely covered, 30 minutes.

Cheese of the month- Hudson Valley Camembert

2008-07-10T09:40:00.002-04:00

As much as I have unapologetically resisted a fondness for living in the Hudson Valley, my childhood dream of living on a farm has grabbed hold of my impervious soul and latched on for good. I can no longer resist the idyllic aesthetics of my surroundings. I’m hooked on local farms and their verdant, sweeping pastures. I have been romanced by the earth’s abundance and by the honest dairy.

If I can help it, I only drink Ronnybrook Farm’s milk and I love their creamy garlic infused butter, addictive yogurt, and luscious ice cream. After starting an internship at my favorite local creamery Sprout Creek Farm, I only eat local cheese (and yes, pretty much only SCF cheese….and in a somewhat unhealthy abundance!).

However, having never tried cheese from the Old Chatham Sheepherding Company, I decided to branch out. After all, I am from Albany and these guys are my neighbors. Old Chatham burst onto the scene in 1994 with a small flock of sheep and went on to produce award winning sheep’s milk cheese and creamy full-fat yogurt.

Nestled in the softly undulating hills of the upper Hudson Valley, Tom and Nancy Clark, the farm’s proprietors, now house a flock of over 1000 organically-raised East Friesian crossbred sheep.

One of the few producers of sheep’s milk cheese in America, its Camembert is award-winning, a blend of their flock’s milk and from a bit of cow’s milk from neighboring Hollrock Farm in Kinderhook. At the 2001 US Cheese Championship it won the coveted Best Cheese in America prize and in both 2002 and 2006, it won World Championships in Best of Class.

In “Cheese, A Connoisseur’s Guide to the World’s Best” Max McCalman and David Gibbons state that the cheese “gives the continental double and triple crèmes a run for their money, adding an extra dimension with the inclusion of sheep’s milk.” A traditional French Camembert is made from the unpasteurized milk of Normande cattle.

The soft bloomy-rind Camembert is less mushroomy than its French counterpart, with a subtler earthy flavor. Its texture is richly buttery and sweetly creamy and the mix of sheep’s and cow’s milks yields an even, harmonious taste. The cheese is distinctly American, a neat little square packaged in breathable paper and labeled with the likeness of a sheep.

Serve this antibiotic and hormone-free cheese at room temperature and enjoy its melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

Summery Soup to Slurp- Naeng Myun

2008-07-02T13:00:00.002-04:00

I have been consistently craving naeng myun ever since I first sampled the beautiful soup in San Diego. That was two years ago. I have since developed a mental obsession with the dish, an enlightening combination of flavors and textures that is burned in my mind like a visceral tattoo.

The day of my soup revelation, the Southern California sun was on fire and the humidity level at rare SoCal heights. It was a scorcher, the kind of day where you stave off the fiery air by seeking shelter inside overly air conditioned malls or cool, azure swimming pools.

My friend had been talking up one of her favorite local Korean BBQ joints and I was in town just for the day. I needed to try this place. Despite the heat, we braved the fierce smoke and glittering flames of the indoor grills. I was content with our selection of bulgogi and samgyeopsal, but my friend’s husband insisted we try naeng myun, one of his favorite childhood dishes, and major refreshment after the charred, spiced meats. He swore it would be just the thing to refresh our still-hungry, overheated bodies before we once again braved the torrid, dense air.

Sipping and slurping the tangy, icy soup was a revelation. The broth is so subtle, the tangy soupcon of radish brine whirled into the slightly sweet beef stock danced a gustatory pas de deux on my tongue, the elegant interplay of sweet and sour. It was that taste-moment I realized I could live the rest of my life eating nothing but naeng myun. This was my new death row meal, that meal in which I would wholeheartedly indulge on my last night on earth. Everything about the dish struck a harmonious chord and the icy, refreshing broth couldn’t have been more soul-satisfying, the liquid lovingly licking our throats, a cool tingling spreading like the flames of the grill through our bodies.

Naeng myun, which means “cold noodles” is a Korean repast made with slightly chewy buckwheat or yam noodles nested in a cold beef broth. The noodles and soup are seasoned tableside by adding tangy vinegar or spicy mustard before eating and most typically topped with an array of bite sized texture variants: tender slices of beef brisket, sliced cucumber, half a hard-boiled egg, sweet Asian pear, and a mild pickled daikon radish (and often with shaved or cubed iced). Use of Korean buckwheat noodles or arrowroot noodles yields a wonderfully chewy, springy texture and slightly sweet taste.

I started my broth in an atypical fashion. Many traditional naeng myun beef broths are conceived of brisket boiled in water with scallions and garlic. Due to my local market’s lack of brisket and a fussy looking flank steak, I went with a healthy cut of London broil and oxtails for their unctuously rich fat. I also beefed things up my using scallions, thinly sliced garlic, and a whole onion. My broth was evocative, breathtakingly flavorful, especially after adding a few tablespoons of vinegar to finish (which I utilized in place of dongchimi brine, the tangy liquid used for pickling daikon kimchi).

My version of naeng myun wasn’t entirely authentic, but it was the taste I remembered and for that, I was proud of my efforts.

Naeng Myun
Serves 4

Beef broth:
1 pound beef brisket, flank steak, or London broil
1 1/2 pounds oxtail
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
3 scallions, green and white parts, whole
1 medium onion, peeled, cut in quarters
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus additional to taste
1/2 teaspoon pepper
4 tablespoons vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar

Garnish:
1/4 large daikon radish (about 7 ounces)
1/2 teaspoon sesame oil
2 teaspoons white vinegar
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 small pickling cucumber
1 Asian pear
2 hardboiled eggs
1 22-ounce package Korean buckwheat noodles (made from buckwheat flour and sweet-potato starch) or arrowroot noodles

To make the broth:
Rinse meat and place in large stock pot with onion, scallions, garlic, salt and pepper. Cover with 8 to 9 cups of cold water, bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about an hour, or until meat is cooked through, skimming foam and fat occasionally.

Remove beef and oxtails. Discard onions and oxtails (or reserve oxtails for other use). Strain the broth until a clean pot and continue to boil broth for an additional 15 minutes. Cool broth slightly. Add sugar, vinegar and salt to taste. Chill broth in refrigerator for about 2 hours, or until broth is very cold.

To prepare garnishes:
Slice beef across the grain into very thin slices, about 1/8-inch thick, yielding about 5 slices per bowl. Reserve remaining meat for another use.

Wash, peel and slice radish into long, flat pieces (like a ribbon), about 3-inches long. Add 1 teaspoon vinegar, 1 teaspoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon of salt to radish. Mix well and let sit while you prepare the rest of the garnishes.

Prepare cucumber in the same manner, although do not peel.

Wash and slice 1/8-inch pieces of Asian pear.

Prepare a large pot of boiling water and cook the noodles about 2-3 minutes, until the noodles are al dente and chewy. Drain and rinse with cold water.

Drain liquid from radish and cucumber and add 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil to each.

To serve, place about a handful of noodles at the bottom of 4 large bowls. Top noodles with radish, cucumbers, meat, pears, and egg. Ladle broth around noodles. Serve accompanied by small bowls of vinegar and hot Asian mustard to garnish.

Dressing Up Your Dog for Summer

2008-06-25T10:00:00.006-04:00

The fourth of July is just around the bend, which means it is time to brush the now-antique layer of dust off your bbq tongs and fire up your warm weather friend, your trusty grill.

Put away that Dutch Oven, used during the chilly months to braise heart-warming, stewed meats. It is the time of year when the focus shifts from the interior of the encapsulated kitchen to the open sky and fresh air, where fragrant grill smoke is free to billow overhead, languidly floating above us, filling every corner of the atmosphere, and our nostrils.

You know you can picture (and smell) the scenario. You are driving in your car across the horizon, windows down, and the smell hits you like a ton of bricks: burgers and dogs grilling, the scent permeating the air, seducing the nose with an aromatic, charred perfume.

Carnivores rejoice! It’s the dog days of summer!

Although we can trace the hot dog’s roots to the sausage, and most likely to Germany, it has become a global snack of choice in countries such as Iceland (pylsa), Mexico (perrito caliente), and France (chien chaud), to name a few.

However, we Americans like to claim the summery snack as our own, and eating your first hot dog is a veritable right of passage in America. The hot dog has become an all-American entity, a historic favorite, even appearing on a festive presidential picnic menu in 1939 (for a party thrown by the esteemed FDR to welcome King George to America).

And as diverse as our national geography, hot dog condiments and toppings vary, representing a true melting pot of regional tastes and flavors. Dodger Dog devotees and Fenway Frank fanatics opt for classic ballpark combinations: ketchup, mustard, relish, sauerkraut. Coney Island goers and Nathan’s enthusiasts (with the exception of Kobayashi and Joey Chestnut, who eat them by the dozen soaked in an unpleasant tonic of pure water) tend to love the same. Then there’s the winning Chicago combo, which sounds inherently wrong, but is innately right: mustard, onion, neon green pickle relish, tomato slices, pickled hot peppers, celery salt, and a lip-smacking dill pickle. The Texas dog involves the heartburn inducing combination of chili, cheese and jalapenos. Many Southerners enjoy sweet-tart coleslaw slathered on their dogs.

I had never tried Southern-style dogs before, so I decided to go for it, whipping up a quick slaw, as well as a homemade relish. Ultimately, in our head to head relish versus slaw showdown, the slaw dog won, and I’m a huge relish fan! It is a logical, yet little seen in the Northeast, combination of crispy, steaming hot dogs drowned with chilled, creamy slaw. I served mine on slightly toasted, buttered buns: a taste marriage made in heaven.

A great, dressed-up dog transcends ballpark fare, although there's something beautiful about the simplicity of a bare bones grilled dog: the charred, almost caramelized exterior, the audible snap of the casing, the squirt of the juicy, spiced meat.

Homemade Pickle Relish
Adapted from Bobby Flay

Makes 8 servings

1 1/2 cups cider vinegar
1 teaspoon mustard seeds
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
2 tablespoons sugar
8 large dill pickles (sour, not half-sour), finely diced
1 small red pepper, grilled, peeled, seeded, and finely diced
1 small yellow pepper, grilled, peeled, seeded, and finely diced
1 small white onion, finely diced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

Bring vinegar, mustard seeds, and coriander seeds to a boil in a medium non-reactive saucepan on the grates of the grill; cook until reduced by half and slightly syrupy.

Remove from the heat, add the remaining ingredients, and gently toss to coat. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving.

Coleslaw
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

Active time: 25 min
Start to finish: 1 1/2 hr
Makes 8 servings

2 1/2 pound green cabbage, cored and cut into 3-inch chunks, then finely chopped or shredded
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 large green bell pepper, finely chopped
1 large carrot, coarsely grated
1 1/4 cups mayonnaise
1/3 cup cider vinegar
2 teaspoons sugar

Toss all vegetables in a large bowl with 1 teaspoon each of salt and pepper.

Whisk together mayonnaise, vinegar, and sugar, then toss with slaw. Chill, covered, stirring occasionally, at least 1 hour (for vegetables to wilt and flavors to blend).

Key Lime = Summertime

2008-06-18T10:30:00.003-04:00

*Dedicated to Gus and his bbq smoker

Key lime pie is the official state pie of the Sunshine State. The velvety and tangy dessert is to the Florida palate as Don Featherstone’s kitschy birds are to the southern state’s lawnscape.

It goes without saying that a trip to the Florida Keys is not complete without at least one slice of key lime pie (despite the fact that most Key Limes are now grown by our neighbors in Mexico). I admit, however, I’ve never been to the Keys, despite a childhood obsession with the short-lived Fox show “Key West.” I’m not a Jimmy Buffet fan and I’ve never wasted away in Margaritaville, but my summer is not complete without a ceremonial key lime pie bake-off.

Supposedly, the pie came to fruition in the Keys due to a lack of fresh cow’s milk. Innovative bakers utilized condensed milk, eggs and the juice of the local limes to fabricate a dessert that mirrors lemon-meringue. According to John Mariani, author of “Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink,” the birth of the key lime pie was as early as the 1850’s. He states: “The original pies were made with a pastry crust, but a crust made from graham crackers later became popular and today is a matter of preference, as is the choice between whipped cream and meringue toppings.”

Personally, I believe a key lime pie sans a graham cracker crust is criminal. I like the crunchy graininess of the slightly sweet crust in contrast with the tart, silken filling. Simply put, it works. And it works well.

In the days since its advent, recipes for key lime pie have disseminated north, east and west. This often necessitates the use of the larger Persian limes, which do not pack the punch of their smaller cousins. Although there are many decent recipes that utilize Persian limes, nothing beats the tangy, effervescent taste of fresh squeezed key limes.

I admit that the tedious process of wringing tiny amounts of juice from the Lilliputian citrus can be draining. The process will no doubt dangle you on the precipice of insanity, but one morsel of pie will surely stifle the now-faint memory of your Herculean efforts.

For an authentic pie, the filling must be a pale yellow, like the juice of the key limes themselves. Never add green food coloring, which enthusiasts and traditionalists frown upon. When the pure, acidic lime juice is combined with rich, sticky condensed milk and smooth, gelatinous egg yolks, you get a combination of flavors made in heaven- a dessert that tastes of the quintessential essence of summer.

Despite the painstaking nature of hand squeezing the limes, the pie itself is effortless to make. The tart, acidic undertones and sweet overtones meld to form a beautifully harmonious, supple, dessert.

And because I'm of the "waste not, want not" school of cooking, I whipped up a few batches of merigngues with the leftover egg whites.

Key Lime Pie (Adapted from Epicurious.com)

Active time: 20 min (not including lime juicing)
Start to finish: 10 hr (includes chilling)

Makes 8 servings.

For crust:
1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs from 9 (2 1/4-inch by 4 3/4-inch) crackers
2 tablespoons sugar
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For filling:
1 (14-oz) can sweetened condensed milk
4 large egg yolks
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons fresh or bottled Key lime juice (if using bottled, preferably Manhattan brand)

For topping:
1 cup chilled heavy cream
2 tablespoons confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Make crust:
Preheat oven to 350°F.

Stir together graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and butter in a bowl with a fork until combined well, then press mixture evenly onto bottom and up side of a 9-inch (4-cup) glass pie plate.

Bake crust in middle of oven 10 minutes and cool in pie plate on a rack. Leave oven on.

Make filling and bake pie:
Whisk together condensed milk and yolks in a bowl until combined well. Add juice and whisk until combined well (mixture will thicken slightly).

Pour filling into crust and bake in middle of oven 15 minutes. Cool pie completely on rack (filling will set as it cools), then chill, covered, at least 8 hours.

Make topping:
Just before serving, beat cream, vanilla extract and sugar in a bowl with an electric mixer until it just holds stiff peaks. Serve pie topped with cream.

*Pie, without whipped cream, can be chilled up to 1 day.

Meringues

Active time: 1 hr
Start to finish: 4 hours

Makes about 50 small meringues

3 large egg whites
3/8 teaspoon salt
1 cups superfine granulated sugar
Preheat oven to 175°F.

Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper.

Beat whites with salt in a standing electric mixer at high speed (or with a handheld mixer in 2 batches) until the eggs just hold stiff peaks. Gradually add sugar, beating at high speed until whites hold stiff, glossy peaks.

Spoon half of meringue into pastry bag and pipe 1-inch-wide “cookies” onto 1 baking sheet, about 1/2 inch apart. Pipe more onto second sheet in same manner.

Bake meringues in upper and lower thirds of oven until crisp but still white, about 2 hours.

Turn off oven and cool meringues in oven 1 hour, then cool completely on sheets on a rack.

*Meringues keep in an airtight container at room temperature 3 days.

A Wine by Any Other Name- Brunello in Crisis

2008-06-11T10:00:00.005-04:00

Brunello di Montalcino, my favorite wine in the world, the wine that I wish I could afford on a regular basis, a wine that has a taste worthy of its price, a wine that conjures big dreams, is involved in a humiliating scandal the Italian press has christened “Brunellopoli.” It is a sad day in vino-land when that wine you have perpetually held sacred is revealed as corrupt.

Brunello di Montalcino has always been thought of as the gold standard of Italian wine. High in tannins, Brunellos are perfect deep cellar wines, ideal for aging. In order to be considered a Brunello di Montalcino, it must be made from 100% Sangiovese grape (locally known as the Brunello grape). No ands, ifs, or buts. No two ways about it. 100% Brunello. Period.

How is it that these winemakers have been sneaking other grape varieties such as Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon into their prized wines and assuming that the adulteration would go unnoticed? Isn’t it obvious that if they were discovered, anarchy and nothing less would ensue? It is enough to not only damage an individual winery’s reputation but to ruin the credibility of the varietal as a whole.

According to the New York Times, “The prosecutor has impounded more than a million bottles from some of the most prominent Italian winemakers — including Antinori and Frescobaldi — while he determines whether they used unapproved techniques or grapes other than brunello… supposedly to give their idiosyncratic wine a broader international appeal.”

Furthermore the sale of the 2003 vintage is suspended until a system of checks and balances is implemented to guarantee the integrity of the wine.

The situation is bad for the economy and morale of Italy and winemakers in general. Some see the investigation as a witch hunt, intended to hurt the Brunello image, to disgrace the producers, especially smaller businesses. And it is a sad time for the people who have put Brunello di Montalcino on a pedestal.

Cheese of the Month- Batch 35

2008-06-04T09:00:00.002-04:00

I have been trying really hard to localize the contents of my refrigerator. We all need to change our shopping habits if we are going to alter the state of the world from the ground up. It takes an excessive amount of fuel to get most foods to our tables. I’m not saying we should wholeheartedly boycott the products we have grown to love, just put a little more thought and care into our purchases.

On that note, I have become a Sprout Creek Farm groupie. Their outlook on responsible agriculture, cheesemaking, and humane animal husbandry sets a gold standard for farming, a standard by which other farms should abide.

According to their website, the purpose of the farm is to “enhance awareness, foster informed compassion, and evoke the desire to become an agent of change in our troubled global society.”

Small farm, big dreams.

With proper care of the land and animals, their cheese is wholesome in body and spirit, something you can feel good about eating. The cheese is, of course, hormone and antibiotic free.

One of my favorite SCF cheese is their Batch 35. Colin McGrath, the gifted cheesemaker, told me that he had to work through 35 batches (and that's many, many gallons per batch) of milk in order to perfect his recipe for the washed-rind, subtly pungent cheese. It is aged at least 60 days, yielding a firm, orange rind. The cheese’s “meat” is soft but not gooey, earthy but not overly yeasty or biting. It is the kind of cheese even stinky cheese naysayers could love (albeit this cheese is not really that stinky). I even slipped it, shredded, onto some pasta, and my hubby Mike slurped it down with a big grin. (let’s just say he’s not a fan of my stinky cheese habit).

This is good stuff, kids. Made with pride in Poughkeepsie, NY.

Magical Mystery Tour- The Miracle Fruit

2008-05-29T12:58:00.007-04:00

Yesterday, the New York Times ran an article on the effects of a berry called miracle fruit (or miracle berry) and chronicled a group of Big Apple denizens as they experienced a trippy journey of the taste buds (the host dubbed the event a “flavor tripping party”).

I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this berry before! Although it isn’t something I would partake in on a regular basis (you know, due to that deep-seated fear that the alteration will “stick,” much like that obscenely hideous face I made as a kid to irk my parents).

The plant, known scientifically as synsepalum dulcificum, is an evergreen native to tropical West Africa and the berry is known as miracle fruit for its ability to trip up the taste buds, leaving people tasting sweet when they are really consuming something sour, for example. The berry contains a glycoprotein molecule and when eaten, causes the extreme taste reaction. Talk about a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down! I’d like a bite of this fruit when I have to take bitter medicine!

According to the Times, Guinness with a dollop of lemon sorbet tastes like a chocolate shake. Tabasco became hot doughnut glaze. It states that the “berry rewires the way the palate perceives sour flavors for an hour or so...”

I feel like I’ve flavor tripped before. Eating at a restaurant like WD-50, you get experiences like Chef Dufresne’s take on pepperoni pizza- he renders the precise flavor of a pepperoni pizza into dehydrated balls minus the sauce, the cheese, and the meat. Pop ‘em in your mouth, let them melt, and taste your pizza.

I’m contemplating ordering a small supply or miracle berries and hosting a party of my own. An experimenter at heart, I love anything that whimsically plays with the taste buds and the mind. I’d love to swish around the berry flesh in my mouth, let it coat my tongue, and then suck on the rind of a lemon. Would it taste like a sugary lemon square? What would happen if I washed my mouth out with soap? Would it taste like cotton candy?

A Quick and Healthy Favorite- Thai Ground Pork Lettuce Wraps

2008-05-23T11:31:00.004-04:00

There’s nothing like a flavorful, healthy, well balanced meal to bring your day to a close. It is often true that flavorful and healthy do not go hand in hand, but these attributes do not have to be oxymoronic.

I love Thai Ground-Pork Salad, which I found in an old issue of Gourmet Magazine from 1999. I adapted it slightly for my own purposes, using Boston lettuce to wrap the pork mixture instead of cabbage and using panko bread crumbs instead of your run of the mill variety. I also add steamed Japanese sticky rice to the original recipe for added texture and to have a starch for energy.

It is an absolutely perfect combination of flavors and textures- the crunchy lettuce and sticky, starchy rice nicely contrasts the zesty, souped-up ground pork. You’ve got your veg, your starch, and your protein gift wrapped and ready for munching. It’s healthy, gourmet, and wonderful enough for a casual dinner for two or as part of a dinner party menu. And it is easy to make and assemble, to boot.

2 bowls sticky rice (see recipe below)
1 head Boson lettuce, leaves separated, washed, and dried
1 bunch fresh cilantro
1 bunch fresh mint
2 small shallots
10 ounces lean ground pork
3 to 4 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons panko bread crumbs
1 to 2 tablespoons Asian fish sauce (preferably naam pla)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne

Chop enough cilantro and mint leaves to measure 2 tablespoons each. Arrange lettuce leaves on platter. Thinly slice shallots lengthwise.

In a small saucepan with a fork stir together pork and 2 tablespoons lime juice and cover with cold salted water. Bring pork to a simmer, stirring with fork to break up meat, and gently simmer until just cooked through, 1 to 2 minutes. In a sieve drain pork well and put back into saucepan with shallots, chopped herbs, bread crumbs, fish sauce, cayenne, and remaining lime juice to taste.

Mix well and transfer pork salad to a serving bowl and put on platter. Spoon out individual bowls of rice. Have guests serve themselves: Spoon rice and pork salad on top of lettuce leaves. Close lettuce around mixture to eat. Enjoy!

Serves 4 as an appetizer or 2 as a main course.

Sticky Rice:
1 cups Japanese rice, such as Nishiki or Hikari
1 1/4 cups water

Put rice in a sieve and wash with cold water. Repeat washing until the water becomes clear and drain.

Place rice in a deep pot and add measured water. Let rice soak for 30 minutes to an hour. Cover pot with lid and bring to a boil over high heat. Once the water boils, turn down heat to low and cook for 15-20 minutes, until the water is almost completely gone. Turn off the heat and let rice steam for 10-15 minutes before opening the lid.

Two cheesy birds with one pizza stone/Cheese of the month- Taleggio

2008-05-20T11:50:00.000-04:00

I recently made a swoon-worthy pizza using one of my personal favorite cheeses, Taleggio. In the midst of cutting chunks of the gooey beauty, I ran headfirst into a quandary: is Taleggio a cheese of the stinky variety or is it subtle enough to inch its way into an alternative, quieter category?

Many debate Taleggio’s stink-factor, but one thing remains indubitable: it is a semi-soft, washed-rind baby, hailing from the Valteleggio region of Italy. Taleggio is a pleasantly nutty cheese, creamy and buttery. However, Steven Jenkins, famed author of the “Cheese Primer” describes it as “beefy,” nomenclature generally reserved for stinky cheeses.

I’d personally like to welcome Taleggio into my friendly family of stinky-cheeses. It is more mild in flavor than some of its brothers and sisters, but on the nose, Taleggio gives off a yeasty, heady scent. It has an orange or salmon colored rind and the center is often gooey and always moist.

My Taleggio pizza really was a taste to behold- a simple construction brimming with welcoming flavor. A crackling crisp crust offset by warm, sensual cheese oozing in the dough’s craters; the sweet melted creaminess perfectly contrasts the peppery bite of wilted arugula and the earthy, perfumed truffle oil.

I didn’t want to doctor the pizza too much; I like taste to speak for itself. I wanted the pie to beckon eaters with its scent and reel them in with its bold, yet simple flavors. Taleggio is the perfect cheese for pizza- it melts well and when heated, yields an incredibly sweet smell, almost too much goodness to take when combined with the scent of truffle oil!

1 lb pizza dough, thawed if frozen
3/4 pound well-chilled Taleggio, rind discarded
1 garlic clove, minced and mashed into a paste
4 cups loosely packed baby arugula
Truffle oil for drizzling
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Put a large pizza stone in lower third of oven and preheat oven to 500°F. Allow 1 hour for pizza stone to heat.

Meanwhile, roll out dough on a lightly floured surface with a floured rolling pin, stretching corners with your hands to form a 14-inch circle. (Do not punch down dough; it will be easier to roll out as it warms.) Transfer to a large tray lined with sheet of parchment paper. Lightly prick dough all over with a fork, then slide dough (on parchment) from tray onto hot pizza stone. Bake until top is puffed and pale golden in patches, 6 to 10 minutes. (Prick any large bubbles with a fork and flatten.)

While crust bakes, shred cheese in a food processor fitted until you have about 1 1/2cups. If the cheese is extremely gooey, do not process.

Remove crust from oven and brush with garlic paste, careful to avoid the outer edges. Sprinkle evenly with cheese and brush the outer crust with olive oil and a light coating of kosher salt. Bake pizza on lower level until edge of crust is deep golden and cheese is bubbling and golden in patches, 8 to 10 minutes.

Remove from oven, then scatter arugula over pizza. Drizzle with truffle oil and coarsely grind pepper to taste. Serve immediately.

Jumping the gun on summer soup

2008-05-09T18:00:00.000-04:00

After what seemed like the longest winter of my life, spring has finally sprung. The days are longer, the grass is greener, the sky is a more vibrant indigo. The cherry blossoms have come and gone, and there’s a morning dew on my car rather than an icy, teeth-chatter inducing frost.

This means that the dog days of summer aren’t far off and neither are cravings for summer’s finest eats- those that nature creates: crisp watermelon, succulent peaches, vine-ready tomatoes, and those that man manipulates: salty grilled meats, juicy roasted hot dogs, lively summer salads. And then there’s the marriage of both worlds with dishes like tangy, cool gazpacho.

Although the tomatoes aren’t yet the sun-ripped fruit of summer, I was desperately craving gazpacho enough to risk making an imperfect soup. The warm weather brings forth the soil’s rich bounty and raw vegetables take center stage. I jumped the gun a bit with this raw tomato-based soup, but couldn’t wait to fill my belly with this quintessential summer food.

With the windows wide open, I began vigorously chopping and grating veggies. With just the collective sound of the birds chirping and the knife swiftly meeting the cutting board to keep me company, I recalled the cold summer soups of my childhood, watermelon seed spitting contests, charcoal grilled corn on the cob, shrimp, shells intact, wrapped in foil and char-grilled.

For the gazpacho, I used an Alice Waters recipe. Let it be known that Alice doesn’t believe in using food processors and blenders when they can otherwise be avoided- certainly a purist in the age of modern appliances. And although this recipe for Gazpacho came from her new book “The Art of Simple Food” and although the technique itself is unassuming, it is certainly time consuming, which in my eyes, negates the concept of simplicity. The recipe employs the use of a grater and about halfway through the process of grating not-quite-ripened tomatoes, my hands were swollen and aching for a blender.

I adore Alice and everything she represents but started to wonder about the maddening nature of this recipe. Everything crushed, mashed, grated by hand. In a cookbook review in the New York Times, Kim Severson states “in parts of the book she veers past purity to madness. Halfway into a recipe for gazpacho, while soaking ancho chili, grating tomatoes and mashing it all in a mortar and pestle, you start to look at the blender with longing.”

Although I felt like a veritable masochist while making this gazpacho, I tried to zone out and appreciate what it must have been like before the Cuisinart and the KitchenAid- not an easy feat in the age of robots!

I followed the recipe almost to a T, although noticed that my ancho chile was not absorbing as much hot water as it should have. I soaked it for an extra ten minutes in a refreshed bowl of boiling water and when mashing with a mortar and pestle, I added a teaspoon or so of warm water to accelerate the breakdown of the chile fibers.

In the end, all the pain was worth the gain- a piquant, colorful soup bursting with freshness and flavor.

Alice Water’s Gazpacho.
Makes about 3 quarts; 6 to 8 servings.

Soak in a bowl of hot water for 15 minutes:
1 dried ancho chile
Drain and crush to a paste with a medium-size mortar and pestle. Remove and set aside.

In another bowl, soak in cold water for 2 minutes:
2 cups crustless cubes of day-old bread
Drain and squeeze out the excess water.

In the mortar and pestle, pound together into a paste:
2 garlic cloves
A pinch of salt.
Add the soaked bread, pound until smooth, and set aside.

Cut in half horizontally:
5 pounds ripe tomatoes
Over a bowl, grate the cut sides of the tomatoes on the medium holes of a box grater until only the skin is left. Discard the skins. Pass the pulp through a strainer to remove seeds, if you like. Stir the chile puree and the bread paste into the tomato pulp in a large bowl. Add:
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt

Refrigerate until well chilled. To speed this up you can set the bowl in another, larger bowl filled with ice. Taste for seasoning before serving and add more salt if needed.

Make a relish to garnish the soup. Mix together:
1/2 pound cherry tomatoes, halved
1 cucumber, peeled and diced
1 yellow bell pepper, seeded and diced
1/2 red onion, diced
A handful each of chopped chervil and basil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt
Fresh-ground black pepper

Divide the chilled soup among 6 to 8 bowls and add a generous spoonful of relish to each bowl.

The Battle of the Celebrity Chefs

2008-05-04T11:29:00.006-04:00

I recently decided to conduct a poll. No, we’re not talking the reds versus blues- we don’t want to see the elephants battle the donkeys in the ring. And we’re not going to hit below the belt and ask whether you prefer Obama or Clinton.

No, we’re talking a much more political poll: who is your favorite celebrity chef? The goal is to find out the obvious- are people lovin’ the bam-happy Emeril Lagasse, are they head over heels for lesser-known hottie David Myers? Are you molecular-gastronomically gaga for Wylie Dufresne, do you rock the tantrum-prone narcissist Marco Pierre White, or are you putting down your utensils and throwin’ up your hands for Bravo sensation, the Craft-y Tom Colicchio?

Like it or not, TV chefs have greatly influenced the way we view the food industry. The celebrity chef of today can gain rock star status without even demonstrating veritable cheffing ability (ehem, Rachel Ray). Someone like Ms. Ray is a powerful celeb first, and a chef, or should I say cook, second. With celeb gossip-infused websites like People.com, Perezhilton.com, and gawker.com infiltrating the World Wide Web, it is no wonder we’ve placed these folks on an overly-enthusiastic pedestal. America has whipped up a recipe for a new breed of celebrity with its unapologetic obsession with all things famous along with its obsession with food.

Unlike the simple good-ol’-days, we live in a television-saturated world and our TV’s are studded with images of the rambunctious Gordon Ramsey and the grill-happy Bobby Flay.

Back in the day, we watched Julia Child on public television with twinkling stars in our eyes. At the time, Julia was one of a kind- fresh, unique, gratifying, and most of all, distinguished. Julia was the original food TV star and yet, she was so much more. She was a cultural icon, a woman of class with bona fide skills and we loved to watch her in action. Her methods were technical and truly informative. Many others followed suit and eventually, we wound up with TV chefs as the holy grail of the food industry.

Even well-trained professionals like Emeril, who I had the pleasure of meeting BEFORE he went nuts on TV, have gone the way of the marketing-maven. He has morphed from respected New Orleans chef into an international television star, product-pusher, and fame-whore. He has also become increasing macho and dummed down as his fame grows. Gone are the days of technique and food history. Present is a studio-audience so star-struck and vapid that they cheer with glee as he throws a handful of parsley into a stew.

On one hand, cooking has become more en vogue than ever and the industry has been glamorized and galvanized. It has brought high-end food to the masses, at least via electromagnetic waves. On the flip side, food TV is experiencing a major dumming down, with less focus on true talents like Sara Moulton, for example. Celebrity chefs themselves often eclipse the food they are making when the focus shifts from the art to the artist. It can be argued that this type of chef muddles the pond and dulls the industry. Cookbooks no longer feature images of silken pie, glazed roast chicken. Today, more often than not, cookbooks feature 15 inch glossies of famous faces. People are buying the books for the faces that grace the cover, rather than the food that studs the pages.

I was curious to calculate the effects of the celebrity chef had on the general public; this means my friends, of course. I wanted to know if they might prefer a neighborhood chef from their favorite corner bistro rather than those who appear on TV. Unfortunately, my suspicions were confirmed. I don’t claim to be above the influence of the Food Network, by the way. I often tune in to catch Ina Garten in her kitchen making crispy fish and chips or mixed berry pavlova. I also adore Top Chef.

I polled ten of my friends and family members. I asked a simple question: who is your favorite chef? I received answers like Alton Brown, Tom Colicchio, Anthony Bourdain, Dave Lieberman. One friend listed her significant other. And a few enjoyed lesser known gems- Roy Finnamore, author of One Potato, Two Potato and Ric Orlando, of New World Café in Saugerties, New York. Mr. Orlando did do time as a TV chef, but of the local variety, at WMHT in Albany.

I was truly surprised at how many prefer the chefs they see on television rather than those whose food they eat. But it proves my point- the celebrity chef has infiltrated our culinary society and has influenced the way we think about food. It seems celebrity chefs are taking over the world.

Kate’s Ten Commandments of eating

2008-05-02T18:50:00.012-04:00

1- Think global: eat local

2- Eat enough fruit and veg to keep the engine running smoothly

3- Eat at least one piece of chocolate a day, preferably dark and preferably Valrhona

4- Always eat carbs- they are necessary for energy, especially at breakfast

5- Keep a healthy stash of cheese in fridge- a parm, a blue, a goat, a double or triple crème

6- Always try new flavors, new recipes, new combinations

7- Drink tea every morning (and noon, and night)- the more high quality, the more caffeinated, the better

8- Dine together as a family and switch off all electronics- phones, televisions, lawnmowers and other heavy machinery

9- Drink fine wine, even with burger and fries

10- Put truffle oil on everything

The Swedish Chef

2008-04-29T11:50:00.002-04:00

I have been feeling culinary inspiration after a recent trip to the predominantly Swedish (and German) town of Lindsborg, Kansas. In February, I travelled to the prairie with my boss Molly and in a few brief days, several of us ate our way through what felt like dozens of Heirloom chickens (we were there investigating antique chicken breeds, their humane farmers, sustainable farming, and of course, recipes).

In between bites of poultry, we decided to go the way of the cow. We sampled plenty of Swedish traditional food, including puffy, soft Beiroks- salty cabbage, onion, and beef filled pastries- and of course, Swedish meatballs. In light of a souvenir, I brought home a jar of Lingonberries, a cranberry-like berry, swimming in a glazed sauce, which have been idle in my cupboard since the trip.

After meeting the jar eye to eye every time I opened my cabinet, I decided not to waste another moment and to let them meet their maker, or at least the walls of our stomachs. And what better way to celebrate the ruby berries than cook up enough juicy Swedish meatballs and a rustic gravy to feed an army?!

Instead of going with a Swedes’ rendition of the dish, I deferred to the gourmet ladies known as the Two Hot Tamales. Yes, their food is often Latin inspired, but they obviously do Scandinavian eats as well. Go figure!

The recipe calls for less than two pounds of meat, which in my mind isn’t that much for a duo of eaters- I am fully capable of consuming a pound of meat without breaking a sweat. However, with add-ins like bread soaked in milk, the recipe makes enough meatballs to feed a ravenous family of 6. I ended up making half the recipe and of course, Mike and I consumed the whole kit and caboodle- my dining room isn’t for nibblers!

These Swedish meatballs are seasoned with red onion and ground ginger, allspice, and cardamon. Since I did not plan ahead, I used canned beef broth to make the creamy gravy. Next time, I will use homemade broth- canned broth has a slightly tinny flavor. Since the gravy is such an essential part of the dish, the taste of the broth is of the essence. Overall, though, the Tamales offered a charming rendition of the Swedish classic.

I served the meatballs with simple boiled new potatoes, which I peeled and cooked with 5 sprigs of dill in salted water. Of course, the dish would not have been complete with a spoonful of the sweet, slightly crunchy Lingonberries.

Swedish Meatballs
Adapted from Susan Feniger and Mary Sue Milliken

Meatballs:
2 slices white bread, without the crusts, torn into pieces
1/4 cup milk
3/4 pound ground beef
3/4 pound ground pork
1 small red onion, grated or very finely chopped
1 egg
1/8 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Butter and vegetable oil for frying meatballs

Gravy:
2 cups beef stock
2 tablespoons flour
1/4 cup heavy cream
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Fresh parsley, for garnish

1.In a small bowl, soak the bread in the milk until soft. In a large bowl, combine all the meatball ingredients except the butter and oil, and add the soaked bread. Mix thoroughly until smooth, it's best to use your hands for this. Shape into small, golf-ball size meatballs (by dipping your hands in cold water, the meatballs won't stick to your hands.)

2.Heat butter and oil in a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add the meatballs, about 8 to 10 at a time, and gently brown on all sides, about 5 to 7 minutes. Shake the skillet now and then so meatballs stay round and brown evenly. Place them on a heated baking pan in a low oven to keep warm.

3.To make gravy, deglaze the skillet with 1 cup of the stock, letting it simmer for 5minutes while scraping the bottom of the skillet with a spatula. Strain the gravy into a clean saucepan and add the remaining 1 cup of stock. In a small bowl, mix the flour with 1/4 cup of cold water until smooth. Whisk flour mixture into warm gravy, and let simmer, whisking constantly to prevent lumps, until thickened slightly, about 3-5 minutes. Add the cream and season with salt and pepper.

4.To serve, arrange the meatballs on a serving platter, pour hot gravy over them, and garnish with parsley. Serve with boiled new potatoes and lingonberry sauce.

My Bubby's Passover

2008-04-14T19:13:00.011-04:00

I recently wrote up an emotional piece on my grandmother and my family's Passover traditions. In honor of my wonderful bubby in all of her natural, emotional glory, here is my profile (which includes some fine, flavorful Passover recipes!):

Eighty five year old Shirley Cohen of Albany, New York is a Passover Seder pro, having hosted the holiday for family and friends for the past four decades. She has experienced a lot of changes in her family in that time- including the birth of nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and the death of her husband Sam two years ago. Yet, through the ups and downs of family life, one thing always remained constant: the joy of her annual Passover Seder.

The daughter of Eastern European Jews who immigrated to New York in the early 1900’s to escape anti-Jewish riots, Mrs. Cohen poured all her energy into planning and carrying out her annual Passover menu, just as her mother had when she was growing up. To her, events were always about the food. When friends came over, out came the food; when a meeting was held in her home, out came the food; even when her kids’ stomachs ached, out came the food.

“My life’s experience is that so much good stuff happens around food,” says Mrs. Cohen.

The teaching in the Cohen household took place during the Seder, rather than in the kitchen. Her grandchildren sat and learned about Jewish history, history that finds symbolism in the consumption of the food. Her view was that this was the learning experience.

“With my food, I want to add to the good feeling of life, to share my cooking with my family, to have my grandchildren get that special feeling by eating my food.”

Her husband, whom she met at a Zionist rally during World War II when he was a young soldier soon to be shipped off to the Pacific, led the Passover rituals, and engaged in an annual Passover speech: an offering about his love of his wife, his three daughters Mira, Naomi, and Paula, and his grandchildren. He also focused upon his love of Jewish culture, and his appreciation of religious freedom all families found in America. And of course, he always remembered to praise his wife’s cooking, always naming her grandchildren’s Passover favorites: her fluffy matzo balls, her sublime chicken soup, her tender brisket, her silken lemon meringue pie with matzo meal crust.

For the Cohens, both intellectuals with a strong sense of identity, Passover Seders became a cornerstone of self-expression.

Mrs. Cohen, a vibrant woman with short, wavy grey hair and pensive eyes, continues to love Passover for the opportunity it affords for individualism. “It’s a good holiday. Every Seder tells an interesting story about a family. You can make it anything you want,” she says.

Over time, she altered some of the culinary traditions of her mother’s Seder, an evolution that includes a tangy, sweet picked carp to replace gefilte fish, a dish she never enjoyed. She has also recently incorporated an orange onto the Seder plate; this represents women’s growing equality in the Jewish faith. One year, she also switched to reading a Haggadah, the written order of the Passover story- the history of Jewish liberation from slavery in Ancient Egypt- written in a feminist bent.

“My Seders always had meaning on a male level, but now also on a female level, another positive step towards freedom in Judaism,” says Mrs. Cohen.

There have been other changes too. Following Mr. Cohen’s death, for the first time in forty years, this year, Mrs. Cohen’s will celebrate Passover outside her home, at her daughter Paula’s house in New Jersey.

Mrs. Cohen’s feels sure her daughter can create a holiday like her own, one that conveys “the feeling of warmth and enthusiasm that went into our Seders.”

Shirley’s Sweet and Sour Fish
“I’m not a big gefilte fish fan,” says Shirley Cohen, “so I like to make this instead.” Carp is a traditional Jewish food and often served at a Passover Seder, or as a component of dishes such as gefilte fish. Ask your fishmonger to slice the fish for you, to avoid a big mess at home.

3-4 pound whole carp, cut into 3 inch pieces, heads and tail removed, with bones.
3 medium onions, sliced thickly, in rounds
3 stalks celery, with leaves, cut in 3 pieces
8 whole cloves
2 tablespoons purchased pickling spice mixture
1 1/2-2 tablespoons salt
1 cup sugar
1 cup white vinegar
1 lemon, sliced thinly
Enough water to barely cover the fish

1. Line a heavy bottomed soup pot with onion, celery, cloves, and pickling spices. Arrange fish in one layer on top. Pour sugar, vinegar, and salt on top of the fish, add the water and bring to a boil.
2. When the water begins to boil, add lemon slices and simmer for 25 minutes, uncovered. Refrigerate in liquid, until cold.
Serves 6 to 8.

Shirley’s Floating Matzo Balls
“Some people cook their matzo balls in chicken stock, but I cook mine in water. It makes them much lighter,” says Shirley Cohen. Light and fluffy matzo balls are the crowning glory of a good chicken soup and Mrs. Cohen says, “there’s no excuse for hard matzo balls, which we call “sinkers” in our family.”

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 eggs
1/2 cup matzo meal
1 tablespoon salt
2 tablespoons chicken stock or water

1. Mix together vegetable oil, eggs, matzo meal, salt and chicken stock or water. Mix well. Refrigerate mixture for 30 minutes. While the mixture is chilling, fill a 4 quart stockpot three-quarters full of water, add 1 tablespoon of salt, and bring to a rapid boil
2. Roll mixture into golf ball sized balls. When the water comes to a rolling boil, simmer matzo balls at medium heat for about 30 minutes. Remove matzo balls with slotted spoon and store on cookie sheet until ready to add to chicken soup.
Makes about 8 matzo balls.

Shirley’s Sure-Fire Chicken Soup
A lot of traditional Jewish chicken soups do not use tomatoes. “My mother never did this,” says Shirley Cohen, “but I find it gives the soup a nice, round flavor.

3-4 pound whole chicken, washed and cut into 8 pieces
1 large onion, peeled and quartered
3 large parsnips, peeled and cut into 3 inch pieces
3 large carrots, peeled and cut into 3 inch pieces
1 medium white turnip, peeled and quartered
5 medium tomatoes, diced
10 dill sprigs
4 quarts water
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste

1. In a 5 quart soup pot, add chicken and 4 quarts water. When the water begins to boil, add onion, parsnips, carrots, turnips and tomatoes. Simmer for an hour and a half over medium heat.
2. Remove soup from heat and add dill, salt and pepper to taste. Let the soup cool in refrigerator and once cool, skim off fat.
3. Reheat soup and serve broth with the cooked carrots and matzo balls.
Makes 6 to 8 servings.

2004 Ridge Geyserville Zinfandel

2008-04-09T17:00:00.002-04:00

Mike and I recently took our horse and buggy down the road to Rhinebeck to try Terrapin, a stylish restaurant housed in an old church. We each ordered bloody red meat and a lavish gnocchi appetizer sautéed with juicy duck livers, shitake mushrooms and leeks in a creamy sage sauce. We were thrilled with our food selections, yet we couldn’t manage to choose a wine. The wine list demonstrated a veritable schmorgesbord of delectable reds and crispy whites, including many pricey offerings. We perused until we could peruse no more. Not wanting to break the bank but still craving the roundness and depth of a show-stopping red, I asked our server for his expert opinion.

He suggested one of his personal favorites, a 2004 Ridge Geyserville Zinfandel. I couldn’t get enough of this wine and even took the empty bottle home as a souvenir. I love affordable wines that taste this sublime, this balanced, this lush! It perfectly paired with the gnocchi and the red meat and sold for just $50, which suggests a retail price of about $35. It is made from 75% Zinfandel, 18% Carignane, and 7% Petite Sirah- marketing as a zin, but really a field-blend. Although still developing, it was pretty close to perfection. On the nose, it smelled of berries, chocolate and some oak. It tasted of opulent berries and cherries with a hint of spice, each property demonstrating depth and complexity.

Solomon’s Passover Haikus for Jews, Food edition

2008-04-04T23:38:00.001-04:00

Every time a holiday peeks through the curtain, the first thing that instinctively comes to mind is food, of course! I’ve been thinking a lot about Passover this season, as my Bubby Cohen is passing the torch of holiday flavor to her daughter, my aunt Paula. My grandmother has faithfully tended our annual Passover dinners since what I consider the beginning of time.

Looking back, I remember the “oohs” and the “aahs” as she served forth her tangy, tart, and sweet brisket, so tender it would fall off the bone (if it had bones, which it doesn’t). We’d weave and bob in excitement, anticipating her light-as-air matzo balls and richly flavored chicken soup. Although, oddly enough, nothing held a candle to that first bite of egg dipped in salt water, no matter how boring and anonymous a morsel; the egg- a symbol of mourning, the salt water -the tears. Boy, that’s just chuck full of irony!

I suppose I could do the expected and post a whimsical selection of versatile Passover recipes. Or, I could leave you with this: another installment of Haikus for Jews, Passover edition. So, grab your sacrificial lamb, a glass of Elijah’s Zinfandel, and a fragrant bouquet of Karpas and enjoy:

Search under the couch
The afikomen hidden
Now pay me money

Don’t open the door
Or the prophet Elijah
Will drink all our wine

Sinkers or floaters
“There really is no debate”
Says my dear bubby

Blood on my front door
The sacrificial lamby
On our Seder plate

I love matzo brei
Put it in my tummy now
With maple syrup

Karpas and Maror
Symbolize the holiday
A Passover feast

Let my people go
But when do we eat dinner?
Bring on pickled carp!

Gifelte Fish swims
Macerated bits of fish
In a pool of slime

Cheese of the Month- Meyenberg Cheddar

2008-04-01T22:26:00.005-04:00

I usually feature stinky cheeses in this here blog, but this month, I’m giving the people what they want. I’m going with a mild cheese! I know what you are thinking: “This here princess of stinky cheese, the proprietress of stench, going with a cheese that doesn’t rouse the masses from olfactory latency?” Yeah, I’m going there, fast and furious. I’m not saying I’m not going to return to days of yore and pepper my blogging months with the smelliest cheese I can get my hands on, but this month, I’m going zen. This here wild child of cheese is goin’ mild!

That isn’t to say that this month’s cheese isn’t edgy. I’m in love with Meyenberg’s aged cheddar. In fact, I can’t get enough of it. I need to have a hunk of this zippy standby in the fridge at all times. It is so versatile- glistening between two crispy pieces of buttery grilled bread, wonderfully zesty when sprinkled on al-dente pasta. It is also yummy in my fiery scrambled egg whites. It helps round out an otherwise Tabasco-heavy concoction. It’s your everyman’s cheese, but with a twist. Most cheddars I’ve imbibed are made from cow’s milk, but this is a lovely goat’s milk cheddar, robust and complex, but very accessible. After all, it’s cheddar, and who doesn’t love a good cheddar?! It tastes like an Asiago. Its texture is dryer and less waxy than your average cheddar, however, much like a moister pecorino.

Meyenberg is made in California. Once Swiss immigrant Mr. Meyenberg himself realized that goat’s milk is more easily digested than cow’s milk, he began marketing his milk and was even the first American to evaporate the milk. Meyenberg produces fabulous cheese with a gourmet European sensibility.

Cheese of the month- Sprout Creek Farm's “Rita”

2008-03-12T12:01:00.011-04:00

Although I often complain about residing in Poughkeepsie, I cannot bypass that one huge perk is living near a cluster of fantastic farms. Since I’m passionate about eating local meat, produce, and dairy and supporting local farmers is a must, Poughkeepsie has become a really intriguing locale, at the epicenter of the “think global, eat local” initiative in New York. The area is ripe with lush, production-driven farmland. Although I often miss the bright, flashy city life, a big part of me loves being surrounded by small, homestead farms.

Of all local products worthy of discussion, I adore cheese beyond comprehension and in a perfect dream world devoid of cholesterol, I would eat only cheese, all day, every day. Lately I have been trying to up the ante with my cheese obsession and really take the bull by the horns, or in this case, take the cow by the utters and take advantage of my surroundings.

I’m fascinated with extremely small creameries that produce artisanal cheeses made with love, compassion, and creativity. One local gem is Sprout Creek Farm and I was lucky to have attended a cheese making class with Colin, a young, passionate, and fiercely intelligent cheese maker. A graduate of the Culinary Institute, he has the creative artistry of a chef and the calculated intelligence of a scientist, which made him a fascinating, well spoken teacher.

We got down and dirty in our class and by the time the session ended, I was halfway covered in a hearty helping of whey. During the session we learned about heating the milk to very specific temperatures in order to facilitate the fermentation of lactose to lactic acid. We watched as Colin added lactic starters and rennet (a veal enzyme) to the raw milk and observed as it turned from liquid to a gelatinous solid. We helped stir the pot, separating the curds and whey with heavy metal tools that looked better suited to a torture chamber. This breaks up the curd mass in order to release and separate the whey. Colin poured curds in molds and the two other students and I got to work, crumbling curds with our fingers and pushing them into the molds to form a solid mass.

In short, we bore witness to a simple vat of cow’s milk turning into a glorious, glimmering round of cheese (young maiden cheese, but cheese nonetheless). I was I could be more scientifically accurate in my description of the process, but it was my first introduction to the science and was a bit overwhelmed.

Colin was nice enough to prepare an educational (and scrumptious!) tasting in between stirs of the milk tank. He has recently added several cheeses to his repertoire and the farm now offers a vast selection that progress nicely in flavor and texture. You don’t even have to leave the farm to create a perfect cheese plate!

We tried washed rind, mold ripened, and bloomy-rind varieties. I went nuts for the “Rita.” We were under the impression that Colin or an equally whimsical compatriot named the cheese after a special lady-friend. But as it turns out, Rita is the alpha-cow in the barn. She’s a fierce creature, with an attitude to boot, and the little-known muse of the eponymous cheese!

Rita is a bloomy-rind cheese. A well known example of a bloomy-rind is brie and like brie, Rita has a creamy, pasty interior, with a soft, fluffy white rind. However, the deep center of the Rita has a silken, buttery texture that melts in your mouth. It dances on the tongue and provides a tangy, edgy finish.

I can’t get enough of Rita. I bought a round at the farm’s market and decimated almost the entire small wheel the same day. I can’t believe I just admitted that! Sprout Creek does not disappoint and Rita, the sexy, silken minx of cheese, has put a spell on my palate.

The Hostess with the Mostest

2008-02-26T21:35:00.025-05:00

Afternoon teas give me a delightful flurry of stomach butterflies. The smell of steeping berry teas and English breakfast leaves is intoxicating when served with a plate of freshly baked, sugary scones and a bowl of tangy lemon curd. Super Bowl parties smell of piquant spices and hearty meats that fill the air with an aroma of anxious excitement. Summer barbeques conjure up images of innocent youth, lazy weekends and cold, crisp lemonade.

But there is nothing I love more than lavishing a roomful of sparkling guests. I adore the glitter, glamour, and gleam of an old-fashioned, sophisticated dinner party (summoning F. Scott Fitzgerald, y'all!), where people wear their most formidable outfits and hand forth a bottle of their favorite wine. I love to cultivate a celebratory atmosphere and whirl a tale of smells and tastes, with the cuisine at the core of the centrifuge. I want my dinners to become edible memories. I want my cake, to eat it, too, and to serve it to my friends.

I have always strived towards being a veritable hostess with the mostest. I used to imagine my elegant, polished grandmother as a young woman, a budding socialite, reading “Standard Etiquette,” perfecting her duties as a hostess, attempted to hone her less-than-appealing culinary skills, and tending her well-heeled guests.

Standard Etiquette, published in 1925, starts its dinner chapter with the following statement: “The severest test of social ability is dinner-giving.” Right on, Anna Steese Richardson, right on! My grandmother’s meals were often a cache of unsavory dishes, although her efforts were flecked with an errant success. Her raison d’être was to give parties with panache and she always tried, despite failing at the actual act of cooking. Perhaps two wrongs made a right in her eyes, although I’m not sure Ms. Anna would have approved of overall package.

I, too, love to give dinner parties, although thankfully, my cooking resembles that of my other grandmother, the one with the culinary acumen! We recently had another couple for dinner, and I couldn’t go about it sleepily. I miss feeding large crowds and accordingly cooked enough for a Lilliputian army.

The beef sushi was a huge hit. Tender, ruby beef is encircled by fleshy carrot and sprinkled with jewels of sea salt. Building this maki is a rather architectural enterprise, but they are still fun to assemble and the finished product is gorgeous. We gobbled them up in a flash, filling our bellies with the earth and turf hors d'oeuvres.

My love for sushi runs deep. Since I generally steer clear of raw salmon, I made a smoked salmon roll with a horseradish cream cheese. Cool, crisp cucumbers encased in the rolls nicely contrast to the fiery horseradish and the smoky fish. Like potato chips, you can’t eat just one!

Conjuring a woman straight out of “Standard Etiquette” (minus the repression) I, the convivial hostess, vow to entertain, charm, and not give parties “marred by poor cooking.” Touché, Anna, touché…………

Beef Sushi
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

2 1-inch-thick boneless beef strip steaks (about 1 1/4 pounds total)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 pound large carrots (2 to 4), trimmed to 6 inches long
3 tablespoons chopped basil
3 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons minced shallot
1 tablespoon drained capers, finely chopped1 garlic clove, minced
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Garnish: flaky sea salt.

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle.

1. Heat a dry 12-inch heavy cast iron skillet over medium-high heat until hot, about 2 minutes. Pat steaks dry and sprinkle all over with 1/2 teaspoon each of salt and pepper.
2. Add vegetable oil to hot skillet, swirling to coat bottom, then brown steaks, turning once, about 4 minutes total. Transfer steaks to a small shallow baking pan and roast in oven 5 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board and cool about 30 minutes.
3.While steaks cool, cut carrots lengthwise into 42 (1-inch-wide) ribbons (less than 1/16 inch thick) with an adjustable-blade slicer or a vegetable peeler.
4.Cook ribbons in a pot of boiling salted water, uncovered, until just tender, about 3 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to an ice bath to stop cooking. Carefully drain, then pat ribbons dry.
5.Whisk together basil, parsley, mustard, shallots, capers, and garlic in a small bowl, then add oil in a slow stream, whisking until emulsified.
6. Trim fat and gristle from steaks, then cut each lengthwise into 3 (3/4- to 1-inch-wide) strips.
7. Place a sushi mat with slats running crosswise or a 9-inch square of parchment paper on a work surface. Arrange 6 to 8 carrot ribbons side by side lengthwise, following slats and slightly overlapping, to form a 6-inch square.
8. Spread about 1 tablespoon of mustard sauce evenly across bottom half of carrot square, then lay 1 strip of steak across carrots 1 inch from edge nearest you. Roll up carrots and beef tightly, using sushi mat as an aid.
9. Transfer beef roll, seam side down, to a cutting board, then trim ends and cut crosswise into about 10 (1/2-inch) pieces. Make and cut 5 more rolls. Turn pieces upright to serve.

Makes 50 rolls.

Smoked Salmon and Cucumber Rolls
Adapted from Gourmet Magazine

1 seedless cucumber
4 oz cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh chives
2 tablespoons drained bottled horseradish
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 pound thinly sliced Scottish smoked salmon.

1. Quarter cucumber lengthwise, cutting off and discarding rounded ends. Stir together cream cheese, chives, horseradish, salt, and pepper to taste until combined well.
2. Pat cucumber dry. Arrange enough salmon to completely wrap 1 cucumber quarter in 1layer on a sheet of plastic wrap, then spread with a thin layer of cream cheese mixture.
3. Wrap coated salmon around cucumber quarter to cover completely, pressing gently to help it adhere. Repeat with remaining cucumber quarters. Cut rolls crosswise into 3/4-inch pieces.

Makes about 20-30 rolls.

Cheese of the Month- The Stinking Bishop

2008-02-22T13:52:00.003-05:00

As everyone knows, I really love myself a hunk of fragrant, astringent, pungent, stinky cheese. With that in mind, I debut my cheese of the month, The Stinking Bishop. With a moniker that apropos, it better get the job done. I want my cheese to fill the air of my cavernous kitchen, waft into the dining room, take on a life of its own. I want my cheese to stand tall and kick anyone with a nose straight in the butt. In short, I want a cheese with legs: long, sexy legs that travel up to its nose and down to its odorous feet.

I digress. The Stinking Bishop is a yellowish cheese with a mushroomy-orange or sometimes dusty-gray rind. Its middle is soft and silken. It has been produced since 1972 by Charles Martell and Son at Laurel Farm in England. What precocious scientists! Do these English folks know how to make a knock-your-socks off cheese, along the lines of what the French have been concocting for centuries! Like many of my other favorite stinkers, the eponymous TSB is a washed rind cheese, and this guy is washed in Perry, a pear cider made from the local Bishop Pear.

The cheese has a grab-you-by-the-balls odor. The bark is more than the bite, however, as the flavor tends to be meaty and hearty, slightly sweet, slightly briny, but more subdued than its smell. Monks are often at the forefront of the stinky, washed rind cheese movement and TSB is no different. The Bishop is said to be derived from a cheese once produced by Cistercian monks. Hooray for artisan monks!

The cheese is somewhat rare and I was lucky to find it at Adams Fairacre Farms. Charles is only able to make a limited amount of cheese using milk from its farm’s cows. They supplement their milk with that from a local farm and therefore, the cheese is pasteurized.

This is good stuff, kids. If you can handle the smell, it’s worth a try. You might want to sit downwind from your bedroom while you eat it, however!

Haikus for Jews

2007-12-28T18:11:00.001-05:00

A few years ago, my best friend and I found ourselves in the deep depths of boredom. The holiday season was quickly approaching and we had already baked piles of cookies, wrapped up our shopping, and watched “Miracle on 34th Street” 34 times. After receiving the ubiquitous “Haikus for Jews” as an early Hanukkah gift, we read through the book several times and realized that although the haikus were funny, they were lacking that certain je ne sais quoi. After putting some food for thought in our bellies, we oiled up our sophomoric funny bones and got to work. As I reminisce and take a stroll down memory lane, I pulled out a few “oldies but goodies” from our literary bag of tricks. Of course, being Jews, we made most of them about food……..

More Haikus for Jews
by Danielle Lipes and Kate Sonders

the hard matzo ball
better than the floating kind
it makes me quiver

I ate the brisket
oiy how it filled my tummy
no room for the borscht

I want a pickle
with my pastrami sandwich
at the Jew deli

sips of red, red wine
Manishevitz makes me smile
bring on the plum wine

afikomen now
matzo, matzo burning bright
I smell your presence

I cook the koogle
with potato or noodle
I like sweet and salt

chewy and Jewy
gefilte fish is spongy
gelatin surrounds

sing the four questions
salt water and potato
precedes the ten plagues

Woody Allen sits
at a table in Times Square
Carnegie Deli

A Love Affair with Stinky Cheese

2007-12-16T18:58:00.000-05:00

I know when my stash of stinky cheese has gone AWOL, my husband Mike is to blame. I have nary a moment to eat the stuff, as he can not tolerate even a morsel left in the fridge for more than several hours. However, it rarely lasts long as I truly can't resist the seductive power of a properly ripened, smelly cheese. But he just hates to crack open the refrigerator door, revealing a wafting Pandora’s Box of pungent odor.

As much he hates the scent of an aroma-rific cheese, I adore the taste, and even the smell. To me, the stinkier the fragrance, the more gorgeous the flavor. I tend to be a reckless adventurer when it comes to cheese. I am not suggesting that I am out of touch with my taste buds, or pick a cheese based simply on the pulchritudinous color of its rind, but I will happily stick my hyper-sensitive nose into any powerfully smelling cheese. I particularly enjoy those that an overwhelming majority might characterize as possessing an odor akin to a rancid foot locker. Yes, I like my cheese so aggressive that it up and causes air raids. I want it to wrestle with my nose and fervently slap my taste buds.

My absolute favorite stinky cheese is the French Munster, not to be confused with the oily, mild American version, Muenster, a childhood favorite commonly used to make grilled cheese sandwiches. Munster is from the Alsace region of France. It is a Monastery cheese, meaning that it originated and is currently produced in French monasteries. All I can say is that those monks know their stuff! The cheese is rind-washed with brine and aged, developing a biting odor and creamy, silken texture. It is so incredibly aggressive on the nose that it could clear a room. When properly ripened, the mouthfeel is quite barnyardy. Doesn’t this make you want to run out and buy Munster?! Smells like feet, tastes like licking a cow……officially voted by scientists at Cranford University in Bedfordshire as one of the world’s smelliest cheeses. Can’t argue with science! But if you happen to be a turophile like myself, you might just appreciate its sharp, penetrating aroma and brazen flavor.

Brain Freeze

2007-12-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

"Snow! No!" This was my initial response to witnessing my first snowfall in four years. It is astonishing how quickly my blood thinned as a result of living the warm and toasty life in Southern California. My body is currently experiencing a goose-bump-inducing shock. Frankly, I do not enjoy being cold as a witch’s you-know-what: I begin shivering uncontrollably, which, of course, makes me hungry.

In honor of New York State’s first snowfall, I began a mental list of snow treats. Now, this list is consummately hypothetical. If the atmosphere was wholly sanitary and the breathable air as pure and sweet as that which is dispensed from a Las Vegas oxygen bar, I would be eating a pile of clean, virgin snow this moment!

Unfortunately, the atmosphere is, simply put, putrid. Therefore, you may end up consuming an acid rain snow cone, topped with sugary CO2 emissions. These snow-based desserts are purely hypothetical and as you pretend to eat them, enjoy your imaginary brain freeze!

The first snow dessert is the universal snow cone, otherwise known around the world as snowballs, piragua, raspados, ais kacang, bingsu, or juski. For the popular American treat, gather a bucket full of snow and scoop the shaved ice into little paper cups. Pour on your syrup flavor of choice and enjoy. For a more international treat, feel free to add fruit cocktail, red beans, agar agar, evaporated milk, sweet taro or chestnuts. You can buy snow cone syrup at many retailers, such as Nature’s Flavors, Rio Syrup Company or at Hawaiian Shaved Ice. Otherwise, you can make your own with sugar, water and your favorite powdered drink mix.

Sugar on Snow is a favorite treat of Vermonsters. Pour heated maple syrup (use candy thermometer to reach 233-234 degrees) onto packed snow, which yields a taffy-like candy. It is usually served with unadorned doughnuts, coffee and sour pickles. The pickles serve to cut the sweetness of the candy. Perfect for late night cravings!

You can also create ice cream made from fresh fallen snow. This blustery treat is made from snow, sugar and milk. Mix together a cup of cream, a half cup of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla. Stir in the snow and eat before it becomes ice cream soup!

As the snow continues to fall and the season becomes colder, keep one thing in mind. In the words of the late, great Zappa, “watch out where the Huskies go, don't you eat that yellow snow”.

As the Scallops Turn

2007-12-02T10:31:00.000-05:00

Since my aborted culinary school mission, my creative juices have been flowing. I have been spending an inordinate amount of time in the kitchen, both experimenting with new recipes and playing around with old favorites. Part of me is extremely anxious to go back to work; I do not fare well in the face of boredom. However, the little apron-cloaked devil sitting on my shoulder reinforces that I am thriving as a "stay-at-home cook". The fact of the matter is that my damned little devil has a voracious appetite to feed. It wants nothing but to concoct edible delights. Call it mental castration, but I'm enjoying this lifestyle.

It comes as no surprise that I have been experimenting with risotto. It is a pretty well known fact that risotto is one of my all-time favorite foods. It is a paradigm of perfection: easy to cook, mindless to assemble and undeniably pleasing. The other day, I took a recipe I found in Bon Appetit and amended it for the sake of experimentation. What resulted was the most intensely rich, complexly flavored risotto; it is not a true Italian risotto, since I use whiskey rather than wine to deglaze the pan.

Makes 4 main course servings

Leeks:
2 large leeks (white and pale green parts only), halved, thinly sliced crosswise (about 2 cups)
3/4 cup whipping cream

Mushrooms:
1 pound shiitake mushrooms, stemmed, cut into roughly 1/4 thick slices
1 large onion, halved, thinly sliced lengthwise
1/2 stick butter, melted
1 tablespoon white truffle oil
1 teaspoon minced fresh thyme leaves

Risotto:
1/2 stick butter, divided
1 large onion, chopped
1 1/2 cups arborio rice
1/8 cup whiskey
5 cups (or more) hot chicken broth
Chopped fresh parsley

Scallops:
1 pound fresh scallops
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt and pepper
Truffle oil

Preparation

For leeks:
Bring leeks and cream to boil in heavy medium saucepan. Reduce heat to medium and simmer until leeks are tender and cream is thick, stirring often, about 15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill. Rewarm before continuing.

For mushrooms:
Preheat oven to 400°F. Toss all ingredients on rimmed baking sheet. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast until mushrooms are tender and light brown around edges, stirring occasionally, about 45 minutes. DO AHEAD: Can be made 2 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature.

For risotto:
Melt 2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion and cook until just beginning to carmelize, about 10 minutes. Add rice; stir 1 minute. Add whiskey and stir until almost all liquid is absorbed, about 1 minute. Add 1 cup hot broth. Simmer until broth is almost absorbed, stirring often, about 4 minutes. Add more broth, 1 cup at a time, allowing each addition to be absorbed before adding next and stirring often, until rice is tender and mixture is creamy, about 20 minutes longer. The risotto should be firm and creamy, not mushy. Stir in leek mixture, mushroom mixture and remaining 2 tablespoons butter.

For scallops:
Pat scallops dry on paper towels. Season with salt and pepper. Place oil in large skillet over medium-high heat until very hot but not smoking. Add scallops and sauté in single layer without moving them until golden on one side, about 2 minutes. Flip them over and brown on second side, about 2 minutes. Transfer to plate.

Serve in wide rimmed bowls and sprinkle with parsley. Place scallops on top of risotto and drizzle with truffle oil.

Sea Change

2007-11-17T17:56:00.000-05:00

Most of my close friends and family are keenly aware of my career goal. For years, I have wanted to be a food writer/restaurant critic.

The past few years, I have mucked around in a series of jobs that I have found educational, yet personally unfulfilling. In order to simultaneously prove my self-worth and realize my professional goals, I ascertained that my best bet was to attend one of the world’s most prestigious culinary schools. I would imbibe everything there is to know about food and cooking via intense emersion.

Last Monday, I began the Culinary Institute of America’s culinary program. After two long days of orientation, it became abundantly clear that I was in the wrong place. Sacrificing a prodigious amount of change and two irretrievable years of my life, I would become an excellent technical cook. Meanwhile, my writing would get a mere brief jog around the block.

Sitting in a room full of young, aspiring restaurateurs, chefs and industry leaders, I felt a sting in my heart. The yearning I felt to attend the CIA had been misdirected. I surmised very quickly that the school’s course work was, at best, tangential to food journalism. Furthermore, I was told by several forthright upperclassmen that a lot of students and faculty are averse to those who write rather than those who cook or manage. They suggested that I remain mute on my career goals; that food writing is a moot point at the Institute. I immediately considered: “Why should I spend the next two years in this program if my hopes and dreams will be diminished?”

My decision was unequivocal and unyielding. I withdrew from the program, making a very arduous yet positive decision.

What’s next on the agenda? Possibly an apprenticeship with a prominent food writer. I’m also considering beginning self directed studies to become a Fromager. I have always had a serious passion for the utmost stinky cheeses. The world is my oyster and I intend to slurp it up, brine and all.

Into the Pressure Cooker

2007-10-31T19:45:00.001-04:00

I have been experimenting in the kitchen for the past five hours enjoying my last several weeks of domestic bliss. I am standing beside a hot, hot stove, alone with the love of my life. No, I do not refer to my new husband, who sits on the couch enjoying Sports Center. I speak of shiny pots and pans, hanging from my baker’s rack like glistening culinary soldiers, my razor-sharp knives, ready to spring into chopping action, and glass bowls filled with succulent raw ingredients.

This “domestic bliss” will last just another week and a half. I am about to embark on a lifelong personal and professional desire: culinary school. After almost a decade toiling in the real world, it occurred to me that there is only one path to professional utopia: spend the next few years in a downright ambitious culinary program.

I find that it is no longer enough to be a very good home cook and I will not continue to grow if left to my own devices. I need professors, like-minded peers, and a professional setting in which to learn. It is exhilarating to know that in a few short years I will be armed with an arsenal of new abilities and gastronomical knowledge.

I have spent the past few months anticipating school, wondering what the halls of the Culinary Institute will offer. Will I learn to prepare goats brains? Will I get to taste test unidentifiable spices while blindfolded? Will I perform at the level of excellence the school deems necessary to move forth with a culinary degree? Will my nerves prevent me from making the most of my once in a lifetime experience? Will my competitive streak get the best of me? Will the school’s required meal plan cause Mike to go hungry over the next two years? Will I really have to wake up at 2am for “Breakfast Cookery”?!