Much Depends on Dinner

tiramisu

2011-03-17T14:19:00.005-04:00

When A announced a few weeks ago that he loved tiramisu, I was simultaneously horrified that I had never made it and thrilled with the inspiration for his birthday dessert. After some initial research and consultation with C, it became clear that choosing the right recipe would be a challenge. There are numerous factions—mascarpone custard vs. mousse, type and quantity of liquor, ladyfingers vs. cake, homemade ladyfingers vs. store bought, wedge vs. square. We settled on Richard Sax’s version, adapted from Providence’s Al Forno restaurant, which ticks the boxes for custard/ modest rum or brandy/ homemade cake sliced into oozing, delightful wedges.

Richard Sax’s recipe raises the bar for this old classic but doesn’t set it. The custard was perfect—silky, rich, and flavorful without approaching boozy (a variety of tiramisu I don’t fancy). However, the custard to cake ratio seemed off—perhaps my baking execution failed, but the cake barely yielded 3 layers. As a result, it felt more like a pudding than cake, and I wanted a more toothsome bite.

The question this endeavor raised in my mind is whether tiramisu warrants a quest for its perfect form. I think it does. There was something deeply satisfying and homey about this dessert, that had me sneaking to the fridge with a spoon in hand, despite any flaws. I am already looking forward to round two.

A few notes: This recipe calls for a seemingly irresponsible amount of espresso—two whole cups. I mistakenly left some in the measuring cup. Use it all. It’s the textural contrast of soaked cake to custard that makes this dessert. The cake also cooked faster than instructed—start checking on it at 20 minutes. Finally, plan ahead—there are many steps, and this dessert only improves with time. I made the cake and custard the night before, and assembled the next morning.

Tiramisu
Adapted from Richard Sax

1 recipe Marie’s Vanilla Spongecake (instructions below)
2 cups milk
3/4 cup sugar
6 egg yolks
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup butter, cut into pieces
1/4 cup light rum or cognac (I used brandy)
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup mascarpone cheese
2 cups espresso (don’t substitute coffee)
3 -4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa

In a saucepan over medium heat, scald all but two tablespoons of the milk with the sugar. Stir until sugar dissolves.

In a separate bowl, beat the egg yolks with the reserved 2 tablespoons of milk and the flour.

Slowly pour 1/2 of the hot milk into the yolk mixture, whisking continuously. Return the mixture to the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring until it comes to a boil. Boil for 2 minutes—keep stirring! Remove from heat and strain the custard into a clean bowl. Avoid temptation to skip the straining. Whisk in the butter, liquor, and vanilla. Cover with plastic wrap pressed directly on the surface to prevent a "skin" from forming. Refrigerate until cold, at least 2 hours.

In a bowl, fold and mash mascarpone with a rubber spatula until lightened. Fold in cold custard. Cover and chill until you are ready for assembly.

With a serrated knife, carefully cut the cake horizontally into three layers. Place the bottom layer in the springform pan. Drizzle entire surface with part of the espresso, soaking it generously. Top the cake with 1/3 of the custard. Rinse and repeat with another layer of cake, more espresso, and more custard. For the top layer, place cut side of cake up, and moisten with espresso. Spread with the remaining custard and smooth the surface. Sift cocoa over the top of the cake. Refrigerate cake for at least one hour—I would recommend several hours to ensure adequate chilling and flavor melding.

Marie’s Vanilla Spongecake

4 large eggs, separated
1 pinch salt
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 cup sifted all-purpose flour
1/4 cup sifted cornstarch

Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly butter 8- or 9-inch springform pan. Line bottom with parchment paper and lightly butter and flour.

In a bowl, combine the egg whites with the salt and beat until they form soft peaks. Gradually beat in the sugar and beat until whites are just stiff.

In another bowl, whisk the egg yolks and vanilla. Fold in 1/4 of the beaten whites.
Pour the egg yolk mixture into the beaten whites. Sprinkle the sifted flour and cornstarch through a strainer over the egg whites, and fold together. Do not overmix.

Spread the batter in the prepared pan. Bake until the edges are set and the cake is golden, about 25-30 minutes. Start checking after 20 minutes.

Cool the cake in the pan for a few minutes and invert the cake onto a wire rack to cool completely.

If making in advance, wrap in plastic wrap and store at room temperature.

chocolate salty oats

2010-12-09T11:38:00.007-05:00

They say a new child is born in the U.S. every seven seconds. I can’t be sure, but I suspect that, if you tracked the number of artisanal food stores popping up around Brooklyn, the statistic would be something close to that.

Of course, I’m not complaining; but, as much as I appreciate any opportunity to pick up a new small-batch jam or specialty vinegar, I’m resigned to the fact that none of these stores—not even their own tiny LES Market branch-let—can fill the void in my heart left by Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge, MA.

What makes Formaggio so special? Maybe the cheese selection (perfectly curated and cared for), or the sidewalk barbecues, or the complimentary honey tastings, or the ham and cheese croissants, or the homemade stock, or the Mulino Marino flour, or the tea cakes, or the syrupy whole-candied fruit. It’s all of those things, certainly. But for me, you could probably narrow it down to just one item: the Salty Oats cookie.

Formaggio didn’t invent the Salty Oats cookie (credit for that goes to Terri Horn), but they did introduce me to it about five years ago, and they’re the only place I’ve found that keeps them regularly in stock.

Let’s be very clear—any pre-conceived notions of the oatmeal cookie do not apply here. Whether it's their original oatmeal-raisin (which manages to redeem a fatally flawed concept), or their coconut-flecked Chocolate Salty Oats, these are paradigm-shifting cookies to which I am deeply, fanatically devoted. Texturally, they’re perfect—equal parts chewy and crackly—not to mention the crystallized flakes of sea salt that pop in your mouth. (Introduced in the late 90s, Salty Oats were pioneers of the now ubiquitous sweet-and-salty movement.)

I love both variations, but, when forced to choose, will almost always opt for the Chocolate Salty Oats. (Because, well, it’s chocolate.) Until recently, our visits to Cambridge meant that I was able to get a regular fix. But since K. and A. moved, we’ve all been forced to acclimate to a world without Salty Oats. It’s not an easy thing.

Two weeks ago, when I was heading down to Baltimore for Thanksgiving and asked if there was anything I could bring, K. responded, a little wistfully, “Chocolate Salty Oats.” Usually I would not take this request to heart, but given her sleep-deprived state, I decided (with perhaps a little hubris) that I would step up to the challenge.

At first I considered ordering some online, but, in search of a more sustainable solution, instead went out in search of a plausible imitation recipe. I found one, finally, in Salty Sweets by Christie Matheson, a woman who, I gather, was equally affected by her first Salty Oats encounter (also at Formaggio). With hours to spare, I baked up a quick half-batch, hopped on the train, and delivered them into K.’s unsuspecting hands.

I was a little scared to taste the results honestly—afraid to dishonor the original—but these cookies were absolutely delicious, with an even deeper chocolate flavor (and a freshness that's hard to get in packaged form). Not exactly the same, but just close enough to tide me over until my next trip to Boston.

***

Chocolate Salty Oats
Adapted from Salty Sweets, by Christie Matheson; inspired by Kayak Cookies

2 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup unsweetened Valrhona cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
1 cup old-fashioned or quick-cooking rolled oats (not instant)
1 cup bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chunks (I used a combination of the two, mostly bittersweet)
1/2 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
Maldon sea salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with Silpats or parchment paper.

Using a fork, stir together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and fine sea salt until well combined.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, sugars, and vanilla until creamy. Add the eggs one at a time.

Add the flour mixture in 4 to 5 increments, combing well after each addition. (Be sure not to overmix.) Stir in the oats, chocolate, and coconut.

Use an ice cream scoop to form balls of dough on the baking sheets. Sprinkle each ball very lightly with fine sea salt. (Keep in mind you will add more sea salt at the end, so use sparingly if at all.)

Bake for about 11 minutes, until the tops have just started to crack. Sprinkle with Maldon sea salt while still warm. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets for 1 minute, then remove to a wire rack to cool completely. [The cookies will keep in an airtight container for up to five days.]

thanksgiving report

2010-11-30T14:14:00.008-05:00

The Bird
A Whole Foods frozen turkey (and 24 hours of defrosting) threw a wrench in my “Judy Bird” plan. But, as back-up plans go, Alton Brown’s Good Eats Roast Turkey is not so bad.

***

The Stuffing
Silver Palate's Cornbread stuffing made its second annual appearance. Flavor-wise, it’s still exactly what I’m looking for, but next year I may experiment with adding some stock during cooking. (I've resigned myself to the stand-alone stuffing, but I do miss the moisture imparted by a little jus de turkey...)

***

Delicata Squash, Potato and Celery Root Puree
This is about as far as A. would allow us to stray from the classic mashed potato. And, in the end, I think he was glad he did. For a streamlined Thanksgiving, this is a delicious alternative, marrying autumnal squash flavors with the traditional Russet.

***

Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Chestnuts
For the requisite crunch.

***

Braised Pearl Onions
The perennial favorite, glazed with beef stock.

***

The Cranberry Sauce(s)
Following the results of last year’s rigorous trial and error, we served our three favorite cranberry sauces: cranberry-horseradish, cranberry fruit conserve, and triple cranberry sauce. Some may call three cranberry sauces redundant, I call it necessary.

***

Marcey’s Pumpkin Pie
Practically perfect in every way.

***

John Thorne's Best-Ever Pecan Pie
The new ceiling for pecan pie. (But there is still a ceiling.)

***

Silver Palate Corn Bread-Sausage Stuffing With Apples
Adapted from The Silver Palate

12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter
2 1/2 cups finely chopped yellow onions
3 tart apples, cored and chunked
1 pound lightly seasoned bulk sausage (preferably breakfast sausage with sage)
3 cups coarsely crumbled corn bread
3 cups coarsely crumbled whole-wheat bread
3 cups coarsely crumbled white bread (French or homemade preferred)
2 teaspoons thyme
1 teaspoon sage
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1/2 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 1/2 cups shelled pecan halves

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Melt half of the butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add the chopped onions and cook, partially covered, until tender and lightly colored, about 25 minutes, Transfer the onions and butter to a large mixing bowl.

Melt the remaining butter in the same skillet. Add the apple chunks and cook over high heat until lightly colored but not mushy. Transfer the apples and butter to the mixing bowl.

Crumble the sausage into the skillet and cook over medium heat, stirring, until lightly browned. With a slotted spoon, transfer the sausage to the mixing bowl and reserve the rendered fat.

Add the remaining ingredients to the ingredients in the mixing bowl and combine gently. Cool completely before stuffing the bird; refrigerate if not used promptly.

If you do not wish actually to stuff the bird, spoon it into a casserole. Cover the casserole and set into a large pan. Pour hot water around the casserole to come halfway up the sides, Bake for 30 to 45 minutes, basting occasionally with the cooking juices from the bird or with the reserved sausage fat if necessary.

***

Delicata Squash, Potato and Celery Root Puree
Adapted from Alice Waters

2 delicata squashes (about 1 pound)
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
5 sprigs fresh thyme
4 cloves garlic
4 russet potatoes
1 medium celery root
1/2 cup cream
1 bay leaf
4 tablespoons unsalted butter

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Split the squashes in half lengthwise and scrape out the seeds and pulpy fiber with a spoon. Brush the squashes with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Put 1 sprig of the thyme and 1 clove of garlic in the cavity of each squash half, and bake on a baking sheet, cut-side down, for about 40 minutes, until tender.

Peel the potatoes, cut them into medium chunks, and put them in a pot of salted water. Bring to a boil and simmer for about 30 minutes, until tender.

Peel the celery root, cut it into small chunks, and put them in a pot of water. Bring to a boil and simmer for about 30 minutes, until tender. In another saucepan heat the cream, the remaining sprig of thyme, the bay leaf, and the butter. Bring to a simmer, turn off the heat, and let the mixture steep.

When the potatoes are done, drain them and spread them out to dry on a baking sheet for about 10 minutes. When the celery root is done, drain it and pass it through a food mill or ricer. When the squash is done, remove it from the oven and discard the garlic and thyme. Scrape the flesh from the skin with a spoon. Put the squash, potatoes, and celery root purée through a food mill into a pot, or puree with immersion blender. Add more or less of the seasoned butter and cream mixture, and thin with milk or water, depending on the desired consistency. Adjust the seasoning, reheat, and serve.

***

Brown-Braised Pearl Onions
Adapted from Julia Child

18-24 pearl onions, about 1 inch in diameter
1½ tablespoons butter
1½ tablespoons olive oil
½ cup brown stock, or more [you can also experiment with dry white wine, red wine, or water]
Salt and pepper to taste
4 parsley sprigs
1 bay leaf
1 sprig thyme

To peel the onions, cut off the stems with a paring knife and cook in boiling water for 1 minute. Drain and immediately plunge blanched onions into a bowl of ice water. Squeeze each onion gently at root end; the skins should pop off.

Heat the oil and butter in a skillet. Add the onions and sauté over moderate heat for about 10 minutes, rolling the onions about so they will brown as evenly as possible. (You can't expect them to brown uniformly.) Be careful not to break their skins.

Pour in enough liquid to come halfway up the sides of the onions, season to taste, and add the herbs. Cover and simmer slowly for 30 to 50 minutes until the onions are perfectly tender but retain their shape, and the liquid has evaporated. Remove herbs, and serve warm. [The onions can be cooked hours in advance, and reheated before serving.]

***

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Chestnuts

2-3 pounds brussels sprouts, cleaned and halved lengthwise
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup peeled and roasted chestnuts, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon butter

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Toss the brussels sprouts in a bowl with just enough olive oil to coat. Season with salt and pepper.

Arrange the sprouts in a single layer on the baking sheet and roast for about 20 minutes, or until fork-tender and some of the leaves have become caramelized.

Heat the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the chestnuts and stir until glazed. Add the roasted brussels sprouts and thyme, if desired. Toss to combine. Test for seasoning and serve.

***

Cranberry-Horseradish Relish

1 (12-ounce) package cranberries, thawed
1 small onion, quartered [I usually end up using about 3/4 onion]
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup light sour cream or plain low-fat yogurt
2 tablespoons drained prepared horseradish
Salt

Combine cranberries, onion and sugar in a food processor. Pulse until coarsely chopped. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and add sour cream, horseradish and salt to taste. Refrigerate until chilled, preferably overnight.

Cranberry Fruit Conserve
Adapted from Ina Garten

1 (12-ounce) bag of fresh cranberries, cleaned
1 3/4 cups sugar [I tend to use a little less]
1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored, and chopped
1 orange, zest grated and juiced
1 lemon, zest grated and juiced
3/4 cup raisins
3/4 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

Cook the cranberries, sugar, and 1 cup of water in a saucepan over low heat for about 5 minutes, or until the skins pop open. Add the apple, zests, and juices and cook for 15 more minutes. Remove from the heat and add the raisins and nuts. Let cool, and serve chilled.

Triple-Cranberry Sauce
Adapted from Bon Appétit

1 cup frozen cranberry juice cocktail concentrate, thawed
1/3 cup sugar 1 12-ounce package fresh or frozen cranberries, cleaned
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup dried cherries
3 tablespoons orange marmalade
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
2 teaspoons minced orange peel
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cinnamon stick

Combine cranberry juice concentrate and sugar in heavy medium saucepan. Bring to boil over high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Add fresh and dried cranberries and cook until dried berries begin to soften and fresh berries begin to pop, stirring often, about 7 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in orange marmalade, orange juice, orange peel, allspice and cinnamon stick. Cool completely. Cover; chill until cold, about 2 hours. Remove cinnamon stick and serve.

***

Perfect Pie Crust
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated

2 1/2 cups (12 1/2 ounces) unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon table salt
2 tablespoons sugar
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch slices
1/2 cup cold vegetable shortening, cut into 4 pieces
1/4 cup cold vodka
1/4 cup cold water

Process 1 1/2 cups flour, salt, and sugar in food processor until combined, about 2 one-second pulses. Add butter and shortening and process until homogeneous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 15 seconds (dough will resemble cottage cheese curds and there should be no uncoated flour). Scrape bowl with rubber spatula and redistribute dough evenly around processor blade. Add remaining cup flour and pulse until mixture is evenly distributed around bowl and mass of dough has been broken up, 4 to 6 quick pulses. Empty mixture into medium bowl.   

Sprinkle vodka and water over mixture. With rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together. Divide dough into two even balls and flatten each into 4-inch disk. Wrap each in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes or up to 2 days.

To blind bake: Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Remove pan from refrigerator, line crust with foil and fill with pie weights or pennies. Bake on rimmed baking sheet 15 minutes. Remove foil and weights, rotate plate. Bake 5 to 10 more minutes until crust is golden brown and crisp. Remove plate and baking sheet from oven.

***

Marcey’s Pumpkin Pie

1 3/4 cups pumpkin (one 15-ounce can)
1 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup half and half
3 eggs
2/3 cup light brown sugar
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
one 9-inch pie crust, blind baked
Sweetened whipped cream, for serving

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine sugar, spices and pumpkin. In another bowl, beat eggs then add half and half and heavy cream. Whisk until smooth. Combine wet and dry ingredients, and mix until well incorporated.

Strain mixture through fine-mesh strainer set over medium bowl, using a spatula to press solids through strainer.

Pour mixture into the pie shell and bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until the edges are set. If the custard only jiggles slightly in the center, it's done. Transfer the pie to a wire rack and cool to room temperature, 2 to 3 hours. Serve with sweetened whipped cream.

***

John Thorne's Best-Ever Pecan Pie
Adapted from Richard Sax's Classic Home Desserts

1 pie crust, blind baked
1 cup raw cane dark muscovado sugar, turbinado sugar, or light brown sugar
2/3 cup Lyle's Golden Syrup
2 tablespoon dark rum
4 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon table salt
2 cups broken pecan meats

In a large saucepan, combine the sugar, Golden Syrup, rum, and butter. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Boil for about 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove pan from the heat and set aside to cool until lukewarm, at least 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees with a rack in the lower third.

In a small bowl, beat the eggs until creamy. Beat the eggs into the cooled syrup; stir in the vanilla, salt, and pecans. Pour filling into the pie shell.

Bake until the filling is set but still slightly wobbly in the center, about 50 minutes. Cool the pie completely on a wire rack. Serve the pie at room temperature with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

pumpkin gooey butter cake

2010-11-19T16:58:00.004-05:00

Help. I have fallen down the rabbit hole that is the Paula Deen. Whereas my first foray into Mrs. Deen’s pantry was more an exercise in novelty—a Halloween aberration—I have only idle curiosity (and the unqualified recommendations of 1,889 Food Network fans) to thank for this latest undertaking.

Behold, the Pumpkin Gooey Butter Cake.

Apparently (read: magnificently) it is one of several gooey butter cakes in her oeuvre—an autumnal twist on an old St. Louis tradition. Pumpkin aside, the basic equation remains the same: a yellow butter cake base, topped by layer of baked goo. In that way, it’s very consistent with Deen’s culinary aesthetic. (One glance at the ingredients list will tell you as much: packaged cake mix, two sticks of butter and an entire box of confectioners’ sugar.) Which made it an interesting, if unnerving experiment in the kitchen.

As much as I appreciate the culture, and the concept of the gooey butter cake, I felt pretty ambivalent about the results. The cake was a little too cloying, I thought at first, with a piercing sweetness that called to mind caramelized marshmallow fluff, and a cardiac response akin to mainlining crack.

Fortunately, with the help of some crème fraiche and a generous sprinkling of Maldon sea salt, I was able to reconcile myself to eating a second slice. And it was delicious.

Like I said, please send help.

Pumpkin Gooey Butter Cake
Adapted from Paula Deen

Were I ever to attempt the gooey butter cake again, I’d probably opt for Melissa Clark’s version, which abstains from prepackaged cake mix. That said, the genius of this cake is really the ease with which it all comes together. It might have a place at a future holiday party, cut into small squares and served with the aforementioned garnishes of sea salt crème fraiche whipped cream, but for my Thanksgiving or Christmas table, I would always rather have Marcey’s pumpkin pie, or Pichet Ong’s kabocha squash cheesecake.

For the cake:
1 (18 1/4-ounce) package yellow cake mix
1 egg
8 tablespoons butter, melted

For the filling:
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
8 tablespoons butter, melted
1 (16-ounce) box powdered sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
Pinch of ground cloves

To garnish:
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup crème fraiche
Maldon sea salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine the cake mix, egg, and butter and mix well with an electric mixer. Pat the mixture into the bottom of a lightly greased 13-by-9-inch baking pan.

To make the filling: In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese and pumpkin until smooth. Add the eggs, vanilla, and butter, and beat together. Next, add the powdered sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and mix well. Spread pumpkin mixture over cake batter and bake for 40 to 50 minutes. Make sure not to overbake as the center should be a little gooey.

Meanwhile, beat the heavy cream to soft peaks. Beat in crème fraiche.

Sprinkle each slice with sea salt and serve with crème fraiche whipped cream.

flour bakery banana bread with chocolate and crystallized ginger

2010-11-19T06:46:00.007-05:00

We’ve all been doing a lot of thumb twiddling in the past few days, waiting for an overdue arrival. So when K. alerted me to the bunch of bananas idling in her kitchen, banana bread seemed as appropriate a way as any to pass the time. (It’s rare that our bananas make it ever to the sufficiently browned stage; the smell—and the craving for a breakfast smoothie—usually does them in before then.)

This recipe is a celebrity mash-up of sorts. The base comes from Flour Bakery’s deservedly famous banana bread (a Boston staple I’ve enjoyed several times over, and one of the signature items in Joanne Chang’s new cookbook); but I have Molly Wizenberg to thank for the inspired additions of chocolate and crystallized ginger.

These flourishes make the bread feel more dessert-y, than breakfast-y, in my book (which is exactly how we served it—with a little whipped cream). But the morning-after pieces were, if possible, even more delicious.

Banana Bread with Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger
Adapted from Flour, by Joanne Chang and A Homemade Life, by Molly Wizenberg

This banana bread only improves with a day's rest. If the chocolate and crystallized ginger are a little extreme for your tastes, substitute toasted walnuts and add an additional tablespoon of sugar for a more traditional loaf.

1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3 1/2 bananas, very ripe, mashed (I used an immersion blender to smooth out any lumps)
2 tablespoons crème fraiche or sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup finely chopped crystallized ginger

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 9-inch loaf pan.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon and salt.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment, beat the sugar and eggs on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Slowly drizzle in oil. Add mashed bananas, crème fraiche, and vanilla and mix on low speed until just combined.

Fold in flour mixture, then the chocolate chips and ginger. Pour batter into prepared loaf pan and bake for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, until loaf the is a deep shade of golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Cool the loaf in the pan on a wire rack for 5 minutes. Then tip out onto the rack, and let it cool completely before slicing.

indian spiced cauliflower and sweet potatoes

2010-11-07T08:04:00.003-05:00

Some culinary inventions are born from trial and error, others from accidents. This was more a case of convenience—two languishing sweet potatoes that I thought might make a tasty riff on Aloo Gobi. Suspicions confirmed.

***

Indian Spiced Cauliflower and Sweet Potatoes
Adapted from Gourmet

1 head cauliflower, cut into 3/4-inch-wide florets
2 sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
5 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
Kosher salt
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 teaspoons minced fresh jalapeño, seeds optional
2 teaspoons minced peeled fresh ginger
1 teaspoon freshly ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground coriander
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup water
Lemon wedges, for serving

Put oven rack in upper third of oven and place a shallow baking pan on rack. Preheat oven to 475 degrees.

Toss cauliflower and sweet potatoes together in a bowl with olive oil (enough to lightly coat), cumin seeds, and salt. Spread in hot baking pan and roast, stirring occasionally, until cauliflower is tender and browned in spots and potatoes are just tender, about 20 minutes. (I gave the sweet potatoes a little extra time.)

While vegetables are roasting, cook onion, garlic, jalapeño, and ginger in 2 tablespoons oil in a large heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until very soft and beginning to turn golden, 8 to 10 minutes. Add ground cumin, coriander, turmeric, cayenne, and 1/2 teaspoon salt and cook, stirring constantly, 2 minutes. Stir in water, scraping up any brown bits from bottom of skillet, then stir in roasted vegetables. Cook, covered, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes. Check for seasoning and serve.

salty peanut butter chocolate cookies

2010-11-01T20:09:00.006-04:00

I didn’t dress up for Halloween this year. In fact, the holiday went relatively unobserved at our apartment aside from a pumpkin centerpiece and these cookies—the requisite Halloween treat.

In the spirit of the holiday—a night that celebrates the subversion of social norms—I decided to deviate from my own culinary conservatism and attempt my first ever Paula Deen recipe.

I’d be lying if I said this was a stretch for me—for one thing, the recipe came to me via another, more trusted source, and it is, by Paula Deen’s standards, relatively virtuous. (I’d like to think that she serves these cookies as a palate cleanser—the preamble to some grand, two-sticks-of-butter-minimum dessert.)

Regardless, the result was shockingly good—soft and caramelized, with a melting chocolate center. While I'll grant that Mrs. Deen knows her way around a peanut butter cookie, it's the modern additions of sea salt and orange zest that make these unforgettable.

Salty Peanut Butter Chocolate Cookies
Adapted from Paula Deen via Amateur Gourmet

The flavor of these reminds me a little of the venerable Tagalong. We experimented with both milk and semisweet chocolate, to equal acclaim.

Yields about 16 cookies

1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup dark brown sugar
1/3 cup white sugar
1 egg
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon orange zest
Semisweet or milk chocolate chunks
Maldon sea salt

Preheat oven to 350. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, cream together peanut butter, sugars, egg, vanilla, orange zest and a pinch of sea salt until well integrated.

Roll the dough into tablespoon-sized balls and place on the cookie sheet. (Do no press them down.) Press the chocolate on top and sprinkle with sea salt.

Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, turning halfway through, until the bottoms are golden-brown. Allow the cookies to cool on the sheet for a few minutes, then transfer them to a cooling rack (or consume immediately).

2010-10-31T20:14:00.002-04:00

I wish I could say I’d been absent for good reason—that I’ve spent the last few months mastering a hundred-layer lasagna or jury-rigging our kitchen oven to produce perfect Neapolitan pizza.

Instead, I can only blame a full schedule, and my summer inclination toward spontaneous (and recipe-less) meals.

But today I’m brushing off the mothballs, beginning (as promised) with an old favorite: Amanda Hesser’s almond cake. Technically, it’s her mother-in-law’s, which feels appropriate given that I prepared it most recently for my own future in-laws.

Don’t expect the delicacy of a financier: this cake is decidedly less refined, with a craterous surface and an emphatic almond flavor. Which is exactly why I love it.

Almond Cake
Adapted from Cooking for Mr. Latte, by Amanda Hesser

1 cup butter, at room temperature
1 cup sour cream, at room temperature
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1½ cups sugar
7 ounces almond paste
4 egg yolks, at room temperature
1 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter the bottom and sides of a 9-inch springform pan.

Combine the sour cream and baking soda in a small bowl. In another bowl, sift together the flour and salt.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the almond paste, a little at a time, beating at medium speed for 8 minutes. Beat in the egg yolks, one at a time; mix until incorporated. (It may look curdled.) Blend in the almond and vanilla extracts, followed by the sour cream mixture. Mixing at low speed, gradually add the flour mixture; beat just until blended.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Bake about 1 hour; it is done when you press the top and it returns to its shape, and also shrinks from the sides of the pan.

Remove from the pan and cool on a cooling rack. The cake will sink in the middle as it cools. Dust with confectioners' sugar and serve with whipped cream.

double chocolate cherry cookies

2010-08-01T20:47:00.009-04:00

For years, I turned my back on the Black Forest Cake. Perhaps it was my loyalty to the Shirley Temple (my preferred cherry medium as a child); perhaps it was my general aversion to chocolate-fruit desserts (fruit, in most cases, seemed only to take up valuable chocolate real estate). Either way, the Black Forest concept struck me as particularly ill conceived.

I don’t know when things changed—but partial credit for my about-face must go to the Chukar Cherry. M. and I discovered Chukar Cherries while walking through Pike Place Market last August. Toward the end of the market, post-fish acrobatics and Beecher cheese curds, we paused in front of the Chukar display: bags filled with different varieties of dried cherries (Bing, Rainier, and Columbia River Tart—three more reasons to live in Seattle), in assorted sweet and savory combinations.

As is their nature, the salesclerks asked if we would like to try something, and, as is our nature, we said yes. M. and I proceeded to sample our way through the entire collection: milk chocolate, dark chocolate, chipotle, and cocoa-dusted. We left with at least three bags, and, in my case, a newfound appreciation for the chocolate-cherry combination.

So, where does the Black Forest Cake rank, after my Chukar epiphany? To be honest, I’m not sure; I've yet to taste one since that day. But, in the meantime, I have devoted considerable effort to exploring the flavor combination in another form: the chocolate-cherry cookie.

Here are two variations on the same theme. I’m partial to the first cookie—I love the addition of milk chocolate (another recent awakening), and the flavors seem in better balance. But both are delicious, and loyal to the Chukar spirit.

***

Cherry Double-Chocolate Cookies
Adapted from Gourmet

I upped the salty quotient of this cookie, using a liberal half-teaspoon and substituting sea salt.

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
Rounded 1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 1/2 sticks butter, softened
1 1/2 cups packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
3 1/2 oz fine-quality milk chocolate, cut into 1/2-inch chunks
1 cup pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped
1 cup dried sour cherries

Preheat oven to 375 degrees with racks in upper and lower thirds.

Whisk together flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt in a small bowl.

Beat together butter and brown sugar with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, then add eggs 1 at a time, beating until combined well. Add vanilla.

Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture, mixing until just combined. Add chocolate chunks, pecans, and cherries and mix until just incorporated.

Drop 2 level tablespoons of dough per cookie about 2 inches apart onto 2 ungreased large baking sheets. With dampened fingers, flatten cookies slightly.

Bake, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until puffed and set, 12 to 14 minutes. Transfer cookies to a rack to cool. [Cookies keep in an airtight container at cool room temperature 5 days.] Makes about 25 to 30 cookies.

***

Double Chocolate Cherry Truffle Cookies
Adapted from The Sweet Life: Desserts from Chanterelle, by Kate Zuckerman

For me, the coffee flavor was a little overwhelming here; it takes at least a day for the flavors to marry, and even then I would have been happy with a little less espresso in my cookie.

1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt (I sprinkled some sea salt on top)
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
5 ounces bittersweet chocolate (62 to 70 percent cocoa solids)
4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter
4 eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 tablespoon freshly ground coffee, or less according to your taste
4 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
3/4 cup (4.5 ounces) dried cherries, chopped (I prefer them whole)

Whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, and cream of tartar in a mixing bowl and set aside.

Melt the bittersweet chocolate, unsweetened chocolate, and butter in a metal bowl set over a pot of simmering water, stirring frequently. Remove from heat and allow chocolate to cool for 10 minutes.

In a bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the eggs on medium speed. Add the sugar and beat until the eggs triple in volume and hold the lines of the whisk, about ten minutes. Add the coffee and beat for another minute.

With the mixer on low speed, add the melted chocolate; beat until incorporated. Add the dry ingredients, chocolate chips, and dried cherries. Beat until just combined. Finish mixing by hand with a rubber spatula; the batter will be very runny. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least two hours, or up to two days.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line cookie sheets with parchment paper. Using two tablespoons, scoop the batter into large mounds arranged 2 inches apart. Bake 12 to 15 minutes. The cookies puff in the oven and fall a bit once removed. Allow the cookies to cool on the sheets. Makes 30 large cookies.

plum crumble with fennel ice cream

2010-07-19T21:05:00.005-04:00

The “à la mode” concept always struck me as a bit unfair. It’s a phrase that, in its tacked-on-ness, inevitably makes ice cream feel like an afterthought, an indulgent gild-the-lily addition to another dessert.

The plain truth is, certain desserts—pies, crisps, crumbles, and cobblers among them—demand an ice cream accompaniment; they aren’t complete without one. (I’m not sure that I’ve ever had a blueberry cobbler on its own, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.) It’s why you can usually find an emergency pint of Häagen-Dazs in our freezer.

While I rarely stray from the prescribed rustic fruit dessert + vanilla ice cream formula, I’ve recently begun rethinking that convention—and investing a little more time and energy in the à la mode.

Such was the case this weekend, when I finally decided to make Marian Burros’s Plum Crumble. Marian Burros’s Plum Crumble may be the biggest dessert phenomenon since… well, Marian Burros's plum torte. (What can I say, the woman has a way with stone fruit.) For a while, Molly Wizenberg of Orangette even had it on the dessert menu at Delancey, which is exactly what I would do if I had a restaurant. It's the Platonic ideal of plum crumble (or, as Snarf says, “Plumble”; or as I say, “Plumbledore”): jammy, sweet-tart plums, occasional sparks of crystallized ginger, and a streusel-esque topping that owes its crackly surface to a last-minute melted butter bath.

In other words, it’s a recipe so good it deserves an ice cream to match. This fennel ice cream (a pairing that occurred to me en route to the Greenmarket) is the kind of thing that sounds more “out of the box” than delicious, but it somehow manages to be both, with a smooth, anise-y flavor that expresses itself at just the right decibel. Served with the crumble, it’s a game-changer—enough to put plain vanilla bean to shame.

***

Plum Crumble
Adapted from Marian Burros

Out of necessity, I substituted black plums for the recommended Italian / prune plums (and threw in a couple of extra ones), increasing the amount of sugar and spices in the filling accordingly. For the original measurements, see here.

8 large black plums, quartered
3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 1/2 tablespoons plus 1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon plus 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
3-4 tablespoons finely chopped candied ginger
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg, well beaten
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
Ice cream, not optional

Place plums in medium bowl. Heat oven to 375 degrees, with rack in center.

In a small bowl, thoroughly mix brown sugar, 3 tablespoons flour, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, ground ginger and the candied ginger. Add to plums and mix well. Arrange plums skin side up in an ungreased, deep 9-inch pie plate.

In a small bowl, combine granulated sugar, baking powder, remaining flour and cinnamon and the salt. Mix well. Stir in egg. Using hands, mix thoroughly to produce little particles. Sprinkle over plums.

Drizzle butter evenly over crumb mixture and bake 30 to 35 minutes. Crumble is done when top is browned and plums yield easily when pricked with cake tester. Remove from oven and cool.

Serve crumble warm or refrigerate for up to two days or freeze, well covered. If reheating, bring to room temperature, then warm at 300 degrees. Serve with ice cream.

***

Fennel Ice Cream
Adapted from Gourmet

1 2/3 cups heavy cream
2 teaspoons fennel seeds, crushed
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar, divided
4 large egg yolks
Pinch of salt

In a small heavy saucepan, combine the cream and fennel seeds and bring just to a simmer. Remove from the heat, cover, and let steep for about 30 minutes.

Bring milk, 1/2 cup sugar, and a pinch of salt to a simmer in a heavy medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring.

Prepare an ice bath.

Whisk together yolks and remaining 1/4 cup sugar in a large bowl, then add milk mixture in a slow stream, whisking. Return mixture to medium saucepan and cook, stirring with a wooden spoon, until mixture coats back of spoon and registers 175°F on an instant-read thermometer. (Do not let it boil.) Immediately strain the custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a metal bowl, then set the bowl in an ice bath and stir occasionally until cool, about 15 minutes.

When the custard is cool, strain the fennel cream through a fine-mesh sieve into the custard, pressing on the solids. Continue to chill in the ice bath until the custard is cold, then cover and chill in the refrigerator overnight. Freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer to a chilled airtight container, and place in the freezer to harden, about 1 hour.

The Far Breton

2010-06-23T08:00:00.005-04:00

I don't know when or why prunes became the designated whipping boy of the dried fruit kingdom. From what I can tell, it seems to be a particularly American prejudice. Somewhere along the line, in what I consider one of the great missteps of our national agenda, we stripped the pleasure away from prunes and made them merely an instrument of dietary upkeep. Let’s be quite clear: while this may sound un-American or borderline geriatric, I think prunes are absolutely delicious.

Which brings me to the Far Breton. The Far Breton is brilliant for many reasons: the delicate flan-meets-pancake consistency (think clafoutis, but better), the deliciously eggy batter, the mandatory sprinkling of powdered sugar; but it’s the prunes—deep purple, juicy prunes pregnant with Armagnac—that make this dish.

Far Breton
Adapted from Baking From My Home to Yours, by Dorie Greenspan

Okay I lied—what I love most about the Far Breton may not be the prunes; it’s the fact that it is practically (and by my standards definitely) acceptable breakfast fare. This is what the pancake dreams of becoming. The Far Breton is perfect the day it is made, but delicious after a night in the refrigerator, too.

3 large eggs
2 cups milk
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for pan
3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup good-quality pitted prunes (for instance, pruneaux d'Agen)
1/4 cup Armagnac plus 1/4 cup water or 1 cup hot Earl Grey tea
Confectioners' sugar, for dusting

In a blender, combine the milk, eggs, sugar, butter, vanilla, and salt and blend for 1 minute. Add the flour and pulse until just incorporated, scraping down the sides of the blender jar. Chill in the jar for at least three hours and up to one day.

For Armagnac-soaked prunes, combine the fruit and water in a small saucepan. Simmer over medium heat until the fruit is softened and water is almost evaporated, stirring occasionally. Turn off the heat and pour the brandy evenly over the fruit. Stand back and ignite the alcohol with a long match. Once the flame dies out, transfer the fruit and syrup to a bowl. Allow to come to room temperature, cover and set aside. For tea-soaked prunes, place the fruit in a heatproof bowl and add the hot tea. Allow to come to room temperature, cover and set aside. Steep prunes overnight.

Position rack in the center of oven and preheat to 375 degrees. Butter an 8-inch round cake pan. Line bottom of the pan with parchment or waxed paper, butter the paper then dust the pan with flour, tapping out excess.

Blend the batter again until smooth, about 5 seconds. Pour into the prepared cake pan. Drop the prunes evenly into batter. Place cake pan on a baking sheet and bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until sides are browned and puffy and knife inserted into center comes out clean.

Cool cake completely on a cooling rack. Loosen cake from the pan by running a knife around the sides. Carefully invert pan onto a piece of wax or parchment paper, remove the pan and peel off parchment round. Place serving plate over cake and invert again. Dust cake with powdered sugar and serve.

The Grind's the Thing (guest post)

2010-06-10T08:18:00.024-04:00

Every year, I have the good fortune of attending a dinner at the home of a generous Bordeaux collector. The deal: I cook a meal for eight people, she opens eight bottles of great vintage wine. This year’s dinner, scheduled for mid-May, was the Fifth Annual. For the first four years, I had prepared menus that were decidedly old-wine-friendly—simply prepared neo-classical meat-and-potatoes meals that would not overshadow the wines, many of which were upwards of 40 years old, brickish in color, and transient in the strength of their flavor.

The problem was, in an effort to make the food second fiddle to the wine, I’d also made it, well, boring.

For the Fifth Annual dinner I called an eating audible and cooked a meal that seemed about as Bordeaux-worthy as Chinese takeout (perhaps that’s a bad example; I think Chinese takeout goes well with everything)--hamburgers and onion rings. Here was my logic: 1) I happened to know this to be the favorite food of the hostess; 2) the theme of this year’s dinner was a vertical of 1975 Bordeaux (including First Growth Chateaux Haut-Brion and Margaux), a controversial vintage, but one that might yield some full-flavored wines, even 35 years later; and 3) the problem with making the meal fancy was that it made everyone feel a bit on ceremony--and I figured some food you eat with your hands would make short work of that.

The dilemma: what kind of burger to make that would still feel special, and that would turn out as well in an urban kitchen as it would on a country grill. As usual, Mock Turtle came to the rescue with a recipe from Nancy Silverton (Mozza), published in the LA Times. It called for having the butcher grind a quirky blend of beef (mostly prime chuck, plus some sirloin fat—not meat, fat) on a coarse setting.

I must admit, I was a little skeptical as I insisted to the butcher that he go against normal protocol. He took a beautiful prime chuck roast (3.5 pounds) from the meat case and said, “Are you sure you want me to add fat to this? There’s already a lot on here.” I was sure. He took a whole side of sirloin from the walk-in and began to slice strips of pure fat from it. I was starting to become less sure, but figured I’d come this far. The butcher shook his head a little while changing the disc on the grinder from the small-holed standard to a dauntingly large-holed one; the resulting ground meat looked like ultra-wide bucatini as opposed to the more spaghetti-like ribbons I’m used to. I’m not going to lie; it looked gross.

Fast forward three hours: the guests and I are in the kitchen, snacking on 24-month-aged prosciutto, drinking Chateau Gruaud Larose (a second-growth from St. Julien that was surprisingly lively; a good omen for the evening), letting the cast iron double-burner grill pan that I’d lugged from home get really hot on high flame. I nervously formed loose patties, dusted them with kosher salt, and waited another few minutes. The recipe claimed that the burgers, despite their high fat content (about 25%) would not be greasy, and indeed my hands felt pretty clean after patty-making.

What happened next is a bit of a blur, in part because I was spending most of the burgers’ cooking time furiously removing liquid fat from the shallow moat around the edge of the pan (I used a turkey baster, but it was hard to keep up with the amount of fat coming off the burgers). Grease was splattering everywhere—the pan was unbelievably hot—and smoke was being sucked up by the range’s hood at a near-smoke-alarming rate.

But when the dust—er, grease—settled, I was left with an absolutely exceptional specimen of a hamburger. Crusted with a salty char on both sides, the burgers looked overcooked at best, hockey pucks at worst. But then, once we’d fixed them with toppings—cheese (aged cheddar; in my frenzy I’d forgotten to add it on the cooking burgers for those who had requested it), avocado (another Mock Turtle tip that changed my life), ketchup, mayo, mustard, onion rings (delicious, by the way; here’s the recipe), even some of the leftover prosciutto—we each bit in to discover a beautiful red, juicy (without being runny), flavorful patty. You could taste the difference—and I’m convinced it was all about the coarse grind.

I wish I had photos of the cooking process and the resulting crispy-but-juicy burgers (one guest at the dinner quoted a famed chef’s New Yorkerism that cooking is often about “taking something flabby and making it crunchy on the outside, tender on the inside”). Alas, there was no camera on hand.

However, two weeks later I tried to recreate the miracle burgers, this time adhering even closer to the recipe by grilling them outside. While I was not able to match the originals’ char (cast iron crisps better than a grill, I suspect because it’s an even, flat surface) or interior texture (the upstate butcher’s grind was not nearly so coarse), there was the element of “grill flavor” (not to be underestimated) and I did have a camera to capture some of it.

A word to the wise for those attempting these fatty (but again, somehow light and ungreasy) burgers: beware of grease spills/fires (cast iron) and major flare-ups (grill), and maybe keep a fire extinguisher and camera handy.

Nancy’s Burgers
Adapted from Nancy Silverton in the Los Angeles Times

Note from Nancy Silverton: Silverton says burgers are the perfect party food because the toppings can be done in advance, then guests use them to personalize their burgers. Though she offers three cheeses, she says that from experience, most takers are for Gruyere, 25% might take cheddar and one of a group will want blue. Crumble out enough blue to look pretty in a bowl, 2 to 3 ounces, and know it may go into salad dressing for the next meal. Ditto cheddar, but this may fill an omelet. The cheeses should be good-quality, such as Point Reyes Blue, aged Gruyere and Grafton cheddar from Vermont or Fiscalini or Straus cheddar from California. The buns should be good-quality soft sesame or poppy seed hamburger buns. For the beef, ask the butcher to grind 2 3/4 pounds of prime chuck (10% to 15% fat) with 4 to 6 ounces of prime sirloin fat (the combination should have 20% to 28% fat total).

Note from Le Snarf: I used Arnold supermarket buns and they were delicious. I skipped the tomatoes (never liked them on burgers), bacon, and blue cheese, and I don’t think they were missed--the burger has so much flavor, bacon (dare I say this?) isn’t even warranted.

Serves 6

Toppings:
12 strips applewood-smoked bacon, fried crisp
2 ripe avocados, sliced and sprinkled with lemon juice to avoid discoloration
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 large, ripe heirloom tomato
1/2 red onion
3 ounces blue cheese
3 ounces cheddar
3 ounces Gruyere
6 iceberg lettuce leaves, each about 5 inches wide
Heinz ketchup
Best Foods mayonnaise (or Hellman's east of the Rockies)
Dijon mustard, smooth and coarse-grained

Burgers and assembly:
6 large sesame or poppy seed hamburger buns
Extra virgin olive oil
About 3 pounds ground beef (see note)
3 teaspoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

1. Brush the cut side of each bun with olive oil and set aside. Light an outdoor grill or place a seasoned cast-iron skillet over high heat.

2. Being careful not to overwork the meat, shape it into 6 patties, about 2 inches thick and 4 inches in diameter. Sprinkle each side of each patty with about one-fourth teaspoon of kosher salt and 4 to 6 grindings of freshly ground black pepper.

3. Place the burgers on the hot grill or in the hot cast-iron skillet. Sear them until they can be turned without sticking, then turn them. For rare, cook about 4 minutes, then flip and cook another 4 minutes (for medium-rare, 5 minutes on each side; for medium, 6 minutes).

4. As the burgers are cooking, toast the buns, cut side on grill or pan, for a minute or two. Just before the burgers are done cooking, garnish with a little good-quality sea salt, then top with cheese and let it melt. Have guests place lettuce, onion, tomato, bacon and avocado on the bottom half of their toasted bun. Place the burger on top, then the top of the bun. Serve ketchup, mayonnaise, and mustard with burgers.

Orange-Scented Olive Oil Cake with Fleur de Sel

2010-06-06T09:29:00.002-04:00

Of all the First Family perks that Sasha and Malia enjoy—twenty-four Christmas trees, two private jets, daily harvests from the new White House garden—I think private pastry chef is probably the one I most envy. Even Bo the Portuguese Water dog can't compete with Bill Yosses, at least when the latter is on-call to cater to one's every dessert craving.

My sweet tooth has had a serious crush on Yosses for some time now—I think it started when I tasted a version of his lemon pound cake (it puts other lemon pound cakes to shame), or perhaps with his recipe for hazelnut-paste-infused chocolate chip cookies. And, while I don't expect an invitation to the White House anytime soon, thanks to Yosses's new cookbook, The Perfect Finish (to my mind, he's earned the superlative), I can at least achieve part of my Obama family fantasy.

This recipe for a Sicilian-inspired orange cake immediately jumped out at me—for the technique (Yosses maximizes citrus flavor by simmering and then pureeing the entire fruit), the Mediterranean sensibility (read: olive oil), and—of course—the fleur de sel.

As promised, the cake filled our kitchen with a bright orange aroma. And, while the texture was a little inconsistent (at times a little too spongy, at times overly moist—my fault?), it tasted vibrant, with a delicious finishing crunch of flaky fleur de sel. I added a swipe of dark chocolate ganache to the plate (which may upset the Sicilian grandmothers among you, but I’d do all over again) and some whipped cream (because most desserts just seem empty without it).

Orange-Scented Olive Oil Cake with Fleur de Sel
Adapted from The Perfect Finish, by Bill Yosses

2 navel oranges
2 1/3 cups sugar
Unsalted butter, for greasing
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for pan
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 large eggs
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon fleur de sel, or to taste

In a large pot, bring 6 cups of water to a boil. Slice the tops and bottoms off the oranges and quarter lengthwise; add to the pot. Bring water back to a boil; drain. Repeat boiling process twice more with fresh water. (This removes the bitterness from the rind.)

Combine oranges with 1 cup sugar and 4 cups water in a pot over medium-high heat. Simmer, stirring often, until sugar dissolves and orange rind can be easily pierced with a fork, about 30 minutes. Remove pan from heat and let cool to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 10-inch cake pan with butter and dust with flour.

Sift together flour, baking powder, and baking soda in a medium bowl and set aside.

Remove orange quarters from syrup, remove and discard any seeds, and put oranges into the bowl of a food processor. Pulse until oranges form a chunky purée, 10 to 12 pulses. Add remaining sugar, reserved flour mixture, vanilla, and eggs and process until incorporated, about 2 minutes. Add olive oil; process until combined.

Pour batter into prepared pan; bake until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, 40-45 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes, then remove onto a wire rack. The cake should cool for at least 30 minutes more before serving.

Sprinkle fleur de sel over the cake just before serving, and garnish with whipped cream or chocolate ganache as desired.

caramelized black pepper chicken

2010-05-18T12:05:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I possess the willful obstinacy of a small child. No sooner did the Food and Drug Administration announce their new anti-sodium campaign than I dusted off our suite of Kikkoman products. It’s as though an umami bomb exploded in our kitchen, and I’m kind of enjoying it. (Even if my blood pressure isn’t.)

This recipe comes from Charles Phan, of the appropriately beloved Slanted Door restaurant in San Francisco. While it may not rival my meals there (which have been, for the most part, transcendent), it’s simple enough to be on the plate in 20 minutes, and tasty enough to rival most take-out.

Caramelized Black Pepper Chicken
Adapted from Charles Phan

Serves 4

Don’t skimp on the black pepper or Thai chilis—they provide the requisite heat to counterbalance the caramelized chicken.

2/3 cup dark brown sugar
1/3 cup fish sauce
1/3 cup rice vinegar
1/2 cup water
2 teaspoons minced garlic
2 teaspoons minced ginger
2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
2 fresh Thai chilis, halved, or red chile flakes to taste
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 shallots, thinly sliced
2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
Chopped cilantro

In a small bowl, combine the sugar, fish sauce, water, rice vinegar, garlic, ginger, pepper and chiles. Adjust ingredients to taste.

Heat the oil in a large deep skillet. Add the shallot and cook over moderate heat until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the fish sauce mixture and the chicken and simmer over high heat until the chicken is cooked through, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a serving bowl, garnish with the cilantro and serve.

miso-glazed sweet potatoes

2010-05-10T14:43:00.009-04:00

My sixth-grade teacher would often recount the story of her neighbors’ German shepherd—let’s call him Max. Max was a notoriously gluttonous dog. At first, people were tempted to blame hubris—a canine “Diamond” Jim Brady complex—but it turns out there was some faulty wiring in Max’s brain. His appetite was literally insatiable.

This, apparently, is a more serious problem than you might think. Max’s owners were forced to monitor his diet, carefully restricting his daily intake. And one day, left alone during the couple’s vacation (with a neglectful dog-sitter), Max ate his way through a week-long ration of food in one sitting. His stomach exploded.

Needless to say, the story haunted me for some time. Whether it was intended as some kind of case study in canine physiology, an allegory to warn against overeating, or merely as an urban legend to torment pre-teens, I still don’t know. What I do know is that last Sunday I felt deep empathy for that German shepherd. No, not because of some brain mis-wiring; in my case, the awareness of one’s own physical limitations was simply overridden by a far greater imperative: deliciousness.

The culprit? These miso-tahini glazed sweet potatoes, whose appeal was undeniable and, in retrospect, totally predictable. (Given my love for miso and tahini—both well documented here—the combination would naturally prove irresistible.)

Sweet and nutty and packed with umami, they are dangerously good—as in, I-literally-can’t-stop-eating-this-good. Google informs me that this whole “exploding stomach” thing is unlikely (at least in humans), but don’t be surprised if you end up in a state of miso-tahini-glazed delirium.

Miso-Glazed Sweet Potatoes
Adapted from Teaism, via Washingtonian Magazine

This recipe claims to serve eight people. Eight people! I am so ashamed.

4 large sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1-inch chunks
Canola oil, as needed
Salt
1/3 cup yellow miso paste
1/3 cup tahini
3/4 cup water
1/4 cup mirin
1-2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
2-3 tablespoons sugar

Make the dressing: Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl. Whisk until completely blended. Taste and adjust seasoning. This dressing is best if it’s prepared and kept overnight in the refrigerator to allow the flavors to mingle. Bring to room temperature before serving.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Toss the sweet potatoes with just enough canola oil to coat. Season with salt. Add the potatoes to a small baking pan; you want to crowd the potatoes in the pan to help them steam. Bake for 30 minutes, or until done. Set aside to cool.

Drizzle the dressing over sweet potatoes and serve.

roasted sunchokes with rosemary and lemon butter

2010-05-03T07:26:00.000-04:00

How to describe the flavor of a sunchoke?

• Sweet and tuber-esque.
• Occasionally artichoke-y, though no, the two are not related.
• Jicama-like, when raw. (Try shaving them over the escarole with pickled red onions—a nod to my favorite Otto salad.)
• Deeply chesnutty, especially when roasted.

To be honest, a precise description eludes me. In fact, it may be that elusive quality that appeals to me most. The sunchoke is its own very particular, and very haunting breed of delicious—one you have to discover for yourself.

Roasted Sunchokes with Rosemary and Lemon Butter

You may be tempted to peel these knobbly little fellows, but you'd be missing out. (The skin has great flavor.) Better to scrub them clean under cold water, as you would a potato. If you're looking to up the caramelized ante, cut the sunchokes into 1/4-inch coins or strips and decrease the baking time to 15 to 20 minutes.

Serves 4

1 pound sunchokes (a.k.a. Jerusalem artichokes), cleaned and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
Olive oil 
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 
3-4 sprigs of rosemary 
1-2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Chopped parsley, to garnish (optional)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Toss the sunchokes with olive oil (just enough to coat) and season with salt and pepper. Place on baking sheet with the rosemary sprigs.

Bake for 30 minutes, or until the sunchokes are tender and caramelized. Shake the pan halfway through baking to ensure even browning.

When the sunchokes are done, melt the butter in a large skillet over low heat. Add the lemon juice, then the sunchokes, tossing them to coat. Season to taste, then transfer to a warm plate and serve.

P.S. I didn't want to include this disclaimer, lest you be deterred in trying these, but I should warn you that sunchokes have a particular reputation. John Goodyer, the first person to cultivate sunchokes in England, wrote, “Which way soever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind within the body, thereby causing the belly to be pained and tormented, and are a meat more fit for swine than men.” I say, throw caution to the loathsome stinking wind.

chocolate sorbet with minted citrus salad

2010-04-29T11:03:00.004-04:00

The first time I tasted this dessert (or at least its prototype), I was at a dinner party, where our host prepared a Kurt Gutenbrunner-inspired cod strudel. Expecting an equally elaborate dessert, I was surprised (and a little disappointed) when she instead set out a carton of Ciao Bella chocolate sorbet and a bowl of stewed citrus. To say the dessert over-delivered would be an understatement. It has been in the back of my mind ever since.

This is a wonderfully new (or perhaps very old) take on the chocolate and citrus combination—the frozen equivalent of an orangette. After stewing in a mint simple syrup, the citrus segments are mellowed, but still puckering. They pair perfectly with the rich chocolate.

Chocolate Sorbet with Minted Citrus Salad
Citrus salad adapted from The Last Course, by Claudia Fleming

Feel free to substitute other citrus—clementines, grapefruit, etc.—this is just a basic formula. For the chocolate-averse, vanilla ice cream would make an acceptable (but more…vanilla?) substitute.

1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped
1/2 cup loosely packed mint sprigs
3 blood oranges
3 navel oranges
3 lemons
1-2 pints chocolate sorbet (preferably Ciao Bella) or ice cream
Chopped mint, for garnish

In a small saucepan, bring 1/4 cup water to a boil. Add the sugar, vanilla bean and seeds, and mint sprigs and reduce the heat to a simmer, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Continue to simmer gently until it thickens, about 7 minutes longer. Let the syrup cool completely, then strain into a large bowl, discarding the solids.

Peel the citrus fruits, removing the white membranes around the segments. Add the citrus segments to the mint syrup and toss to combine. Chill, covered, at least 1 hour.

Spoon the citrus salad over chocolate sorbet. Sprinkle with chopped mint, if desired.

upside-down pear chocolate cake

2010-04-20T21:48:00.008-04:00

Gender politics aside, little brings me more pleasure than watching M. consume something I’ve baked. You can imagine my extreme satisfaction, then, in seeing him sneak a fourth serving of this cake. Yes, fourth, though this is a less gluttonous offense than it sounds. (The servings were all very modest, and the cake was very difficult to resist.)

Given his enthusiastic response (okay, I confess—I had multiple servings as well), it’s hard to believe that I was moments away from giving up on this cake. After two botched batches of caramel, I nearly threw in the towel. Well, never has personal perseverance been so deliciously rewarded. Because that caramel, however frustrating, is the true genius of this dessert (well, beyond the obvious genius of the pear-chocolate pairing). Inverted, the caramel seeps into the cake and lends it a syrupy, British sensibility. Think sticky toffee pudding, but with pears and chocolate. It’s an effect that will bring you back for seconds, thirds, and yes, maybe fourths.

Upside Down Pear Chocolate Cake
Adapted from Rustic Fruit Desserts, by Cory Schreiber and Julie Richardson

Pack the pears tightly in the pan; they will spread out during baking. (I left some space between mine, and the cake came out looking a little gap-toothed.) We served this with vanilla Häagen-Dazs, but next time I might experiment with homemade caramel or brown butter ice cream.

For the topping:
1 cup (7 ounces) granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
3 firm but ripe pears, peeled, cored, and each cut into 12 slices (1 pound prepped)

For the cake:
1/4 cup (2 ounces) unsalted butter
4 ounces dark chocolate, chopped
1 cup (5 ounces) all-purpose flour
1/3 cup (1 ounce) unsweetened Dutch-processed cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
3/4 cup (5 1/4 ounces) granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup whole milk
Vanilla ice cream or chantilly cream, for serving (optional)

Butter a 9-inch round baking pan.

To make the fruit topping, put the sugar and water in a heavy saucepan and stir until the sugar dissolves. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, then cover and cook for 2 minutes. (Covering in this way allows the steam to wash down the sides of pan, which will prevent sugar crystals from forming.) Uncover the saucepan and continue to boil the sugar, gently and slowly swirling the pan as needed to cook the caramel evenly, until it becomes a rich amber color. (This will take about 10 minutes.) Occasionally wash down the sides of the pan with a pastry brush dipped in cold water.

Carefully pour the caramel into the prepared pan and allow it to harden. Fan the pear slices on top of the caramel in a circle around the perimeter, filling in the center with the remaining slices.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

To make the cake, place the butter and chocolate in a small saucepan over low heat and melt, stirring occasionally. Sift the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt together in a bowl. Transfer the melted chocolate to a mixing bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer and add the sugar. In a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, beat on medium speed for about 3 minutes, until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Stir in the flour mixture in three additions alternating with the milk in two additions, beginning and ending with the flour and scraping down the sides of the bowl occasionally.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake in the middle of the oven for 40 to 45 minutes, or until the cake bounces back slightly when touched. Cool on a wire rack for 15 minutes, then invert the cake onto a plate, leaving the pan on top of the cake for 5 minutes before you remove it. Serve the cake warm, topped with a small dollop of Chantilly cream or a scoop of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. Wrapped in plastic wrap, the cake will keep at room temperature for up to 3 days.

weeknight menu

2010-04-13T15:47:00.002-04:00

Given my aforementioned menu hang-ups—a kitchen mentality that is equal parts wayward and micro-managing—it would be reasonable to assume that I don't cook well with others. And yes, that may be true, but only up to a point.

I am much more amenable, for instance, if they come bearing a picnic basket full of Kerrygold products. Such was the case with Mollie, a relatively new guest to our kitchen, but one who quickly endeared herself—first with her spoon cookies, and more recently with the aforementioned Kerrygold products.

Of course, it also helps that she and I seem to dog-ear the exact same recipes, whether they be from the latest issue of Saveur (Moroccan Chicken with Carrot Puree), or a new cookbook. So it didn’t surprise me when, in planning a weeknight dinner, we both immediately thought of Mark Bittman’s pan-fried chickpeas with chorizo. Or that she would propose a dessert from David Lebovitz’s still-unpublished (at the time) cookbook—the same one I’ve been coveting for months.

The resulting menu went off entirely without a hitch—a feat that was celebrated with many wedges of Kerrygold cheddar.

***

Fried Chickpeas With Chorizo and Spinach

At the time, the fact that Mollie and I were craving the exact same dish struck me as further evidence of our culinary kindred spirit-hood. But objectively, it’s hard to imagine someone who saw the NY Times photograph accompanying this recipe and wouldn’t want to make it. And rightly so—it’s very tasty, with the chickpeas and spinach absorbing the brininess of the chorizo. But next time I will experiment more—perhaps substituting ramps for the spinach, or seasoning the oil with garlic (see below). I’ve also ditched Bittman’s broiler method in favor of toasted breadcrumbs, as our broiler was a bit too petit for the task.

Serves 4

1 cup breadcrumbs (homemade or panko)
6-7 tablespoons olive oil
2 cups cooked or canned chickpeas, rinsed and dried
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 ounces chorizo, diced
1/2 pound spinach, roughly chopped
1/4 cup sherry

In a small sauté pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat and toast the breadcrumbs until golden brown, seasoning to taste. Set aside.

Heat 3 of tablespoons of oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the smashed garlic cloves, if desired. (If not, proceed to next step.) Once the garlic has turned golden brown, remove from the pan and discard.

Add the chickpeas (they should fit in one layer) and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until chickpeas begin to brown, about 10 minutes, then add chorizo. Continue cooking for another 5 to 8 minutes or until chickpeas are crisp; use a slotted spoon to remove chickpeas and chorizo from pan and set aside.

Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the pan; when it’s hot, add spinach and sherry, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and cook spinach over medium-low heat until very soft and the liquid has evaporated. Add chickpeas and chorizo back to the pan and toss quickly to combine; top with bread crumbs. Serve hot or at room temperature.

***

Black Bass with Sicilian-Style Pesto
Adapted from Urban Italian, by Andrew Carmellini

While it doesn’t have the same country of origin as Bittman’s pan-fried chickpeas, this Sicilian-style pesto shares a Mediterranean sensibility. The sauce is reminiscent of a romesco, with a bright flavor that's amplified by sun-dried tomatoes and basil.

Serves 4

For the bass:
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 boneless black bass fillets (about 2 pounds total)
salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon orange zest
2 scallions, whites only, chopped very fine
1/4 cup white vermouth or white wine
1 tablespoon butter

For the pesto:
3/4 cup oil-packed sun dried tomatoes
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1 clove garlic, peeled
1/2 cup sliced blanched almonds
1/2 cup fresh basil (about 15 leaves), chopped
1/2 cup parsley, chopped
1/2 cup celery leaf, chopped

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Pour the olive oil into a baking dish.

Using a sharp knife, make 4 shallow diagonal incisions in the skin side of each fillet. (This keeps the fish from curling up and getting tough.) Season the fillets with salt, pepper, oregano, and citrus zest and sprinkle the scallions over the top. Lay them in the baking dish skin-side up.

Pour the vermouth or wine over the fish. Break up the butter with your fingers and place little bits across the fish. Bake the fish, uncovered, until the flesh turns just white and is semi-firm to the touch, about 5 to 8 minutes. When you cut into the fish, the center should be just opaque.

Meanwhile, make the pesto: Drain the sun-dried tomatoes and put them in the blender with the olive oil, garlic, almonds, and 1 cup of hot tap water. Blend on high until the ingredients have combined into a chunky sauce, about 1 minute.

Transfer the fish from the baking dish to a plate but do not discard the juices in the bottom of the pan. Add half the pesto to the juices in the baking dish and mix together over low heat until everything is combined. Add the chopped basil, parsley, and celery leaf, and mix to combine all the ingredients.

Spoon a portion of the pesto onto the bottom of each serving plate and place a fish fillet on top. Drizzle more extra-virgin olive oil over the top. Serve immediately.

***

Maple-Walnut Pear Cake
Adapted from Ready for Dessert, by David Lebovitz

I have a particular affection for upside down cakes, especially those baked in a cast iron skillet—and those that lend themselves to morning-after snacking. (Pears and maple syrup? You had to see that coming.) This cake comes from David Lebovitz’s just-released Ready for Dessert, a compendium of his all-time favorite recipes that I’ve been waiting for all winter.

For the topping:
1/3 cup (80 ml) maple syrup
1/4 cup (60 g) packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup (50g) walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped
3 ripe Bosc pears, peeled, quartered and cut lengthwise into ¼-inch slices

For the cake:
1½ cups (210 g) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (115 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup (100 g) sugar
1/4 cup (60g) packed light brown sugar
1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1/2 cup (125 ml) whole milk, at room temperature

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Make the topping: combine the maple syrup and brown sugar in a 9-inch round cake pan or cast iron skillet over low heat. Once the mixture begins to bubble, simmer gently for 1 minute, stirring frequently. Remove from heat.

Sprinkle the walnuts evenly over the mixture and lightly press them in. Arrange the pear slices over the walnuts in an overlapping pinwheel pattern.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt.

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat together the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and cinnamon on medium speed until the mixture is light and fluffy, about 3 to 5 minutes. Add the vanilla and eggs, one at a time, beating until fully incorporated. Gradually mix in half the dry ingredients, then the milk, followed by the rest of the dry ingredients. Mix until just combined.

Carefully scrape the batter onto the pears and smooth it into an even layer. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Let cool for 15 minutes.

Run a knife around the sides of the cake to loosen it from the pan, then invert onto a serving platter. (Any walnuts that are stuck to the pan can nestled back into the cake.) Serve warm with whipped cream or ice cream. The cake will keep for 2 days at room temperature. Reheat before serving.

birthday menu

2010-04-07T18:52:00.004-04:00

While all of these recipes easily merit their own post, it seems more appropriate (and more efficient) to present the remainder of A's all-star birthday menu in situ.

***

Ragoût of Morels with Crème Fraîche, Herbs and Toasted Brioche
Adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques, by Suzanne Goin

Brioche, butter, crème fraîche, heavy cream, morel mushrooms...more butter. This dish does not demand a lot of imagination. It's delicious because, well, how could it not be? As with most of Goin's recipes, the ingredient list is more aspirational than compulsory. We made do without the chervil, for instance.

1 tablespoon tarragon
1 tablespoon chervil sprigs
2 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley leaves
2 tablespoons 1/2-inch-snipped chives
3/4 pound fresh morels, trimmed and cleaned
5 tablespoons butter, softened
1 teaspoon thyme leaves
1/2 cup sliced shallots
1 cup mushroom or chicken stock
Three 3/4-inch-thick slices brioche
1/2 cup heavy cream
6 tablespoons crème fraîche
kosher salt and black pepper

Toss the tarragon, chervil, parsley leaves and chives together in a small bowl and set aside, covered with a damp paper towel, in the refrigerator. If the morels are large, cut them in half lengthwise.

Heat a large sauté pan over high heat for 2 minutes. Add 3 tablespoons butter, and when it foams, scatter the morals into the pan. (Do not overcrowd them.) sauté 2 to 3 minutes, stirring often. Turn down the heat to medium, and add the thyme, 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, and black pepper. Cook until the mushrooms are crispy on the outside, yet still tender—about 6 to 8 minutes.

Add 1 tablespoon butter, and stir in the shallots. Cook about 2 minutes, until the shallots are translucent and tender. Turn the heat up to high, add the broth, and reduce by half. Remove from heat.

Meanwhile, lightly butter the brioche on both sides. Heat a large cast-iron pan over medium-high heat and toast the slices on both sides until golden brown. Cut each slice in half diagonally, and divide between six plates.

When the brioche is ready, return the mushrooms to medium heat for a minute or two. Stir in the cream and season to taste.

Spoon the morels over and around the toast. Dollop each toast with crème fraîche and scatter the herbs over the top.

***

Pork Tenderloin with Crystallized Sugar and Ginger Sauce
Adapted from Jeremiah Tower Cooks, by Jeremiah Tower

Given my penchant for sweet things, it's only natural that I would respect a recipe calling for a “crystallized sugar and ginger sauce”—even when applied to pork tenderloin. I think this may be the savory, 1980s equivalent to the current bacon-caramel trend. The original recipe calls for a 45-minute brine prior to the marinade—a step which we omitted. Likewise, K. wisely did away with the “jasmine-ginger-chili oil” garnish. Like I said, totally 80s. But also extremely tasty.

Two 1-pound pork tenderloins, trimmed
1 tablespoon chopped fresh ginger
1 tablespoons chopped fresh garlic
1 large stalk fresh basil, stemmed, stems chopped, leaves reserved
1/2 cup superfine sugar
6 star anise
1 cup chicken stock
1/2 cup sherry vinegar
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons crystallized ginger, finely chopped
1 teaspoon sesame oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place the ginger, garlic, and chopped basil stems in a small bowl, mix together, and then rub onto the tenderloins. Cover them and let marinate for 1 hour.

Meanwhile, put the sugar in a 10-inch nonstick sauté pan and heat slowly until it caramelized and just turns light brown (but beyond gold). Add the star anise. Let the caramel cool for 2 minutes, then add the stock and vinegar [be careful: it may spatter] and cook until the sugar is completely dissolved. Remove the star anise.

Preheat the grill.

Wipe the marinade off the tenderloins. Season them lightly with salt and pepper, rub with the olive oil, and grill for 8 to 10 minutes, until done. Let rest for 5 minutes.

Chop the fresh basil leaves. Bring the sauce to a simmer, then turn off the heat. Stir in the crystallized ginger, basil, and sesame oil and season to taste.

Slice the tenderloins and pour some of the sauce over the slices, passing the rest.

***

Cream-Braised Brussels Sprouts
Adapted from All About Braising, by Molly Stevens

Contrary to popular belief, you can over-braise a Brussels sprout—particularly mid-board game. These sprouts spent a bit too long in their simmering cream bath, making them more spoon-tender than fork-tender. But, while I wouldn’t recommend repeating our mistake, I can't say I regret it. I now know what creamy mashed Brussels sprouts taste like, and they’re pretty freaking great. Don't omit the lemon—it makes the dish.

Serves 4

1¼ pound Brussels sprouts, trimmed
3 tablespoons butter
coarse sea salt and freshly ground pepper (preferably white pepper)
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 lemon

Cut the Brussels sprouts in half from stem end to tip, and then cut each half in half again. Ultimately, you want little wedges, no more than ½-inch across.

In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the Brussels sprouts and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the sprouts are nicely browned in spots, about 5 minutes.

Pour in the cream, stir to mix, and then cover the pot. Reduce to a low simmer. Braise until the sprouts are tender enough to be pierced easily with the tip of a paring knife, about 30-35 minutes. The cream will have reduced some and will have taken on a creamy tan color.

Remove the lid, and add the lemon zest and juice (or to taste). Adjust seasonings. Let the pan simmer, uncovered, for a minute or two to thicken the cream to a glaze. Serve immediately.

***

Roasted Carrots with Garlic and Thyme
Adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, by Deborah Madison

I don't think this would make my shortlist for best-ever carrot recipes, but it's simple and classic. Next time, I might add some toasted almonds for additional texture, or substitute a few sprigs of rosemary.

Serves 4

1 1/2 lb carrots, peeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
10 cloves garlic
Several thyme sprigs
Chopped thyme or parsley
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Toss the carrots with the oil, and season with salt and pepper. Put them in a baking dish or roasting pan with the garlic and thyme sprigs. Add 2 tablespoons water; cover tightly with aluminum foil. Bake until tender, 25 to 45 minutes. Check at least twice while they are cooking to make sure there is a little moisture in the pan—and give the pan a shake to redistribute the carrots.

Toward the end, remove the foil and continue roasting until the liquid is reduced and the carrots are browned. Serve with chopped thyme or parsley.

flourless chocolate cake with meringue topping

2010-03-30T15:32:00.010-04:00

Though there were many happy distractions on our recent visit to Concord, we remained single-minded in purpose: to celebrate Serious Turtle’s 30th birthday. It was an occasion that demanded not only our attendance, but also our most earnest culinary efforts.

The week before, K. devised the birthday menu—a retrospective of Turtle's most-requested dishes: Daniel Boulud smoked salmon (with accoutrements), Suzanne Goin’s ragout of morels with crème fraîche and toasted brioche; Jeremiah Tower’s pork tenderloin with caramel and crystallized ginger sauce; Molly Stevens’s cream-braised brussels sprouts; roasted carrots with garlic, and… ?

The cake—to my mind, a birthday’s raison d'être—was a lingering question mark.

It wasn’t until the birthday morning (after the requisite round of ebelskivers) that K. and I sat down to narrow our options. In a nod to nostalgia, we looked into recreating Turtle’s childhood favorite (a semi-homemade vanilla layer cake + chocolate frosting), but agreed that something chocolate, and sans cake mix, was more appropriate. We considered multiple layers, but limited time and oven space suggested it was wiser not to.

So, to review: we wanted something chocolate and homemade, with the festivity of a layer cake, but no layers. (Oh, and it had to be relatively low maintenance.) It seemed like an impossible wish list—or at least it did until, flipping through the pages of Desserts by The Yard, we discovered a recipe that seemed to check every box:

Flourless chocolate cake. I know what you’re thinking: That’s the solution? Where’s the panache? The architectural flourish?

And fair enough. Unadorned as you see here, the cake is nothing special—a standard variation on a stale concept. But this was only the beginning. A substratum. A confectionery bedrock. On top of which we spooned a veritable Matterhorn of whipped meringue.

The final product was not just beautiful, it was a study in topography—one part dark chocolate and four parts wispy meringue. (The golden meringue crackles, then dissolves on your tongue, leaving you with a spoonful of warm fudge.) It was gooey chocolate tar pit meets cumulus sugar cloud.

It was a cake worthy of the occasion.

Flourless Chocolate Cake with Meringue Topping
Adapted from Desserts by the Yard, by Sherry Yard

For the cake:
8½ ounces bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter
5 large eggs, at room temperature
1 cup + 2 tablespoons sugar
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

For the meringue:
8 large egg whites, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
1½ cups sugar

Make the cake: Place a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees. Butter a 9- or 10-inch fluted tart pan or 9-inch springform pan. The pan must be at least 1 inch deep or the batter will overflow.

Melt the butter and chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl or in the bowl of a double boiler, stirring together until smooth.

Beat together the eggs and sugar on medium speed until pale and the mixture forms a ribbon when lifted from the bowl with a spatula, about 2 minutes. On low speed, slowly add the cocoa powder and the chocolate mixture and combine well. Pour into the prepared pan.

Bake for 15 minutes, rotate the pan and continue to bake for another 8 minutes, or until the cake is slightly firm to the touch. Remove and slow to cool on a rack to room temperature.

Prior to serving, preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the egg whites on low speed until foamy. Add the cream of tartar and increase the speed to medium. Continue beating while you gradually add the sugar, one tablespoon at a time. Beat the mixture to stiff, satiny peaks.

Spoon the meringue over the chocolate cake, creating decorative swirls. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the meringue is golden brown. Serve from the pan. Refrigerate leftovers.

roasted cauliflower and sesame spread

2010-03-22T15:14:00.004-04:00

I love Middle Eastern food for many reasons—the spices, the smoky char of grilled meats, the culture of sharing—but perhaps foremost among these is the central place of tahini. In ancient Persia, the ground sesame paste originated as ardeh (“holy food”), and let me just say: those people knew what was up.

My introduction to tahini was fairly commonplace: like most people, I knew it only as a key ingredient to dips like hummus and baba ghanouj. And I didn’t feel the need to take the relationship any further.

What a difference a couple of years make. Somewhere between Ana Sortun’s parsnip hummus, Sara Jenkins’s roasted cauliflower with tahini sauce (one of my favorite discoveries of 2009) and Casa Moro’s beet and tahini dip, I developed a deep, abiding love for tahini. Seriously, I am hard-pressed to name a vegetable that wouldn’t benefit from its creamy sesame flavor. (Don’t even get me started on sweet applications. Just go to Russ & Daughters and try their seven-layer halva.)

This recipe comes from Jerry Traunfeld of Seattle’s Poppy restaurant, and, given my previous success with the cauliflower and tahini combination, it seemed natural to adapt it to puree form. After all, pureeing brings me one step closer to mainlining the stuff.

Texturally, I’m not quite sure how I feel about it—the spread is coarse, almost sandy from the roasted florets. But it tastes as delicious as I would have expected.

Roasted Cauliflower and Sesame Spread
Adapted from Food & Wine

1 head of cauliflower, halved crosswise and thinly sliced
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground coriander
Kosher salt
3 tablespoons tahini
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
3 tablespoons chopped cilantro
Sesame seeds, for garnish

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

In a large bowl, toss the cauliflower with the oil, ginger and coriander and season with salt. Spread the cauliflower on a rimmed baking sheet and roast for about 40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender and lightly browned in spots. Let cool slightly.

Transfer the cauliflower to a food processor. Add the tahini and lemon juice and pulse to a chunky puree; season with salt. Add the cilantro and pulse just until incorporated. Transfer the spread to a bowl and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Serve warm with pita bread.

curry-roasted butternut squash and chickpeas

2010-03-21T19:39:00.006-04:00

This dish was initially conceived as an “Indian twist” on a Thanksgiving side. And, while I’m in no hurry to see it on my holiday table (for me, gravy-compatibility is a Thanksgiving prerequisite), I would happily eat it just about any other night of the year.

Curry-Roasted Butternut Squash and Chickpeas
Adapted from Food & Wine

Floyd Cardoz’s bhoondi raita made a perfect substitute for the cilantro-yogurt sauce recommended below, but this one does quite well in a pinch.

2 large butternut squash (5 1/2 pounds)—peeled, seeded and cut into 1-inch dice
One 19-ounce can chickpeas—drained, rinsed and dried
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon mild curry powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
3 cups plain whole-milk yogurt
3/4 cup finely chopped cilantro, plus more for garnish
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In a large bowl, toss the butternut squash with the chickpeas, olive oil, curry and cayenne and season with salt and pepper. Spread the squash cubes on a large rimmed baking sheet and roast for 1 hour, or until tender.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, stir the yogurt with the cilantro and lemon juice and season with salt and pepper.

Spoon the roasted butternut squash and chickpeas onto a platter and drizzle with 1/2 cup of the yogurt sauce. Sprinkle with cilantro, and serve the remaining yogurt sauce on the side.

cucumber raita with chickpea puffs

2010-03-18T15:42:00.005-04:00

Floyd Cardoz's bhoondi raita so far transcends "condiment" status it's hard to know what to call it. Yes, it's a raita in all the traditional senses—a cooling yogurt sauce scented with cumin and mixed with shredded cucumber. But to that base, Cardoz adds adorable bhoondi—tiny chickpea flour dumplings that pop and crunch in your mouth.

It may not have been the centerpiece, but bhoondi raita was the definitely keystone to our Indian meal—a perfect counterpoint to cafreal chicken and curried butternut squash and chickpeas.

In other (immortal) words, it really tied the room together.

***

Cucumber Raita with Chickpea Puffs
Adapted from One Spice, Two Spice, by Floyd Cardoz

If you don't feel like frying up chickpea flour dumplings (what??), the cucumber raita is delicious on its own. But seriously, make the bhoondi, if only for snacking’s sake.

For the bhoondi:
1/2 cup chickpea flour
1 scant tablespoon minced mild fresh green chile
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons water
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Pinch of cayenne
1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 scant tablespoon minced cilantro
2 cups canola oil

For the raita:
1/2 pound cucumbers, preferably seedless or Kirby
2 1/2 teaspoon cumin seeds
2 cups plain yogurt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1 teaspoon lime juice
1/2 teaspoon
Kosher salt

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, chile, and water. Whisk in the spices and cilantro. Let the batter sit for 15 minutes.

Heat the oil in a heavy in a heavy 2-quart pot over moderately high heat until the oil shimmers.

Whisk the batter and pour a small amount through a slotted spoon into the oil. The bhoondi will bob to the surface almost immediately, but continue to fry them until they are golden and crisp, about 1 minute. Transfer the bhoondi with a slotted spoon to paper towels and sprinkle with salt. Repeat with remaining batter. [Bhoondi keep in an airtight container for 2 weeks.]

If using Kirby cucumbers, peel and grate them into a medium bowl. If using seedless cucumbers, leave the peel on and grate into the bowl. Squeeze excess moisture out of the cucumber with your hands and discard the liquid. You should have a packed 2/3 cup grated, squeezed cucumber

Toast the cumin seeds in a dry skillet over moderately low heat until they turn a couple of shades darker, about 3 minutes. Coarsely crush them with a mortar and pestle.

Whisk the yogurt into the cucumber. Add the chile, cumin seeds, cayenne, lime juice, sugar, and salt to taste. Cover and refrigerate at least 1 hour and up to two days. Just before serving, adjust seasoning to taste. Stir in the bhoondi and serve.

chicken cafreal

2010-03-16T15:43:00.005-04:00

When I first started cooking, my process of recipe selection was fairly accidental; menu planning meant simply shoehorning various new and tasty-sounding dishes into one meal. It took a few memorable failures—e.g., the aforementioned dinner of Momofuku Brussels sprouts and butternut squash and tahini salad (two delicious, but laughably discordant recipes)—for me to rethink my approach.

Since then, my menu planning process has evolved considerably—which is to say, it’s become considerably more anal—transforming what was once a relatively spur-of-the-moment decision into a subject of rigorous analysis.

This new system has drawbacks. For one, it means that, however willing I am to improvise during the act of cooking, the cooking itself demands significant forethought. (Our spontaneous, simple weeknight dinners are usually neither spontaneous nor simple.) Also, I’ve become a bit of a menu tyrant.

The good news is that every once and a while it yields a winning combination of dishes and flavors—a meal where everything on the plate conspires toward some greater whole.

Such was the case last weekend, when M. and I had some friends over for an Indian-inspired dinner. Spicy cilantro-marinated chicken, curried butternut squash and chickpeas, cool cucumber raita, roasted cauliflower-tahini spread: every component of the meal was delicious—they can and will be repeated independently—but the ensemble itself is worth celebrating.

Chicken Cafreal
Adapted from One Spice, Two Spice, by Floyd Cardoz

This is not a marinade for the cilantro-ambivalent. (The recipe calls for ½ pound of the stuff.) But for everyone else, it's delicious—spicy and bright, and sinus-clearing, to boot. Next time, I'll reserve the excess for roasted root vegetables.

Serves 6

5-6 pounds chicken parts (or two 3-pound, butterflied chickens)
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 pound cilantro (including stems), coarsely chopped
10 whole garlic cloves, peeled
¼ cup thinly sliced peeled ginger
1 mild green chile, seeded and cut into pieces
1 tablespoon cumin seeds
1½ teaspoons black peppercorns
4 cloves
½ cinnamon stick
1 tablespoon kosher salt

Place lime juice, cilantro, garlic, ginger and chile in a blender or food processor and puree until smooth.

With a mortar and pestle or in an electric grinder, finely grind cumin seeds, peppercorns, cloves and cinnamon.

Pour cilantro puree into a large bowl and stir in ground spices and salt. Rub chicken with enough marinade to thoroughly cover. Refrigerate leftover marinade for serving at the table or for another dish. [Sweet potatoes, perhaps?]

Put chicken in large resealable plastic bag and refrigerate. Marinate chicken for at least six hours and up to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place a tiny amount of water (about 1/8 inch) in a large roasting pan and fit the chicken into the pan. Lightly pat remaining marinade on top of the chicken with a paper towel.

Roast chickens until done, about 1 hour, 15 minutes [less for chicken parts]. Allow to rest for a few minutes and slice. Serve with pan juices.

guest post: potato chip cookies

2010-03-11T10:33:00.004-05:00

I'm very excited to introduce a fantastic guest post (and a fantastic recipe), straight from our nation's Corn Belt. In addition to authoring brilliant debut novels, Jambo moonlights as a master cookie decorator at a neighborhood bakery. Here she brings us a more humble, but no less delicious breed of cookie.

***

Let me start by saying that these cookies won first place at the Iowa State Fair. No sub-categories about it. Not: "novelty" cookie. Not "variation on the basic theme of chocolate chip" cookie. Not: "not like your Grandma ever made" cookie. Not "taking low-brow and making it cool" cookies. Best overall. That's huge.

I thought I knew what it meant to win at the Iowa State Fair—just from reading the web traffic—but I didn't really know until I went.

Let me tell you what happened to me at the Iowa State Fair: I witnessed a mullet competition. I witnessed a llama competition. I witnessed a man eat an entire funnel cake in two bites. I received a tiny paper cup from a tiny old lady ladling samples of ostrich stew. I saw a lot of anti-Barack T-shirts. I circled back to the old lady for another go-round. I tried to get a deep-fried Twinkie and got an electrical fire instead. The place is totally intense. But not as intense as these cookies.

What makes them so good? The old yin-yang of sweet and salty, for starters. The slight crunch of chip-shards yields a mouth-feel that is mildly perilous and totally exciting. Put in plenty of potato chips, and don't grind them too small. You want to confront them. Don't shy away. I must confess: I've never tried Ruffles. Or Fritos. Both would be daring new frontiers. I have tried peanut butter chips, and didn't regret it.

I brought them to the big city to justify my arrival. I brought them to my lovely host, known here as Mock Turtle, because I like to bring her everything wonderful I encounter. We used to share an apartment. Now we just share a kindred-ness of spirit that refuses to recognize state boundaries.

Potato Chip Cookies
Adapted from the Iowa State Fair Cookbook

3/4 cup unsalted butter
1 cup packed light brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 cups crushed potato chips
1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Beat the butter and sugars [LOVE it whenever sugar is plural] together, using an electric mixer set at medium-high speed, until light and fluffy. Reduce speed to medium and beat in eggs and vanilla. Reduce speed to low and mix in the flour, salt, and baking soda. Gently stir in the potato chips and chocolate chips.

Drop the dough (tablespoon size) about 2 inches apart, on ungreased sheets, for 14 to 16 minutes. Transfer to wire rack after another 2 minutes on the sheet.

escarole salad with pickled red onions

2010-02-28T08:17:00.001-05:00

City Bakery’s hot chocolate festival can only go so far to relieve the winter doldrums. February (officially the longest month ever, despite what experts say) has left me feeling defeated, and decidedly ready for spring…

Or perhaps not entirely decided. Because, while I’ve lost my tolerance for winter’s ubiquitous slush puddles and 5:30 p.m. sunsets, I’m still loving the food. Beets, salsify, brussels sprouts—my appetite for cold-weather ingredients is inexhaustible.

Nowhere is this better exemplified than in the winter salad. To some, salads may seem inimical to the season. But look past the waxy tomatoes and wilted iceberg lettuce, and I promise that winter is full of forage-centric potential.

Exhibit A:

Escarole Salad with Pickled Red Onions
Adapted from Anne Burrell

Escarole, endive, chicory—these winter greens tend to have a more robust flavor (and texture) than their temperate counterparts. Here the bitterness of the escarole is harnessed for good, playing perfectly off the brininess of the pecorino, and the sweet bite of the pickled onions. I’ve admired variations on this theme at several restaurants: Lupa, Otto, Frankies. But Burrell’s hazelnut-pecorino-parsley crumb sets this version apart. I love this salad on its own, or accompanying a simple pasta (for instance, the Fettuccine with Peas and Parmesan).

For the salad:
1/2 cup grated pecorino
1/2 cup toasted hazelnuts
2 tablespoons freshly chopped parsley
1 head escarole, washed, spun dry, cut into bite size pieces
High-quality extra-virgin olive oil

For the pickled onions:
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup cold water
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 to 3 generous shots hot sauce (e.g. Tabasco)
1 red onion, peeled, halved and sliced into very thin half-moons

Make the pickled onions: In a small bowl, combine red wine vinegar with 1/2 cup of cold tap water. Stir in salt, the sugar and the hot sauce. Add the sliced onions and let sit for at least one hour.

Pulse the pecorino, hazelnuts and parsley in the food processor and pulse until they are coarsely chopped.

Toss together the escarole, hazelnut mixture and some of the pickled red onions and dress with some of the pickling liquid and olive oil. (If you have hazelnut oil on hand, you can drizzle some of that as well.) Season with salt and pepper to taste.

tortellini alfredo

2010-02-17T13:06:00.008-05:00

The child foodie is a relatively new invention. Twenty years ago, there were no culinary wunderkinds — no twelve-and-under restaurant critics or cooking show hosts.

When it came to food, I was a particularly undiscerning (and unadventurous) six-year-old. Many meals were spent sneaking food into my napkin, or inventing new reasons to “please be excused.”

This was the dish that changed all that. It is, for all its faults, the dish that taught me to love food.

By faults, I'm speaking not of flavor, but rather of the recipe’s patent inauthenticity. The origins of alfredo sauce may be lost to history, but I’m pretty sure they didn't involve canned parmesan cheese and frozen chicken tortellini. That said, while one could certainly substitute artisanal ingredients with excellent results, in this case I’d rather be loyal to my memory of the dish, and to my mother’s original recipe—processed cheese and all. It may not be gourmet, but it’s pretty damn great.

Tortellini Alfredo

Though this dish was once in my family's regular weeknight rotation, our collective nutritional know-better has relegated it to special occasions. On birthdays, it often appears in hors d'oeuvre form: toothpick-speared tortellini in a glorious pool of cream, butter and cheese. Please don’t omit the nutmeg—it’s an inspired touch.

1 cup heavy cream
1 stick unsalted butter
About 1 cup Parmesan cheese (the American canned version, if you want to keep it real), plus more for serving
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg, or to taste
1 pound frozen chicken or cheese tortellini

In a small saucepan, melt the butter and cream over medium heat. Gradually add the Parmesan cheese and stir until fully incorporated. [You may want to add more or less cheese, depending on desired thickness.] Season with pepper and nutmeg to taste. Keep warm, stirring occasionally.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the tortellini according to package instructions.

Drain the tortellini and return to pot. Pour over alfredo sauce and toss gently to combine. Serve in warmed bowls, with extra cheese and freshly ground black pepper.

spice-rubbed pork tenderloin with baby carrots

2010-02-09T16:41:00.005-05:00

You know how, on LOST, you get the sense (and by “get the sense” I mean that it is suggested with all the opacity of a kindergarten lesson) that the lives of the characters are somehow irrevocably intertwined? That, even in the face of extraordinary events that defy the space/time continuum—the disappearance of an Island, for instance, or the successful detonation of a hydrogen bomb—Jack, Locke, Hurley, et al. will be pulled, without their knowledge or understanding, toward some predetermined fate?

I’m beginning to think that the same is true for me and Molly Stevens. After all, doesn’t it seem like just last month that I was lauding her recipe for beef tenderloin? (It was just last month.) And, isn’t it strange that I would inadvertently set my heart on another Epicurious recipe for tenderloin (this time pork) also belonging to Molly Stevens??

Of course, it could just be that I am drawn to her particular culinary sensibilities. Or that years of practice have refined my Epicurious strooping. Still, it’s eerie, no?

Eerie, and also very fortunate. Because this tenderloin, just like the last, was extremely tasty, spiced with cumin and oregano and served alongside roasted baby carrots. The carrots make the dish, really—all the sweet caramelization you’d expect, plus a delicious porky glaze from the pan drippings.

Alas, I think it’s time I say goodbye to tenderloin (of all stripes) for a while—I would hate to neglect the more economical and eco-friendly parts of the animal. But I suspect that Ms. Stevens and I will cross paths again soon.

Spice-Rubbed Pork Tenderloin with Roasted Baby Carrots
Adapted from Bon Appétit

This recipes calls for true baby carrots (i.e. not the shaved-down nubbins you find in plastic bags)—but you can easily substitute regular carrots, cut into 3-inch lengths. Realistically, I would double the carrot recipe to serve six.

Serves 6

For the carrots:
2 pounds baby carrots, peeled, trimmed, leaving 1/2 inch of green tops attached
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon butter, diced
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 small jalapeño (preferably red), seeded, coarsely chopped
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon ancho chile powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

For the pork:
2 1-to 1 1/4-pound pork tenderloins
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ancho chile powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Arrange carrots on large tinfoil-lined baking sheet. Whisk 2 tablespoons water and all remaining ingredients in small bowl; pour over carrots and toss to coat. Cover tightly with heavy-duty foil. [Can be made 2 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature. Toss to coat before continuing.]

Roast carrot mixture covered until just tender, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, arrange pork tenderloins on another rimmed baking sheet. Stir oregano, cumin, chile powder, smoked paprika, and 1 teaspoon coarse salt in small bowl; rub mixture all over tenderloins. Heat oil in heavy large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add pork to skillet and cook until browned on all sides, about 5 minutes. Return to rimmed baking sheet.

Remove foil from carrots. Nestle pork among carrots on baking sheet, arranging carrots in single layer around pork. Roast uncovered until instant-read thermometer inserted into center of pork registers 145 degrees, stirring carrots occasionally if beginning to caramelize, about 18 minutes. (The meat should be moist and slightly pink.) Let rest 5 to 10 minutes.

Transfer pork to work surface. Cut crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices. Arrange carrots on platter. Top with pork slices, drizzling any pan juices over.

the best apple cake

2010-02-03T15:14:00.009-05:00

I don’t know why apple cakes, in particular. Whereas the mere mention of a pumpkin pie or pear crumble never fails to excite my appetite, apple cakes have always been a source of general indifference. And yet, here we are. What seemed at first to be the logical denouement to our apple-picking expedition somehow snowballed into a search for the World’s Best Apple Cake.

So far, the count is at six cakes—hardly epic, but nonetheless exceptional for someone who rarely revisits the same dessert genre. While M. and I have agreed on a tentative titleholder, each of these cakes could suit a particular occasion or appetite. And they all subvert my image of the apple cake as a ho-hum, breakfast-only affair.

#1 Sticky Spiked Double-Apple Cake

The quantity of butter in this recipe may give it an unfair edge over the competition. But when you factor in demerits for the name (I’d like to propose a moratorium for all recipe titles featuring two or more adjectives), Regan Daley's Sticky Spiked Double-Apple Cake was the uncontested champion. There’s a lot to love about this cake—the dense, moist crumb, the pronounced spice profile (Daley shares my affection for nutmeg), the textural contrast of the various fresh and dried fruits. It’s proof that the apple cake can be as indulgent as any dessert. (A scoop of vanilla ice cream and a dousing of brown sugar brandy caramel certainly helped the cause.) We served leftovers for breakfast, which seemed almost indecent.

#2 Mom’s Apple Cake

No, not my mom’s apple cake (I don’t think my mom every made an apple cake)—her mom’s, and it’s a good’un, playing on the traditional marriage of apple and cinnamon. The cake is packed with fresh apples—our bundt pan was literally overflowing—and the translucent cooked fruit made for a nice stained-glass-window effect. We served it with roasted banana ice cream, which, in addition to being delicious, was a combination that called to mind the classic Raffi tune of my youth (ee-ples and bee-nee-nees?).

#3. Applesauce-Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake

Yes, I’ve already written about this cake, and technically it was made with sauced, rather than fresh apples. (Which makes it more like a spice cake, than anything else.) But I felt I should include it in the round-up all the same. Of all the apple cakes I’ve made, this was certainly the most haunting.

#4. Buttermilk Apple Cake

Inspired by my success with the Strawberry Buttermilk Cake (one of the sleeper hits of last summer), I decided to adapt the recipe to autumnal flavors. The results weren't quite as superlative, unfortunately—I missed the way the soft, porous strawberries permeated the cake. But it had the same tender, slightly tangy crumb and, on Day Two, had matured into an extremely tasty breakfast cake.

#5. Grandmothers of Sils’ Apple and Yogurt Cake

This was another Smitten Kitchen recommendation, adapted from The New Spanish Table, by Anya von Bremzen. Though delivered on its promise of extreme moistness, it's flavor was surprisingly subtle, with a quiet anise undertone I would play up more in the future. For fans of the French yogurt cake, this will appeal to you very much, but I doubt it will wow any dinner party guests. Tea party guests, on the other hand…

Other Apple Cakes of Note:

Balzano Apple Cake: I made this cake two years ago and was impressed as much by its flavor as by its physical composition. (It probably has the highest apple-to-batter ratio of the bunch.) The thinly sliced apples makes it more refined, than rustic.

Streusel Küchen: It’s hard to argue with a streusal topping, and this one is executed to perfection. When my friend made it for a brunch party, he doubled the amount of lemon zest (one of his general rules of thumb when baking), which brought out the citrus character.

***

Sticky Spiked Double-Apple Cake
Adapted from In the Sweet Kitchen, by Regan Daley

1 cup Muscat or sultana raisins
1/3 cup brandy
1 cup unsulphured dried apple slices (if only rings are available, cut them in half)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/8 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 cups tightly packed dark brown sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
3/4 cup coarsely chopped pecans, toasted
2 tart cooking apples, one peeled, one unpeeled, both cored and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
Brown Sugar-Brandy Sauce (recipe below) warmed slightly, to serve.

In a small bowl, soak the raisins in the brandy for 45 minutes. Add the dried apple slices and macerate for a further 15 minutes. Do not drain.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter a 9 x 13 inch pan and line the bottom and up the two long sides with a sheet of parchment paper, letting the paper hang over the edges by an inch or so. Lightly butter the paper.

In a small bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves and set aside.

In a large bowl with a hand held electric mixer or whisk, or in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, blend both sugars. Add the eggs and beat on medium speed until thickened and pale, about 2 minutes with a machine, 4 to 5 minutes by hand. Add the cooled melted butter and mix to blend.

Fold in the dry ingredients in two additions, mixing just enough to moisten most but not all of the flour. Add the dried fruit and brandy mixture, chopped pecans, and diced fresh apple, then fold them into the batter with long, deep strokes. Don’t fret about the ratio of fruit to batter.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and set in the center of the oven. Bake for 60 to 80 minutes, or until the center springs back when lightly touched, a tester inserted into the center comes out clean and the cake is beginning to pull away from the sides of the pan. Transfer to a wire rack and cool. This cake keeps beautifully, well wrapped, at room temperature for up to 5 days, although it is best within 2 or 3. Serve warm or at room temperature with warm Brown Sugar-Brandy Sauce.

Brown Sugar-Brandy Sauce
Makes about 2 1/4 cups

1/3 cup unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 1/2 tablespoons brandy

Combine the butter, sugars and cream in a small, heavy bottomed saucepan. Stir this mixture over low heat until the sugar dissolves, then increase the heat to medium and bring the sauce to a very gentle boil, stirring all the while. Cook 5 more minutes, then remove from the heat and stir in the brandy or other liqueur. Serve immediately, or cool to room temperature, then cover and refrigerate until needed, up to 3 days. To rewarm, either microwave the uncovered sauce on low power or transfer the cold caramel to a saucepan and stir over low heat until warm.

***

Mom’s Apple Cake
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

6 cooking apples
1 tablespoon cinnamon
5 tablespoons sugar

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour, sifted
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup vegetable oil
2 cups sugar
1/4 cup fresh orange juice
2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
4 eggs
1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted and chopped (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a tube or bundt pan.

Peel, core and chop apples into chunks. Toss with cinnamon and sugar and set aside.

Stir together flour, baking powder and salt in a large mixing bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together oil, orange juice, sugar and vanilla. Mix wet ingredients into the dry ones, then add eggs, one at a time. Scrape down the bowl to ensure all ingredients are incorporated.

Pour half of batter into prepared pan. Spread half of apples over it. Pour the remaining batter over the apples and arrange the remaining apples on top. Bake for about 1 1/2 hours, or until a tester comes out clean.

***

Apple Cinnamon Buttermilk Cake
Adapted from Gourmet

1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder 
1/2 teaspoon baking soda 
1/4 teaspoon salt 
4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/2 stick), at room temperature 
2/3 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoons sugar , divided use
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon , plus more for sprinkling
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 
1 large egg 
1/2 cup buttermilk 
1 cup peeled and chopped baking apple

Preheat oven to 400 degrees with rack in middle. Butter and flour a 9-inch round cake pan.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

In a separate bowl, beat together butter, 2/3 cup sugar and spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger) with an electric mixer on high speed until pale and fluffy, about two minutes. Add vanilla and egg and beat well. With the mixer set to low speed, beat in 1/3 of the flour mixture. Add half the buttermilk and continue beating on low speed until incorporated. Scraping down sides of bowl as necessary, beat in another 1/3 of flour mixture then remaining buttermilk. Finally beat in the last 1/3 of the flour mixture until just combined.

Spoon batter into cake pan, smoothing the top. Scatter apple evenly over top and sprinkle with remaining 1 1/2 tablespoons sugar and a small pinch of cinnamon.

Bake until cake is golden and a wooden pick inserted into center comes out clean, 20 to 30 minutes. Cool in pan 10 minutes, then turn out onto a rack and cool to warm, 10 to 15 minutes more. Invert onto a plate.

butternut squash bruschetta

2010-01-30T13:47:00.000-05:00

You would be justified in puzzling (or in K's case, grimacing) at this list of ingredients. Squash, honey, caperberries, walnut oil—these are unnatural-sounding bedfellows. But, as 'inoteca fans will attest, Jason Denton know his way around a bruschetta. And here he's come up with autumnal riff on caponata that gives butternut squash the same sweet-salty treatment that Sicilian eggplants have been enjoying for years. This version is earthier and without the vinegary punch, which means it's delicious on a piece of grilled bread (let's face it, most things are) or as a rustic winter side like you see here.

Butternut Squash Bruschetta
Adapted from Jason Denton

Denton recommends serving the squash topping at room temperature, but it's delicious warm, too. I would recommend cutting the squash into 1/2- or 3/4-inch cubes to reduce the baking time—otherwise, the honey-caper-walnut mixture can char.

2 cups squash, peeled, seeded and cut into 3/4-inch cubes 
2 tablespoons honey 
1⁄2 teaspoon chili flakes 
10 caperberries, roughly chopped 
10 walnuts, roughly chopped 
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 
1 teaspoon kosher salt 
Pinch of pepper 
1 baguette, cut on a bias into twelve 1½-inch-thick slices 
6 teaspoons walnut oil 
4 teaspoons asiago cheese, grated

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil.

Gently fold the ﬁrst 8 ingredients together in a medium bowl. Spread mixture evenly on the prepared baking sheet. Bake 10 minutes, gently stir ingredients, and continue to cook for another 15 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and adjust seasoning to taste.

Meanwhile, toast the baguette slices until slightly crisp. Scoop a generous tablespoon of the squash mixture onto each piece of baguette. Garnish with a drizzle of walnut oil and grated asiago.

chicken fricassee with red cabbage

2010-01-28T12:00:00.004-05:00

This dish lends itself to didacticism. One could easily preach on the transformative power of simple ingredients, the deceptive nature of appearances, the unimpeachable wisdom of Marcella Hazan, the tragic neglect of red cabbage…

But I’d rather celebrate this chicken on hedonistic terms. Because, it’s so tasty—one of those perfect Italian inventions that combines a few humble ingredients (chicken, cabbage, onion, red wine) to profoundly pleasurable effect.

Sliced red cabbage and onion cook down until rich and caramelized—a delicious, sweet-sour nest for the braising chicken. Yes, the meat acquires a slightly off-putting purple hue—but once you see how well it's absorbed those wine-infused juices, you’ll quickly forgive the inelegance. Death by cabbage smothering isn’t such a bad way to go.

Chicken Fricassee With Red Cabbage
Adapted from Essentials of Italian Cooking, by Marcella Hazan

Serves 4

1 cup yellow onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and quartered
4 cups red cabbage, shredded fine (about 1 pound)
one 3-4 pound chicken, cleaned and cut into 8 pieces
1/2 cup dry red wine
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Place the sliced onion, the 1/4 cup olive oil, and the garlic in a sauté pan. Turn the heat on to medium, and cook the garlic until it turns a deep gold color. Add the cabbage, sprinkle with salt, and stir thoroughly until well coated. Reduce heat to a gentle simmer and cover. Cook cabbage for about 40 minutes, turning occasionally, until it becomes tender and has reduced. [The dish can be prepared up to this point even 2 or 3 days in advance. Reheat completely in a covered pan before proceeding to the next step.]

In a separate pan, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil over medium heat. Once oil is heated add chicken skin-side down. Brown on both sides, then transfer the pieces, except for the breasts, to the cabbage pan. Turn the chicken over in the cabbage, add the wine and a few grindings of pepper. Cover the pan, leaving the lid slightly askew, and continue cooking at a slow simmer. Turn the chicken occasionally, sprinkling once more with salt. After 40 minutes add the breasts. Cook for about 15 minutes more until the chicken is tender and the meat comes easily off the bone. Transfer everything to a warm platter and serve immediately.

tipsy chocolate date nut gems

2010-01-25T20:43:00.015-05:00

I fear these cookies are going to be a hard sell (and not just because of the title). For those who don't share my fanatical love of dates, I don't know how to convince you that "Tipsy Date Nut Gems" are anything more than a glorified fruitcake.

But they are more—so much more—somehow marrying the richness of a chocolate brownie with the winy chew of a Fig Newton center.

The dark, date-studded interior is moist and fudge-like, with crushed pecans and sweet traces of vanilla and almond. And then there's the (tipsy) rum glaze, a delicious adherent for the confectioners' sugar.

In one bite, Tipsy Chocolate Date Nut Gems were at once elusive and familiar—adult and wonderfully elementary—and for me, completely new. Even better, they were the perfect solution to the small surplus of dates we had left over from Christmas—provisions from the holiday party that never was.

Tipsy Chocolate Date Nut Gems
From Great Cookies, by Carole Walter

The recipe makes 36 little gems, or, if you're like me and lack a miniature cupcake pan, 12 medium gems.

For the rum syrup:
1½ cups water
3/4 cup sugar
3-4 tablespoons dark Jamaican rum

For the batter:
1/2 cup all-purpose flour, spooned in and leveled
1/2 cup strained cocoa powder, spooned in and leveled
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
½ cup lightly packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled to tepid
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract
1 cup hand-pitted dates (1/4 inch dice)
1 cup medium chopped pecans
2 cups confectioners’ sugar, spooned in and leveled, divided, for dusting

Position the oven racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven; preheat to 350 degrees. Coat the mini-muffin tins with nonstick cooking spray. Set aside.

Place the water and sugar in a small saucepan over low heat. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally to dissolve the sugar, then simmer for one minute. Off the heat, stir in the rum and set aside.

In the large bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whip attachment, beat the eggs on medium speed, about one minute. Add the dark brown sugar, the dark brown corn syrup, melted butter and extracts. Mix until well blended, about one minute. On low speed, add the dry ingredients and mix until just blended. Using an over-size rubber spatula, fold in the dates and pecans.

Using a teaspoon, spoon the batter into the mini-muffin tins, filling them about two-thirds full. Bake for 9 to 10 minutes, or until the cookies are just set on top.

Remove the muffin tins from the oven and let the cookies rest in the pans for five minutes, or until the cookies pull away from the sides of the pans. Invert the pans onto waxed paper, tapping firmly against the countertop to release the cookies.

While the cookies are still warm, using a slotted spoon, dip each cookie into the warm syrup and place on a thin wire cooling rack. The cookies should only be moistened with the syrup, not soaked. (Discard any leftover syrup.) Let the cookies air-dry for 25 to 30 minutes.

Place one cup of the confectioners’ sugar in a large shallow baking dish, such as a pie plate. Working with one cookie at a time, roll in the sugar, coating thoroughly. While still in the dish, use the heel of your hand to gently flatten the cookie to approximately ½-inch thickness. Return to the rack and air-dry for 30 minutes. Repeat with the remaining cookies.

When ready to serve, roll the cookies in the remaining cup of confectioners’ sugar. Serve at room temperature. [Store the cookies in and airtight container, layered between sheets of waxed paper, and refrigerate until ready to use. The cookies will keep for up to 4 weeks in the refrigerator.]

roast beef tenderloin with port sauce

2010-01-20T17:24:00.003-05:00

When K. and I received carte blanche to plan our family’s Christmas menu, it was with the explicit caveat that the end result be sufficiently stately. (Serious Turtle, the source of this directive, was no doubt envisioning a lacquered show goose carved tableside.)

My preferences don’t often tend toward the red meat and potatoes family, but in this case, beef tenderloin came to mind as an appealing alternative to Christmas goose—one that would simultaneously honor holiday convention and Serious Turtle’s desire for a culinary tour de force.

The problem with tenderloin, of course, is that you pay a price for the smooth-as-butter texture—beyond the obvious price, that is. Lacking the fat content of other (less refined) animal parts, the meat is notoriously bland. The trick is to find a recipe that extracts maximum flavor while locking in moisture.

In the past two years, I have come to trust Molly Stevens in all things (her book, All About Braising, is a winter essential), so when I discovered her tenderloin recipe, which called for both a dry brine (read: generous salting in advance—perfect for intensifying flavor) and a ruby port sauce, all the stars seemed to align. And, as is invariably the case, she delivered brilliantly.

Our Christmas tenderloin—served classically, with buttery fingerlings and roasted brussels sprouts—was perfectly cooked, delicious and handsome in equal measure.

Roast Beef Tenderloin with Port Sauce
Adapted from Bon Appétit

We opted to brown the meat before roasting, which yielded a tasty crust, but perhaps counteracted the dry-brining process? (I don’t know the science of these things.) Next time, for the sake of experiment, I would probably adhere to the original recipe. Heeding the numerous Epicurious complaints of a “thin sauce,” we reduced the sauce for an extra 10 minutes and stirred in a bit of Wondra flour—and still, it remained more a jus than a gravy. But the flavor is all there.

Serves 10

For the beef:
One 4- to 5-pound trimmed whole beef tenderloin, tail end tucked under, tied every 3 inches
Coarse kosher salt
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons black peppercorns, coarsely cracked in mortar with pestle

For the sauce:
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) chilled unsalted butter, divided
1/4 cup finely chopped shallots
3 tablespoons Cognac or brandy
1 fresh rosemary sprig
1 teaspoon coarsely cracked black pepper
1 cup ruby or tawny Port
Beef stock, preferably homemade

Sprinkle entire surface of beef tenderloin with 2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt. Place beef on rack set over large rimmed baking sheet. Refrigerate uncovered at least 24 hours and up to 36 hours.

Make the sauce: Melt 2 tablespoons butter in large saucepan over medium-low heat. Add shallots; sauté until soft, 3 minutes. Add Cognac, rosemary, and 1 teaspoon cracked pepper and cook until liquid evaporates, 1 minute. Add Port; bring to simmer. Add all of beef stock. Boil until reduced to 1 1/2 cups, about 20 minutes, or more if desired. Strain into medium saucepan, pressing on solids to extract as much liquid as possible. Discard solids in strainer. [Can be made 24 to 36 hours ahead. Cool slightly, then cover and chill.]

Let beef stand at room temperature 1 hour before roasting. Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 425 degrees.

Rub beef all over with two tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil; sprinkle with 2 tablespoons cracked peppercorns, pressing to adhere. Return beef to rack on baking sheet and roast until instant-read thermometer inserted into thickest part of meat registers 125 degrees for medium-rare (135 to 140 degrees in thinnest part), about 30 minutes. Remove roast from oven and let rest 15 minutes.

Bring sauce to boil; whisk in remaining 2 tablespoons butter. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Cut off string from roast. Cut roast crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices; arrange on platter. Serve with sauce.

miso salmon

2010-01-17T16:04:00.011-05:00

This dish has long been a secret weapon – served as easily at one of my first dinner parties, the meeting of my dad and now father-in-law, and on a spring Sunday night dinner for two. The dirty secret is just how simple it is. Coated in white miso overnight, roasted at high heat, and then smothered in a mix of citrus juices, cilantro, and chives – it is wonderful straight out of the oven, at room temperature, or for leftovers. The original recipe is from Gourmet and recommends a more formal garnish of shitakes with citrus zest, but I don’t think the salmon needs it.

While I tend to eschew recommended marinating times – heed this one. For best flavor, marinate the night before, and, if you are serving for dinner, the latest I would push it is early that morning.

Miso Salmon with Citrus Juice and Fresh Herbs
Adapted from Gourmet

This recipe is for 16 – I have only ever made one whole fillet. The recipe scales easily.

2 whole salmon fillets with skin, 3 pounds each
2 cups white miso
2 tablespoons mirin (optional)
1 cup chopped cilantro leaves
½ cup snipped chives
½ cup fresh orange juice, mixed with juice of 1 whole lemon

To marinate the salmon: Combine miso and mirin. Spread mixture over the flesh and skin sides of the salmon. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 24 to 48 hours.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees.

Using a rubber spatula, scrape the miso from all sides of the salmon and discard. Don’t worry if some miso remains.

Grease baking pan that will fit salmon fillet. Place fillet skin-side down, and roast for about 15 to 20 minutes, until edges brown.

Transfer the salmon to a serving platter, leaving the skin on the baking sheet. If the fillets break, not to worry – just reassemble on the plate. Any breaks will be covered when you pour juices over the top.

beets with tahini

2010-01-14T17:12:00.005-05:00

There’s a lesson here: you should never underestimate my penchant for beets, dips, or new ways to marry the two. This one, more in the meze family, is made sweet and nutty with the addition of tahini paste. It’s similar to a version we had at Zahav (the source of last year’s cauliflower epiphany), only that one comes with crushed walnuts on top.

Beets with Tahini
Adapted from Moro East, by Samuel and Samantha Clark

I nearly declared this superior to Sortun’s beet tzatziki until A. wisely reminded me that there is room enough on a competent meze platter for both of them.

1 1/4 pounds beets
4-6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, crushed with salt
2 tablespoons tahini
2-4 tablespoons fresh mint
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
Fresh lemon juice, to taste
Salt and freshly ground pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Wash the beets well. While still wet, wrap them individually in aluminum foil and place on a cookie sheet. Roast until tender and easily pierced with a knife, 60 to 90 minutes. When the beets are cool enough to handle, remove the skins and chop coarsely.

Place the beets in a food processor with the garlic, tahini and olive oil and puree until smooth. Transfer to a small bowl and stir in the vinegar, mint, and lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

breakfast cakes and breads

2010-01-10T20:02:00.015-05:00

This post is perhaps ill-timed. After all, these items were made in the spirit of holidays, back when cakes and leftover pumpkin pie qualified as acceptable breakfast fare, when it felt perfectly natural—indeed, necessary—to bake things on a whim. Come January, the international month of culinary penitence, it can all seem so foolish. And yet, je ne regrette rien.

***

Spiced Pumpkin Bread with Dates and Walnuts
Adapted almost beyond recognition from Bon Appétit

This was my answer to the leftover can of Libby's pumpkin (not to mention the 3 pounds of Medjool dates) sitting in our pantry. If you wanted to push it further into the dessert category, you could add cream-cheese frosting or sweetened whipped cream.

1 3/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 large eggs
1 15-ounce can solid pack pumpkin
3 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground cloves
2 teaspoons freshly ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 cup walnuts or pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped
1 cup Medjool dates, pitted and coarsely chopped (you can also roll the pieces into small balls)
Confectioner's sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour one 10-cup bundt pan or two 9" x 5" loaf pans.

Beat sugars and oil in large bowl to blend. Mix in eggs and pumpkin. Sift flour, spices, salt, baking soda and baking powder into another large bowl. Stir into pumpkin mixture in 2 additions. Add walnuts and chopped dates.

Pour batter into prepared pan(s). Bake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 1 hour 10 minutes. Transfer to racks and cool 10 minutes. Using sharp knife, cut around edge of pan(s). Turn out onto racks and cool completely.

***

Cranberry Vanilla Coffeecake
Adapted from Gourmet

I am not going to lie to you: this was a pain to make. The dough is thick and gummy [read: impossible to spread], and at one point I lost all hope of a coherent cranberry ribbon. But all was forgiven in the end. The cake made for beautiful and appropriately festive Christmas morning fare, with a surprising citrusy bite from the cranberries. I loved the method for incorporating the vanilla bean (instant vanilla sugar!) and will be borrowing it for future recipes.

1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 cups fresh or thawed frozen cranberries (6 ounces)
2 cups plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, divided
2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened, divided
2 large eggs
1/2 cup whole milk
confectioners' sugar, for dusting

Position baking rack in center of oven and preheat to 375 degrees. Generously butter a 9-inch cake pan. Line bottom with a round of parchment paper and butter parchment.

Scrape seeds from vanilla bean into a food processor with tip of a paring knife. Add sugar and pulse to combine. Transfer to a bowl.

Pulse cranberries with 1/2 cup vanilla sugar in processor until finely chopped (do not puree).

Whisk together 2 cups flour, baking powder, and salt.

Beat together 1 stick butter and 1 cup vanilla sugar in a bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until pale and fluffy. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition.

Scrape down side and bottom of bowl. Reduce speed to low and mix in flour mixture and milk alternately in batches, beginning and ending with flour, until just combined.

Spread half of batter in pan, then spoon cranberries over it, leaving a 1/2-inch border around edge. Top with remaining batter and smooth top.

Blend remaining 1/4 cup vanilla sugar with remaining tablespoon each of butter and flour using your fingertips. Crumble over top of cake.

Bake until a wooden pick inserted into cake (not into cranberry filling) comes out clean and side begins to pull away from pan, 45 to 50 minutes. Cool in pan 30 minutes, then remove from pan and cool completely, crumb side up. Coffeecake can be made 1 day ahead and kept, tightly wrapped, at room temperature.

***

Persimmon Cake
Adapted from Room for Dessert, by David Lebovitz

Alas, this was more bread than cake, on account of minor overbaking. (We were too busy with Calvin-and-Hobbes-esque sledding antics to heed the oven timer.) But the flavor—and, for M and A, an extra pat of butter—compensated for any dryness. Ultimately, I think I prefer my persimmons in pudding form (specifically, Ana Sortun's persimmon pudding cake with maple sugar crème brûlée), but this is still an excellent way to make use of spare Hachiyas.

1 cup persimmon puree, from about 2 to 3 medium Hachiya persimmons
1 cup walnuts, toasted and finely chopped
8 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoons vanilla
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 3/4 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
3/4 cup dried currants, soaked in 1/4 cup Cognac or brandy (optional)
Confectioners' sugar, for dusting
Sweetened whipped cream

Position baking rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees. Line a 9-inch cake pan with parchment paper.

Cream the butter with the sugar and spices until light and fluffy, 3 to 5 minutes. add the vanilla and bean it the eggs one at a time, beating until fully incorporated.

Sift together the flour, salt and baking soda.

Stir half the persimmon puree into the creamed butter mixture, then thoroughly mix in the dry ingredients. stir in the remaining puree. fold in the walnuts and the currants with their liquor. pour the batter into the prepared cake pan. bake about 45 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Remove the cake from the pan. dust with powdered sugar and serve with sweetened whipped cream.

ebelskivers!

2010-01-08T17:30:00.005-05:00

It took us approximately 20 hours to put Serious Turtle's Christmas gift to work. (You may call it a Williams-Sonoma-catalog-induced extravagance, I call it a home kitchen necessity.) Ebelskivers, a Danish invention preferably pronounced in the voice of Beaker, are pancake, popover and Italian bombolino all rolled into one.

Ebelskivers
Adapted from the LA Times

We experimented with several fillings: apricot jam, spiced pear butter, bittersweet chocolate and yes, morning-after pumpkin pie. But I can imagine variations involving lemon curd, jam + cream cheese, caramel, nutella, peanut butter, roasted apples, blueberries, bananas, maple syrup, mascarpone, marshmallow, coconut—even Mac 'n' cheese. (I'm pretty much reciting the Shopsin's pancake menu.) Alternatively, you need not fill them at all. The LA Times recommends serving ebelskivers plain, alongside tart berry jam.

Yield: About 2 dozen (depending on the pan)

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon sugar
2 cups buttermilk, at room temperature
3 eggs, separated, at room temperature
1 tablespoon butter, melted, plus more for buttering the pan
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup desired filling (optional)
Confectioners' sugar or maple syrup, for serving

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda and sugar. Slowly drizzle the buttermilk into the mixture while whisking. Add the egg yolks and mix well to combine and form a batter. Whisk in the butter and vanilla extract, if using.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, or in a large bowl using a hand mixer, whisk the egg whites until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the whites into the batter. Set the batter aside at room temperature for 15 minutes to rest.

Heat the ebelskivers pan over medium heat, then brush each mold lightly with melted butter. When the butter just begins to brown, pour the batter so each mold is filled halfway. (Start with the middle mold as it receives the least amount of heat and remember the sequence in which you fill each mold in the pan, as the ebelskivers will need to be turned in that order.) Place 1 to 2 teaspoons of filling in the center of each pancake and top with 1 tablespoon of batter.

When a solid crust has formed on the bottom of each mold, reduce the heat slightly and flip the pancakes using two wooden skewers. Cook until golden. Transfer the ebelskivers to a pan and serve immediately.

whipped ricotta redux

2010-01-07T16:59:00.000-05:00

Huzzah! At last, experimentation and liberal adaptation has allowed me to replicate Andrew Carmellini's Whipped Ricotta without a hitch. Below, the revised recipe, which promises delicious, un-soupy results.

Whipped Ricotta with Thyme and Oregano
Adapted from Urban Italian, by Andrew Carmellini

2 cups Sardinian sheep’s milk ricotta (or regular cow's milk ricotta)
2-3 tablespoons whole milk
1 teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon fleur de sel
2 teaspoons coarse ground black pepper
1 teaspoon fresh thyme
1 teaspoon dried oregano, on the branch if possible
2-3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Line a strainer with a double layer of cheesecloth and set over a deep bowl. Place the ricotta in the strainer and allow to drain in the refrigerator. Squeeze the cheesecloth to drain as much liquid as possible from the mixture.

Using a whisk or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, beat the ricotta and milk together until light and fluffy. [You can add more milk as required.] Add the table salt and mix well. Place the mixture in a serving bowl; sprinkle generously with other seasonings. Drizzle with olive oil and serve with grilled country bread.

beet caviar

2010-01-06T15:37:00.000-05:00

In college, Slavic Department gatherings were the site of many memorable revelations: the perils of multiple vodka flights, the inevitability of the Tolstoy vs. Dostoevsky divide and, most importantly, this beet caviar. Six years later, it is still my go-to holiday party hors d’œuvre.

It turns out, the recipe is not an invention of my Russian professor, but rather an adaptation from Please To the Table, by Anya von Bremzen. Were the name of that cookbook any less amazing, I may find this disheartening.

Beet Caviar with Walnuts and Prunes
Adapted from Please To the Table, by Anya von Bremzen

Though you can serve this dip immediately (I certainly have), it's best made several hours in advance. These days, I add most of the ingredients to taste.

Yield: about 2 1/2 cups

3 large beets
1/3 cup brandy
7 pitted prunes
2-3 medium-size garlic cloves, peeled and halved
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
3/4 cup walnuts, toasted and finely chopped
2-3 tablespoons mayonnaise, preferably Hellmann’s (I’ve also substituted yogurt)
Salt and freshly ground pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Wash the beets well. While still wet, wrap them individually in aluminum foil and place on a cookie sheet. Roast until tender and easily pierced with a knife, 60 to 90 minutes.

Meanwhile, bring the brandy to a boil in a small saucepan. Pour over the prunes and let soak for 30 minutes. Remove the prunes and chop finely, reserving the excess brandy.

When the beets are cool enough to handle, remove the skins and chop coarsely. Puree the beets and the garlic in a food processor until finely minced. [I usually start with one clove of garlic, and add more to taste.]

Transfer the beets to a bowl and add the lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of reserved brandy, the chopped prunes, and the walnuts. Toss thoroughly with mayonnaise and season to taste. Cover and chill in the refrigerator for six hours or overnight.

fettuccine with peas and parmesan

2010-01-05T15:47:00.007-05:00

My history with this pasta has already been well documented in the blogosphere—needless to say, I believe it to be worth a tiny bit of Internet stalking.

Yes, it’s January, and therefore about five months early for peas. But here I’ll make a brief exception to the “for every food, there is a season” mandate and say that, yes, while this dish would be incalculably improved with the addition of freshly picked and shucked peas, the experience of petrous, starchy, many-days-past-their-prime peas in June has taught me to appreciate the art of flash freezing. In other words, I eat frozen peas sometimes. Not often. Please don’t judge me.

Fettuccine with Peas and Parmesan
Adapted from Mario Batali via The Wednesday Chef

If you can get past the seasonal dissonance, I promise this pasta will bring a bit of springtime into your cold, daylight-deprived kitchens. New Yorkers can try the original version at Pó restaurant, where its made with homemade pappardelle (and where I first fell in love with it).

Serves 4

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium Spanish onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon wildflower honey
3 cups shucked peas (fresh or frozen)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 pound dried fettuccine or fresh pappardelle
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1/2 cup packed fresh mint leaves, torn in half

In a large sauté pan, heat the oil over medium heat until it is just smoking. Add the onion, honey, and 2 cups of the peas, and sauté until softened and cooked through, about 10 to 12 minutes. Place peas in a food processor and pulse until coarsely pureed. Season generously with salt and pepper, and set aside.

Meanwhile, bring a pot of well-salted water to a boil. Add the pasta.

Melt the butter in a large sauté pan over medium heat, add the remaining peas, and cook slowly until just softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the pea puree to the whole peas and keep warm. Just before the pasta is done, pour a ladle of the cooking water into the pan with the pea puree and stir to loosen the sauce.

Drain the pasta, reserving some of the cooking water. Immediately toss the pasta into the pan with the pea mixture. Stir gently to mix well, adding more pasta water if necessary. Add the cheese and fresh mint, and toss to combine. Serve immediately in heated bowls.

bûche de noël

2009-12-30T15:45:00.004-05:00

It’s not that I’ve never had any interest in attempting a bûche de noël before—it’s just that I never had the incentive. For most of my life, I’ve celebrated Christmas in close proximity to Freeport Bakery.

That Sacramento institution has been the source of many defining dessert moments—a Chocolate Charlotte wreathed in delicate ladyfingers, a marzipan-domed Honeybee Cake, a buttermilk Champagne Cake layered with strawberry custard mousse—but the greatest of these is their bûche de noël.

According to their website, this perennial holiday special involves a “light golden sponge cake layered with chocolate and brandy hazelnut mousse filling rolled into the classic yule log, frosted with bittersweet chocolate buttercream.”

In other words:

Say what you will of caroling or tree-trimming: the bûche is without a doubt my favorite holiday tradition. Alas, having now relocated to the East Coast, it’s a tradition that I can look forward to with less and less certainty.

And so this year, after a heroic but failed effort to convince Freeport to overnight a bûche to Massachusetts, K and I decided to make our own.

Below, a photo essay of our journey:

Smoothing the batter with the back of a tablespoon, per Carole Walter's instructions.
Not quite sure why a tablespoon, specifically.

The sponge cake, more velvety than spongy.

Spreading the hazelnut mousse.

We left a small portion of the cake unmoussed, for sealing.

Rolling the cake—the moment of truth.

We used a fork to create the "natural" bark effect. Alas, no marzipan mushrooms on hand.

Our major challenge, as it turns out, was more ideological than technical: how loyal should we be to the Freeport template? The closer we stuck to their model, the closer we might get to yule log glory. But we also risked greater disappointment.

Not wanting to fly too close to the sun, we settled on a similar flavor profile (chocolate and hazelnut), in a composition adapted to our own ambition and know-how: chocolate-hazelnut génoise with hazelnut mousse and dark chocolate ganache.

For those who’d never tasted the Freeport original, it was completely, unequivocally delicious. For the rest of us, still delicious, but not without a little twang of unfulfilled longing.

***

Chocolate-Hazelnut Génoise with Hazelnut Mousse and Chocolate Ganache

This was largely our own invention, but I used a few recipes in Great Cakes, by Carole Walter as my guide.

For the cake:
3 tablespoons unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa
1/4 cup hazelnuts, lightly toasted (skins removed)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flower
6 large egg yolks
3/4 cup superfine sugar
1½ teaspoons vanilla extract
6 large egg whites
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/8 teaspoon salt
Confectioners’ sugar

For the filling:
1 tablespoon cold water
1/2 teaspoon unflavored gelatin
1 cup heavy cream, chilled
2 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon Frangelico
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup finely chopped toasted hazelnuts (skins removed)

For the ganache:
6 ounces good-quality semisweet or bittersweet chocolate
6 ounces heavy cream
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
1 tablespoon Frangelico
3/4 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 to 1 teaspoon hot water, if needed

Position the rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees. Butter the bottom (but not the sides) of a 10½” x 15½” x 1” jelly roll pan and line with parchment. Lightly butter the parchment.

Make the cake: Place the cocoa, nuts and flour in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse 8 to 10 times, then process until the nuts are ground very fine. Set aside.

Place the egg yolks in the bowl of an electric mixer fitter with beaters. Beat on medium speed until thick and light in color, about 2 minutes. Add the sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time, taking about 3 minutes to blend it in well. Reduce speed to low, and add the vanilla, then the nut mixture, mixing until just blended. Do not overmix. Transfer the batter to a large mixing bowl and set aside.

In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites until frothy. Add the cream of tartar and salt and beat until whites form moist peaks. With a rubber spatula, fold 1/4 of the egg whites into the batter, taking about 20 turns to lighten. Quickly fold in the remaining whites.

Pour the batter into the pan. Gently smooth the top, spreading it evenly into the corners. Tap the pan gently on the counter to even out the batter.

Bake 12 to14 minutes, or until the top has risen and the cake feels soft to the touch. (It will not feel springy.) Take care not to overbake.

While the cake is baking, get ready a fine strainer and 1/3 cup confectioners’ sugar, a sheet of waxed paper at least 18 inches long, and a dampened kitchen towel.

Remove the cake from the oven and place it on a rack. Immediately sprinkle the top with the confectioner’s sugar. Run a thin sharp knife around the edge of the pan to loosen the sides. Cover the cake with waxed paper, then the dampened towel, and invert onto the countertop.

After 20 minutes, carefully lift off the pan. Very gently peel off the bottom layer of paper. Cool the cake flat for 20 to 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the filling: Place a large mixing bowl and beaters in the refrigerator to chill.

Pour the cold water into a small heatproof custard cup. Sprinkle the gelatin over the water and let stand 5 minutes without stirring. Gelatin will swell and turn opaque.
Set the custard cup in a skillet filled with 1/2 inch of boiling water. Stir until the gelatin is clear and completely dissolved. Remove the custard cup from the skillet and cool to tepid.

Pour the cream into the chilled bowl, and with chilled beaters whip the cream on medium speed. When it begins to thicken, add the confectioners’ sugar and the gelatin, then the Frangelico and vanilla. Beat until the cream forms soft peaks. (Do not overbeat or the filling will become grainy.) Finish whipping the cream by hand until thick, using a wire balloon wish. Fold in the chopped hazelnuts.

Trim 1/4 inch off the sides of the sponge sheet with a sharp knife to remove uneven edges. Spread the whipped cream across the cake, leaving about 1¼ inches on the far side. Gently slide the towel out from the under the cake.

Holding the edges of the wax paper closest to you, begin rolling the sponge sheet over. Press along the edge to curl the cake slightly downward. Center a cake plate or board on the far side of the roulade. Make the final turn of the roulade and gently remove the wax paper. Be sure the seal of the cake is underneath. Using two wide spatulas, carefully center the cake on the platter.

Make the ganache frosting: Using a serrated knife, finely chop the chocolate and place into a medium bowl. In a small saucepan, heat the heavy cream and corn syrup on low heat until it comes to a gentle boil. Immediately pour the hot cream over the chocolate. Let stand for about 1 minute, then slowly stir the chocolate and cream together until all the chocolate is melted. Blend in the Frangelico and the vanilla. If the surface is oily, add a bit of hot water. Chill the ganache in the refrigerator until it reaches a spreadable consistency.

Using an offset spatula, carefully spread the roulade with the ganache. Decorate as desired. Refrigerate the cake to set. Let the cake stand at room temperature for 30 minutes to 1 hour before serving.

pumpkin pie

2009-12-29T15:48:00.004-05:00

I'm reluctant to call this the best pumpkin pie ever. I will only say that, where pumpkin pie is concerned, this is my magnetic north. It’s the pumpkin pie against which K and I weigh every other pumpkin pie (or pie in general), and we have yet to find its equal.

Marcey’s Pumpkin Pie

I find this pie peaks on the second day—particularly when chilled. Straining the mixture ensures a smooth filling.

1¾ cups pumpkin (one 15-ounce can)
1 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup half and half
3 eggs
2/3 cup light brown sugar
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1¼ teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
one 9-inch pie crust, blind baked
Sweetened whipped cream, for serving

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine sugar, spices and pumpkin. In another bowl, beat eggs then add half and half and heavy cream. Whisk until smooth. Combine wet and dry ingredients, and mix until well incorporated.

Strain mixture through fine-mesh strainer set over medium bowl, using a spatula to press solids through strainer.

Pour mixture into the pie shell and bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until the edges are set. If the custard only jiggles slightly in the center, it's done. Transfer the pie to a wire rack and cool to room temperature, 2 to 3 hours. Serve with sweetened whipped cream.

brussels sprouts, three ways

2009-12-28T16:02:00.014-05:00

I recently learned there is a scientific explanation for brussels sprout dissenters. Apparently, it’s a condition common among supertasters, whose abundance of taste buds makes them particularly sensitive to the bitter compounds in certain vegetables (tiny cabbages included). Which, frankly, sucks for them. I would gladly trade a hypersensitive palate for a plate of roasted brussels sprouts.

Below are a few of my favorite recent renditions.

***

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Chestnuts

We dressed up these Christmas dinner sprouts with buttery chestnuts. Pancetta or bacon would make another nice addition.

2-3 pounds brussels sprouts, cleaned and halved lengthwise
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup peeled and roasted chestnuts, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon butter

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Toss the brussels sprouts in a bowl with just enough olive oil to coat. Season with salt and pepper.

Arrange the sprouts in a single layer on the baking sheet and roast for about 20 minutes, or until fork-tender and some of the leaves have become caramelized.

Heat the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the chestnuts and stir until glazed. Add the roasted brussels sprouts and thyme, if desired. Toss to combine. Test for seasoning and serve.

***

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Walnuts and Pecorino
Adapted from Andrew Feinberg

Further proof of my nut + vegetable formula. The recipe comes from Franny’s restaurant in Brooklyn, which is always a good thing.

1/2 cup walnuts
24 Brussels sprouts, halved
Extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Aged pecorino Toscano cheese for topping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Toast the walnuts on a rimmed baking sheet for about 10 minutes, or until they smell toasty; set aside. Crumble them when they're cool enough to handle.

Turn the oven up to 450 degrees.

Toss the Brussels sprouts in a bowl with enough olive oil to coat each sprout, 2 to 3 tablespoons. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Arrange the sprouts in a single layer on the baking sheet and roast for about 20 minutes, or until fork-tender and some of the leaves have become crunchy.

Let the sprouts cool on the baking sheet, then toss in a large bowl with the walnuts. Drizzle liberally with olive oil, add a squeeze of lemon juice, and season with salt and pepper. Shave some of the cheese on top and serve warm.

***

Braised Brussels Sprouts With Pancetta And Toasted Bread Crumbs
Adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques, by Suzanne Goin

Goin is an expert at layering flavors and textures, but here the pancetta almost overwhelms the flavor of the brussels sprouts. (Which may or may not be a bad thing, depending on how you look at it.) I think I’ll reduce the amount of pancetta next time.

Serves 6

1 1/2 cups fresh bread crumbs
2 teaspoons thyme leaves
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 pounds baby brussels sprouts, washed and trimmed (cut larger ones in two)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
6 ounces pancetta in small dice
3 tablespoons minced shallots
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup veal stock or rich chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a bowl, mix bread crumbs and thyme with 1/4 cup olive oil, and spread on a cookie sheet. Toast, tossing frequently, until golden brown, 10 to 12 minutes.

Heat butter and remaining olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until foamy. Add brussels sprouts, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and sauté, tossing frequently, until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add diced pancetta, and sauté, tossing frequently, until sprouts are well browned and softened slightly and pancetta is crisp, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat, add shallots and garlic, and sauté until fragrant.

Increase heat to high, add balsamic vinegar and stock, and cook, tossing frequently, until sprouts are glazed and tender, about 10 minutes; add more stock if needed. Taste for seasoning, and sprinkle with chopped parsley. Transfer to a warm serving bowl and scatter bread crumbs on top.

graham cracker chewy bars

2009-12-28T15:51:00.006-05:00

My immediate thought on seeing these in the LA Times was: I want to go to there. Somehow, it took me about seven months to achieve that objective. And it’s taken me almost as many weeks to document it here. No excuses: it’s just plain unacceptable.

This feels less like a recipe, and more like a paradigm shift—a long-overdue “Nobody puts Baby in a corner” moment for the humble graham cracker.

Graham Cracker Chewy Bars
Adapted from Celebrating With Julienne, by Susan Campoy

Imagine the graham cracker as you know it—in a crumb crust or a campfire s’more—and multiply it by a power of ten. Then combine that with a pecan pie. Voila, the graham cracker chewy bar.

For the crust:
3 cups graham cracker crumbs
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, at room temperature
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour

For the topping:
2 1/2 cups brown sugar (I used 1 1/2 cups light, 1 cup dark)
4 extra-large eggs
2/3 cup graham cracker crumbs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup pecans, chopped
Powdered sugar
Vanilla ice cream, for serving

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Make the crust: In a large bowl with an electric mixer, or in the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the graham cracker crumbs, butter, sugar and flour until moist and well-blended. Press the mixture firmly and evenly over the bottom of a 13-inch by 9-inch baking pan. Bake until the crust is golden brown, 10 to 15 minutes.

While the crust is baking, in a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar and eggs to blend. Whisk in the graham cracker crumbs, vanilla, salt and baking powder until well-blended. Stir in the pecans.

Spread the mixture over the baked crust and return to the 350-degree oven until the filling is dark-golden on top and jiggles slightly when tapped, 20 to 25 minutes. [They will set more as they cool.] Transfer the pan to a cooling rack and cool completely. The bars can be made 1 day in advance. Wrap in plastic and keep at room temperature.

Cut into 24 bars, and sprinkle a light coating of sifted powdered sugar over the top. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

spoon cookie redux

2009-12-17T13:17:00.005-05:00

Just as I knew these brown butter spoon cookies were destined to make a holiday cameo, I also knew they were ripe for experimentation. For this batch, I ventured away from the recommended cherry-strawberry preserves filling, substituting other jams I had on-hand: Bonnie’s Jams Black & Blue, Sarabeth’s Strawberry-Raspberry, and L'Épicurien Coco-Passion (which manages to distill the genius of Oleana's coconut-passion fruit Baked Alaska into a condiment).

But curiosity and a simple code of ethics demanded that chocolate somehow enter into the equation. Plain ganache, I feared, would fail to distinguish itself from the cookie base. And then I spotted the unopened package of Andes Mints on our microwave (intended for this recipe). A mint-chocolate ganache, maybe?

Thus, the refined brown butter spoon cookie was transformed into the most awesome imitation Mint Milano known to man.

For civilized company, I’ll be sticking mostly to the recommended template—I like the acidity and the elegance the fruit preserves provide (of the variations mentioned here, I liked the strawberry-raspberry and coco-passion the most)—but I’ll make an extra batch of these little guys just for M and me.

sweet butternut squash and coconut jam

2009-12-15T14:59:00.004-05:00

If my summer had gone according to plan, I would have spent most of August in food preservation mode, channeling the season’s bounty into tomato sauce, pickled okra, and fruit conserves. Instead, October found me with a box of empty Mason Jars and a dozen dog-eared Christine Ferber recipes.

Where does this leave me? Demoralized, yes, but not defeated. In fact I’ve decided that winter, with its narrow roster of ingredients, will be perfect for honing my craft, so come spring I’ll be pickling ramps with the best of them.

Already, I’ve made a stockpot’s worth of vanilla applesauce—the consummation of a fall-foliage / apple-picking day trip to Chester, NJ (New Jersey: really quite beautiful. Who knew?) —and now, this butternut squash coconut jam.

I suspect Madame Ferber would not be pleased with the recipe—it bears none of her restraint or refined technique. But it’s bold and coconuty and scarily easy to eat by the spoonful.

Sweet Butternut Squash and Coconut Jam
Adapted from The Kitchn

Note the absurd quantity of sugar (really, it’s more confection than condiment)—next time, I’d reduce this a bit, to let the natural sweetness of the squash come through. I’d also experiment with more spices—ginger? nutmeg?

Makes about 4 cups

1 large butternut squash, approximately 2 pounds
2 cups milk
2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1 cinnamon stick
8-10 whole cloves
1 vanilla bean, split
1 cup dried unsweetened coconut

Peel the butternut squash and cut into small pieces - about 1 inch or less to a side. You can also grate it. The smaller you cut the pieces the faster it will cook. Put in a large (4 quarts or more) heavy pan over medium heat. Add the milk, sugars, cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla pulp and bean.

Cook over medium heat until the squash is soft and tender. Keep a close watch on it as the milk simmers; it has a tendency to foam up. After the milk comes to a simmer it will be 10-15 minutes before the squash is soft. As the squash becomes soft and tender, mash it into a pulp with a potato masher or a pair of forks. Stir well.

Keep the heat on medium and continue simmering, stirring frequently. When the mixture is reduced and thick like jam, remove from the heat. [This will take between 20 and 45 minutes.] Remove the vanilla pod and spices. Stir in the coconut and let cool before serving. Store in the refrigerator.

Vanilla Applesauce
Delicious warm, at room temperature, or straight from the refrigerator. Feel free to adjust the sugar and spice quantities to your liking.

Makes about 1 1/2 quarts

5 pounds apples (I used a combination of Mutsu, Fuji and Jonagold), peeled, cored, and quartered
1 cup apple cider
1/4 cup sugar
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
3-4 strips of lemon peel (from one lemon)
2-3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped
1/2 teaspoon of salt

Combine all ingredients in a wide, heavy saucepan over medium heat. Cover and cook at a simmer, stirring occasionally, until apples have broken down, about 30 to 40 minutes.

Remove from heat the vanilla pod and lemon peel. [I like to let the cinnamon stick steep with the applesauce overnight.] Using a potato masher or immersion blender, puree to desired consistency. Taste for seasoning.

Refrigerate leftover applesauce in an airtight container, or freeze for later use.

world peace cookies

2009-12-14T14:45:00.003-05:00

This cookie needs no introduction (it’s practically a food blog prerequisite), nor does it require further exposition. But let me speak for a moment to its texture—the sandy delicacy of a classic sablé punctuated by oozing potholes of melted chocolate and tiny fleur de sel crystals. It’s a beautiful, genre-bending hybrid that manages somehow to melt and dissolve in your mouth all at once.

For the recipe (a Pierre Hermé original via Dorie Greenspan), click here.

braised rabbit with black olives and polenta

2009-12-10T16:23:00.008-05:00

Mmmm. Bunny. Or, more precisely, Braised Rabbit with Black Olives and Polenta.

If that sounds familiar, it's because you've most likely salivated over the original at Al Di Là Trattoria, of Bittersweet Chocolate and Pear Cake fame. The entire dish, en Le Creuset, was transported here straight from our friend's oven, making for a delicious centerpiece to our weekend meal. (Yes, said friend is both a braising wizard and the best potluck guest ever.)

It was basically like getting Al Di Là delivered to our doorstep, which is a seriously dangerous proposition. (Round-the-clock Beet Ravioli with Butter and Poppy Seeds?) True to the original, we served it over creamy polenta—I used Andrew Carmellini's recipe, subbing out most of the milk for chicken stock—with Marcella Hazans's braised carrots and a cauliflower-pear-hazelnut dish I'll get to one of these days.

Braised Rabbit with Olives
Adapted from Anna Klinger

Serves 4

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 (2- to 3-pound) rabbit, cut into serving pieces as you would a chicken 
Salt and black pepper 
5 cloves garlic, crushed 
1 or 2 sprigs fresh rosemary 
1/2 cup white wine 
2 to 3 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade 
1/2 cup canned tomatoes, chopped (don't bother to drain) 
12 black oil-cured olives 
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Put the oil in a deep skillet or casserole, and turn the heat to medium-high. A minute or so later, when the oil is hot, add the rabbit, season it with salt and pepper and brown it well, rotating and turning the pieces as necessary; the process will take about 10 minutes. Remove the rabbit to a plate, pour off excess fat, if there is any, and return the pan to the stove over medium heat.

Add the garlic and rosemary and cook, stirring occasionally, until the garlic is lightly colored, 2 or 3 minutes. Add the wine and raise the heat to high; scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen any browned bits, and reduce the wine until there is just a tablespoon or two of liquid remaining in the pan.

Turn the heat down to medium, return the rabbit and any juices to the pan, and add the stock, tomatoes, and olives; cover and transfer the pan to the oven. Cook for 1 to 1 1/2 hours, until the rabbit is tender but not falling off the bone (it tends to dry out at that point). Remove the rabbit, olives, rosemary, and garlic to a plate. Return the pan to the stovetop and reduce the liquid to a thick, sauce-like consistency (you want about 1 cup liquid) over high heat. Stir in the butter, pour over the rabbit, and serve.

pumpkin-gingerbread ice cream with ginger spice cookies

2009-12-09T13:24:00.011-05:00

An approximate timeline of my Saturday morning:

9:47 am: Browse through recently acquired cookbook, Sherry Yard's Desserts by the Yard. [Old school, I know, but watching her pull molten strands of sugar with her bare hands on an Iron Chef rerun was enough to earn my eternal respect. The woman is fierce.]

9:59 am: Spot recipe for Giant Gingerbread cookie.

9:59 am: Experience violent craving for soft, chewy ginger-molasses confection.

10:13 am: Draft spreadsheet comparing the ingredient quantities and oven temperature of the above cookie with those from three other recipes—an attempt to mathematically determine the perfect recipe. My old favorite, from Bon Appétit, seems to have the thick and chewy [read: vegetable shortening] edge on the competition.

10:19 am: Contemplate chocolate chips as an addition to ginger cookies: crazy or crazy good?

10:21 am: Discover someone has already gone there.

10:26 am: Decide on taste test for evening dessert: classic Bon Appétit Ginger Spice Cookies (the control batch) vs. Orangette's Chocolate Chip Ginger-Molasses Cookies.

10:27am: Realize that cookies alone represent an unbalanced dessert, may require ice cream accompaniment.

10:30 am: Remember that chamber for Cuisinart ice cream maker is already chilling in freezer. (Can make, not buy ice cream.)

10:32 am: Brainstorm ideal autumnal ice cream flavor to complement cookies.

10:34 am: Pumpkin.

10:35 am: No wait: Pumpkin gingerbread.

And so it came to pass that by lunchtime two cookie batters and one ice cream custard base were resting snugly in the refrigerator. Together, they made for a delicious dessert experiment.

First, the cookies:

In the end, my loyalty to the Bon Appétit recipe was reaffirmed. Orangette’s version was tasty as well, but once you got past the allure of melted chocolate (considerable, I’ll grant you), I'm not sure that the chocolate chips actually enhanced the cookie; in fact, at times, their flavor seemed to clash with the molasses. The chocolate variation was texturally inferior as well—less chewy and yielding, which is what I like in a ginger cookie.

Next, the ice cream:

Under the influence of multiple cookies and mild illness, M proclaimed this to be the best ice cream he'd ever tasted. And for me it's definitely up there. Of course, it had the textural advantage of being served straight from the machine, with nary an ice crystal to its name. But it was delicious the next night, too.

***

Ginger Spice Cookies
Adapted from Bon Appétit

Yield: 30 cookies

If memory serves me, I think I preferred these rolled in granulated sugar. This time, I used sugar “in the raw”—the title of a bad Meg Ryan movie?—which had a lovely crystalline appearance, but perhaps a less appealing texture. I may be making this up.

2 cups all purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
3/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chopped crystallized ginger
1 cup (packed) light brown sugar
1/2 cup vegetable shortening, room temperature
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 large egg
1/4 cup mild-flavored molasses [I used unsulphured, dark molasses, as it was the only thing available]
Granulated or demerara sugar, for rolling

Combine first 6 ingredients in medium bowl; whisk to blend. Mix in crystallized ginger. Using electric mixer, beat brown sugar, shortening and butter in large bowl until fluffy. Add egg and molasses and beat until blended. Add flour mixture and mix just until blended. Cover and refrigerate 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly butter 2 baking sheets. Spoon sugar in thick layer onto small plate. Using wet hands, form dough into 1 1/4-inch balls; roll in sugar to coat completely. Place balls on prepared sheets, spacing 2 inches apart.

Bake cookies until cracked on top but still soft to touch, about 12 minutes. Cool on sheets 1 minute. Carefully transfer to racks and cool. [Can be made 5 days ahead. Store airtight at room temperature.]

Pumpkin-Gingerbread Ice Cream
Partially adapted from The Craft of Baking, by Karen DeMasco

DeMasco’s recipe came approved by David Lebovitz, which meant I knew it would be good. Though I’m partial to this variation, the pumpkin base is very mix-in compatible. Next time, I may have to attempt the Pumpkin Mascarpone-Cocao Nib Ice Cream I had from the Bent Spoon at October’s New Amsterdam Market.

1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon freshly-grated ginger [I used ground ginger]
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cinnamon stick
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
5 large egg yolks
1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1-2 teaspoons rum or brandy (optional)
3/4 cup canned pumpkin, or homemade
4 ginger spice cookies (recipe above)

Make an ice bath by putting some ice and a little water in a large bowl and nest a smaller metal bowl (at least 2 quarts) inside it. Set a mesh strainer over the top.

In a medium saucepan mix the milk, cream, granulated sugar, ginger, ground cinnamon, cinnamon stick, nutmeg, and salt. Warm the mixture until hot and the edges begin to bubble and foam.

Whisk the egg yolks in a separate bowl and gradually whisk in about half of the warm spiced milk mixture, stirring constantly.

Scrape the warmed yolks back in to the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom with a heatproof spatula, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. If using an instant-read thermometer, it should read between 160º-170ºF.

Immediately pour the mixture through the strainer into the bowl nested in the ice bath. Mix in the brown sugar, then stir until cool, then chill thoroughly, preferably overnight.

Whisk in the vanilla, liquor (if using), and pumpkin puree. Press the mixture through a fine-mesh strainer, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. Fold in the broken pieces of ginger spice cookies.

winning hearts and minds cake

2009-12-03T22:15:00.008-05:00

I had my first piece of flourless chocolate cake on Mother’s Day, 1995.

K, three years my senior and significantly more worldly, proposed we make a flourless cake for dessert. (I knew little about baking, but enough that “flourless” felt somehow dangerous and iconoclastic.) The result, through my twelve-year-old eyes, was sunken and sad-looking, and missing all the signifiers of a good chocolate cake (multiple layers, buttercream frosting). But it tasted incredible. Clearly, K had uncovered a culinary secret lost on the likes of Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker: in matters of chocolate cake, flour content is inversely proportional to deliciousness.

In recent years, I've refined, or rather renounced this theory. In fact, I’ve soured on the whole notion of flourless chocolate cake. Tasty? Yes. They're just so predictable, and, next to the molten chocolate cake, comically ubiquitous on restaurant menus. They've gone from revolutionary to run-of-the-mill in a little over a decade.

Or at least, that's how I felt until a few weeks ago, when I made this "Winning Hearts and Minds Cake." Suddenly the world is new again!

Truly, it's like no other flourless chocolate cake I've ever had. (I realize it's not technically flourless, but 1 tablespoon keeps it in the same general genre.) I don't know if I should credit the above-average quantities of butter or eggs, or perhaps even that sneaky tablespoon of flour, but oh man it's good—rich and silky, with a texture that's somewhere between a chiffon and a mud pie.

Winning Hearts and Minds Cake
Adapted from A Homemade Life, by Molly Wizenberg, who adapted it in turn by Je veux du chocolat!, by Trish Deseine

Make sure you make this cake a day ahead. Molly, who's had a great deal of experience with this cake (as she served it at her wedding), even recommends freezing it for at least a day, then allowing 24 hours for it to return to room temperature.

7 ounces best-quality dark chocolate [I used Scharffen Berger Bittersweet], finely chopped
7 ounces unsalted European-style butter, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 large eggs
1 tablespoon unbleached all-purpose flour
whipped cream, for serving

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees, and butter an 8-inch round cake pan. Line the base of the pan with parchment, and butter the parchment too.

Melt the chocolate gently with the butter in a double boiler or in the microwave, stirring regularly to combine. Add the sugar to the chocolate-butter mixture, stirring well, and set aside to cool for a few moments. Then add the eggs one by one, stirring well after each addition, and then add the flour. The batter should be smooth and dark.

Pour batter into the buttered cake pan and bake for approximately 25 minutes, or until the center of the cake looks set and the top is shiny and a bit crackly-looking. [I began checking around the 20-minute mark. You’ll know it’s done when the top jiggles only slightly, if at all.] Let the cake cool in its pan on a rack for 10 minutes; then carefully turn the cake out of the pan and revert it, so that the crackly side is facing upward. Allow to cool completely. The cake will deflate slightly as it cools.

Serve at room temperature with slightly sweetened whipped cream.

cashew chicken and caramelized broccoli

2009-12-02T12:24:00.007-05:00

Full disclosure: It wasn't until recently that I distinguished between Chinese food and Chinese-American food. Specifically, I was pretty much ignorant of the former, convinced that the take-out staples of my youth (sweet-and-sour pork, General Tso's, and *oh sweet god* honey-glazed shrimp with walnuts) were entirely authentic. Since then, my understanding, and my palate, have evolved considerably, as I've been schooled on soup dumplings and Sichuan peppercorns. But deep inside, a candle still burns for the cornstarch-filled, sealed-with-a-fortune-cookie meals I remember so fondly.

This cashew chicken appeals to teenage take-out lover in me. It may not be authentic—let’s be clear, the recipe comes from Martha Stewart—but it's so fast and tasty and even moderately healthy—I can forgive all that. M., who is far better versed in these things, agrees.

Cashew Chicken
Adapted from Everyday Food

I'm not going to say this is the best version of cashew chicken I've ever tasted; my friend Susanna, for instance, makes a version that easily rivals this one. But for a first attempt, I'm pretty pleased. I also think the (minor) fault may have been with my soy sauce, a fancy artisanal variety (fermented in 100-year-old barrels!) that didn't perform as well as say, Kikkoman, under these conditions.

Serves 2-4

1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 tablespoons dry sherry (or cooking wine)
2 teaspoons minced, peeled, fresh ginger 
3 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch 
Coarse salt 
1/2 cup chicken broth 
2 tablespoons soy sauce 
1 tablespoons rice vinegar 
2 teaspoons sugar 
1 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons vegetable oil 
2 garlic cloves, chopped 
2/3 cup unsalted cashews, toasted
2 green onions, white and green parts separated and thinly sliced

In a medium bowl, toss chicken with sherry, ginger, and 1 1/2 teaspoons cornstarch; season with salt. Refrigerate 30 minutes. In another bowl, combine broth, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and 2 teaspoons cornstarch. Set sauce aside.

In a large nonstick skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium-high heat. Add half the chicken and cook until golden and cooked through, about 5 minutes. Transfer chicken to a covered plate. Add 1 teaspoon oil to skillet and cook remaining chicken (reduce heat if chicken is over-browning). Transfer to plate.

To same skillet, add 1 teaspoon oil, garlic, cashews, and green onion whites. Cook, stirring constantly, until garlic begins to soften, about 30 seconds. Whisk sauce and add to skillet along with chicken. Cook until sauce thickens, about 30 seconds. Top with green onion greens and serve with rice or noodles.

Caramelized Broccoli with Garlic
Adapted from Food & Wine

To all of the broccoli haters burned by memories of soggy, water-logged florets—please, give this recipe a chance. Crunchy and caramelized, it went perfectly with the cashew chicken, but I suspect it would perk up any plate.

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 heads of broccoli (1 1/4 pounds total), stems peeled
1/2 cup water
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
Pinch of crushed red pepper
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Cut the broccoli into thick slices. In a large, deep skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add the broccoli, cut side down, cover and cook over moderate heat until richly browned on the bottom.

Add the water, cover and cook until the broccoli is just tender and the water has evaporated. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil along with the garlic and the crushed red pepper and cook uncovered until the garlic is golden brown. Season with salt and black pepper, drizzle with the lemon juice and serve.

the best cranberry sauce

2009-12-01T08:23:00.006-05:00

I know this looks ridiculous. I know.

It's just that I take the subject of cranberry sauce seriously. I'm not one for culinary orthodoxy, but when it comes to Thanksgiving, certain rules must be observed. Foremost among these is this: One cranberry sauce is simply not adequate. Two, at minimum—preferably three, even if the third happens to be a Jello-fied cylinder, straight from the can (just for nostalgia's sake).

Which brings us to this year's cranberry taste test—a pet project that's been in the works for some time now. In the past month, I've experimented with several acclaimed recipes, in addition to resurrecting some old favorites. What resulted was a tournament bracket of cranberry condiments, in order to determine the best cranberry sauce/chutney/relish (or in my case, the best triumvirate of cranberry sauces/chutneys/relishes) in all the land.

The Winners:

Cranberry-Horseradish Relish
Or, the dark horse(radish) candidate, a staple of our Thanksgiving table for several years running. People respond to the flavor combination at first with skepticism, then (inevitably) with total submission. Technically, it's a relish (read: made with raw cranberries), and, with the aid of a food processor, dead-easy to prepare. Please trust me and try it.

Cranberry Fruit Conserve
Ina Garten, in her usual more-the-merrier wisdom, opts for a serious sugar-to-cranberry ratio. Combined with chopped apple, walnuts, and dual citrus action, it makes for a conserve so good you'll spoon it over toast, yogurt, breakfast cereal. (Warning: the rest of your Thanksgiving meal will pale in comparison.)

Triple Cranberry Sauce:
I loved the concept of this sauce, which concentrates the cranberry threefold (cooked, juiced and dried), but on first taste it didn't blow me away. Rather than abandon the batch, I nestled in a cinnamon stick and let it chill overnight, hopeful that the flavors would blossom into something delicious. They did.

The Runners-Up

Cranberry-Ginger Chutney
Of all my new test subjects, this is the one I most wanted to love (primarily out of loyalty to its creator, Molly of Orangette). I think, perhaps, I should have minded the title. This is definitely a chutney—with significantly more sweet-sour twang than your average sauce. I did really like it — particularly the bursts of crystallized ginger (which I'll borrow for future recipes)—but it's not quite what I'm looking for on Thanksgiving.

Spiced Cranberry Sauce with Zinfandel
Not pictured here, unfortunately, but the recipe stands out in my mind from Thanksgivings past. I know it sounds annoyingly schwa, but the effect is rich and perfect for the season, almost like mulled wine. If you're looking for a "spiced" cranberry sauce, this one is my favorite so far.

Triple Cranberry Sauce with Ginger and Pecans
A riff on the Triple Cranberry Sauce featuring pecans and ginger syrup (ginger syrup—genius). Very tasty, but in the end I preferred the (only moderately tweaked) original.

Not For Me:

Cranberry Sauce with Grand Marnier
This was one of the featured "signature dishes" in Saveur's Thanksgiving issue this year, so I couldn't resist. It's another brown sugar-spiced variation on the cranberry, with the clever addition of black peppercorns. For me, the flavor was not as well balanced as the others.

***

Do yourself a favor and make these the day before. [Covered, they'll survive in the refrigerator at least twice that long.] You want to allow enough time for the flavors to blend. Plus, you already have enough on your Thanksgiving day plate.

Cranberry-Horseradish Relish

Most of the measurements below are approximate—you can add these things to taste. This is one that really needs time to rest; I usually avoid seasoning until after it's been chilled. By the way, this one wins the day-after Turkey sandwich condiment award.

1 (12-ounce) package cranberries, thawed
1 small onion, quartered [I usually end up using about 3/4 onion]
½ cup sugar
1/2 cup light sour cream or plain low-fat yogurt
2 tablespoons drained prepared horseradish
Salt

Combine cranberries, onion and sugar in a food processor. Pulse until coarsely chopped. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and add sour cream, horseradish and salt to taste. Refrigerate until chilled, preferably overnight.

Cranberry Fruit Conserve
Adapted from Ina Garten

1 (12-ounce) bag of fresh cranberries, cleaned
1 3/4 cups sugar [I tend to use a little less]
1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored, and chopped
1 orange, zest grated and juiced
1 lemon, zest grated and juiced
3/4 cup raisins
3/4 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

Cook the cranberries, sugar, and 1 cup of water in a saucepan over low heat for about 5 minutes, or until the skins pop open. Add the apple, zests, and juices and cook for 15 more minutes. Remove from the heat and add the raisins and nuts. Let cool, and serve chilled.

Triple-Cranberry Sauce
Adapted from Bon Appétit

1 cup frozen cranberry juice cocktail concentrate, thawed
1/3 cup sugar 1 12-ounce package fresh or frozen cranberries, cleaned
1/2 cup dried cranberries (about 2 ounces; I used a combination of cranberries and cherries)
3 tablespoons orange marmalade
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
2 teaspoons minced orange peel
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 cinnamon stick

Combine cranberry juice concentrate and sugar in heavy medium saucepan. Bring to boil over high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Add fresh and dried cranberries and cook until dried berries begin to soften and fresh berries begin to pop, stirring often, about 7 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in orange marmalade, orange juice, orange peel, allspice and cinnamon stick. Cool completely. Cover; chill until cold, about 2 hours. Remove cinnamon stick and serve.

thanksgiving report

2009-11-29T22:02:00.007-05:00

The Turkey:

Mmm. Brined and bronzed. Alton Brown's Good Eats recipe proved delicious, if a bit precarious. (Pray you have a self-cleaning oven.) But the crispy, Peking-duck-esque skin and moist flesh were worth all the smoke and splattering. Plus, it was really, really ridiculously good looking.

The Stuffing:

Prior to this year, I was a serial dater when it came to stuffings, perpetually playing the field. No longer. This stuffing, adapted from Silver Palate, is the equivalent of a culinary soul mate. It deserves its own holiday.

The Sides:

Our buffet included the familiar line-up of Thanksgiving sides, from Brussels sprouts to butternut squash puree. These glazed pearl onions may seem like an afterthought, but they've become a perennial favorite.

The Desserts:

Yes, five desserts (four plus one duplicate) is a bit optimistic for 12 people. But it's not a holiday for moderation. I can't take credit for the pies—two very tasty iterations of the Thanksgiving classics—but I can direct you to the recipes. The pumpkin is particularly of note, both for it's easy press-in shortbread crust, and it's bold spicing.

My contribution was a pear and chocolate cake, which seemed appropriately autumnal and wasn't at risk of redundancy. The pears and chocolate (who knew they made such tasty bedfellows?) sink during baking, enveloped by delicious brown butter cake.

***

Good Eats Roast Turkey
Adapted from Alton Brown

1 (14 to 16 pound) frozen young turkey

For the brine:
1 cup kosher salt
1/2 cup light brown sugar
1 gallon vegetable stock
1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 1/2 teaspoons allspice berries
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped candied ginger
1 gallon heavily iced water

For the aromatics:
1 red apple, sliced
1/2 onion, sliced
1 cinnamon stick
1 cup water
4 sprigs rosemary
6 leaves sage
Canola oil

2 to 3 days before roasting: Begin thawing the turkey in the refrigerator or in a cooler kept at 38 degrees. Combine the vegetable stock, salt, brown sugar, peppercorns, allspice berries, and candied ginger in a large stockpot over medium-high heat. Stir occasionally to dissolve solids and bring to a boil. Then remove the brine from the heat, cool to room temperature, and refrigerate.

Early on the day or the night before you'd like to eat: Combine the brine, water and ice in the 5-gallon bucket. Place the thawed turkey (with innards removed) breast side down in brine. If necessary, weigh down the bird to ensure it is fully immersed, cover, and refrigerate or set in cool area for 8 to 16 hours, turning the bird once half way through brining.

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.

Remove the bird from brine and rinse inside and out with cold water. Discard the brine. Place the bird on roasting rack inside a half sheet pan and pat dry with paper towels.

Combine the apple, onion, cinnamon stick, and 1 cup of water in a microwave safe dish and microwave on high for 5 minutes. Add steeped aromatics to the turkey's cavity along with the rosemary and sage. Tuck the wings underneath the bird and coat the skin liberally with canola oil.

Roast the turkey on lowest level of the oven at 500 degrees for 30 minutes. Insert a probe thermometer into thickest part of the breast and reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees. Set the thermometer alarm (if available) to 161 degrees. A 14 to 16 pound bird should require a total of 2 to 2 1/2 hours of roasting. Let the turkey rest, loosely covered with foil or a large mixing bowl for 15 minutes before carving.

Corn Bread-Sausage Stuffing With Apples
Adapted from Silver Palate Cookbook

We opted for an out-of-the-bird approach this year, which left the stuffing (or, in this case, dressing) moist and crisp in perfect proportion.

Serves 10-12

12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter
2 1/2 cups finely chopped yellow onions
3 tart apples (we used Mutsu and Honeycrisp), cored and chunked; do not peel
1 pound lightly seasoned bulk sausage (breakfast sausage with sage is best)
3 cups coarsely crumbled corn bread
3 cups coarsely crumbled whole-wheat bread
3 cups coarsely crumbled white bread (French or homemade preferred)
2 teaspoons thyme
1 teaspoon sage
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1/2 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 1/2 cups shelled pecan halves

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Melt half of the butter in a skillet over medium heat. Add the chopped onions and cook, partially covered, until tender and lightly colored, about 25 minutes, Transfer the onions and butter to a large mixing bowl.

Melt the remaining butter in the same skillet. Add the apple chunks and cook over high heat until lightly colored but not mushy. Transfer the apples and butter to the mixing bowl.

Crumble the sausage into the skillet and cook over medium heat, stirring, until lightly browned. With a slotted spoon, transfer the sausage to the mixing bowl and reserve the rendered fat.

Add the remaining ingredients to the ingredients in the mixing bowl and combine gently. Cool completely before stuffing the bird; refrigerate if not used promptly.

If you do not wish actually to stuff the bird, spoon it into a casserole. Cover the casserole and set into a large pan. Pour hot water around the casserole to come halfway up the sides, Bake for 30 to 45 minutes, basting occasionally with the cooking juices from the bird or with the reserved sausage fat if necessary.

Brown-Braised Pearl Onions
Adapted from Julia Child

Please don't be discouraged with the prospect of peeling these little guys. Once you blanch them, the skins slip right off... kind of.

18-24 pearl onions, about 1 inch in diameter
1½ tablespoons butter
1½ tablespoons olive oil
½ cup brown stock, or more [you can also experiment with dry white wine, red wine, or water]
Salt and pepper to taste
4 parsley sprigs
1 bay leaf
1 sprig thyme

To peel the onions, cut off the stems with a paring knife and cook in boiling water for 1 minute. Drain and immediately plunge blanched onions into a bowl of ice water. Squeeze each onion gently at root end; the skins should pop off.

Heat the oil and butter in a skillet. Add the onions and sauté over moderate heat for about 10 minutes, rolling the onions about so they will brown as evenly as possible. (You can't expect them to brown uniformly.) Be careful not to break their skins.

Pour in enough liquid to come halfway up the sides of the onions, season to taste, and add the herbs. Cover and simmer slowly for 30 to 50 minutes until the onions are perfectly tender but retain their shape, and the liquid has evaporated. Remove herbs, and serve warm. [The onions can be cooked hours in advance, and reheated before serving.]

Easy Pumpkin Pie with Press-In Shortbread Crust
Adapted from Martha Stewart

For the crust:
2 ounces (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter, softened
3 tablespoons sugar
1 large egg yolk
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon coarse salt

For the filling:
1 can (15 ounces) solid-pack pumpkin
1 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
Whipped cream, for serving

Make the crust: Stir together butter and sugar in a medium bowl. Stir in yolk. Add flour and salt, and stir until mixture is dry and crumbly. Press dough into bottom and up sides of a 9-inch pie dish. Freeze until firm, about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Bake, rotating halfway through, just until crust turns golden brown, 20 to 22 minutes. Let cool in dish on a wire rack.

Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees.

Make the filling: Whisk together pumpkin, heavy cream, sugar, vanilla, salt, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and eggs in a large bowl. Pour filling into prepared piecrust.

Place dish on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake, rotating halfway through, until filling is just set and slightly puffed but still a bit wobbly, 65 to 70 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack, and let cool completely. Refrigerate, uncovered, for at least 6 hours. (Pie can be refrigerated for up to 2 days.) Serve chilled, topped with whipped cream if desired.

Torta di Pere [Bittersweet Chocolate and Pear Cake]
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen, who cleverly convinced Al Di La restaurant to share the recipe

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 eggs, at room-temperature
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 vanilla bean
3 pears, peeled, in a small dice [I used Bosc]
3/4 cup bittersweet chocolate chunks

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and dust with flour or breadcrumbs.

Sift the flour, baking powder and salt together, set aside.

Using a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the eggs on high speed until pale and very thick. [This will take at least 5 minutes, depending on your equipment.]

While the eggs are whipping, brown the butter. Place the rest of the butter in a medium saucepan. Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise down the center, and using a paring knife to scrape the seeds and pulp onto the butter. Add the vanilla pod to the pan, and cook the butter until the butter browns and smells nutty, about 6 to 8 minutes. Scrape the solids off the bottom of the pan in the last couple minutes to ensure even browning. Set aside. Remove the vanilla pod and discard.

Add the sugar and vanilla to the eggs and whip a few minutes more. Just as the egg-sugar mixture is starting to loose volume, turn the mixture down to stir, and add the flour mixture and brown butter. Add one third of the flour mixture, then half of the butter, a third of the flour, the remaining butter, and the rest of flour. Whisk until just barely combined — no more than a minute from when the flour is first added — and then use a spatula to gently fold the batter until the ingredients are combined. It is very important not to over-whisk or fold the batter or it will lose volume.

Pour into prepared pan. Sprinkle the pear and chocolate chunks over the top, and bake until the cake is golden brown and springs back to the touch, about 40 to 50 minutes, or a tester comes out clean.

roasted winter squash and parsnips with maple syrup and marcona almonds

2009-11-23T16:08:00.004-05:00

Like I've said before, when it comes to squash and sweet potato preparations, I overwhelmingly prefer the savory—excluding desserts, that is. But this dish, even with its maple syrup glaze, manages to get the sweet-salty balance just right. It's in large part thanks to the addition of toasted Marcona almonds, a blinged-out, why-didn't-I-think-of-that-before upgrade to the homely panko. All things considered, it's a perfect Thanksgiving compromise.

Roasted Winter Squash and Parsnips with Maple Syrup and Marcona Almonds
Adapted from Bon Appetít

Serves 6-8

2 cups 1/2-inch cubes peeled kabocha squash (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 cups 1/2-inch cubes peeled butternut squash (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 cups 1/4- to 1/3-inch cubes peeled parsnips (about 12 ounces)
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
salt and freshly ground black pepper
3/4 cup coarsely chopped Marcona almonds (about 3 1/2 ounces)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter 11x7x2-inch glass baking dish.

Combine kabocha and butternut squash and parsnips in large bowl. Melt butter in small saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in the maple syrup, garlic, and rosemary. Add butter to squash mixture and toss to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Transfer mixture to prepared baking dish. [Can be made 1 day ahead: Cover and chill. Bring to room temperature before continuing.]

Cover squash mixture with foil. Bake covered 40 minutes. Uncover; bake until all vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes longer. Sprinkle with almonds and bake 10 more minutes.

roasted sweet potato rounds with garlic oil and fried sage

2009-11-19T17:08:00.008-05:00

I feel sorry for the sweet potato. Is there any vegetable more often defiled on the Thanksgiving table? It suffers countless humiliations, from miniature marshmallows to shredded coconut (in Paula Deen's world, both)—all before the dessert course even arrives. Don't get me wrong—I'm all for indulging one's sweet tooth—but I've never met a candied yam I truly enjoyed.

Which brings me to these roasted sweet potato rounds. Whoever devised this recipe clearly understands that a sweet potato is, by definition, sweet, and doesn't require any confectionary spin. Here they're roasted in garlic oil then tossed with fried sage leaves (which are by themselves a revelation). It's a simple, ridiculously tasty, and most of all dignified end for my tuberous friends.

Roasted Sweet Potato Rounds with Garlic Oil and Fried Sage
Adapted from Gourmet

Serves 4

3 large garlic cloves
1/3 cup olive oil
2 1/2 pounds sweet potatoes, peeled and sliced into 1/2-inch-thick rounds
24 sage leaves
salt

Preheat oven to 450 degrees with rack in upper third.

Heat oil in a small heavy skillet over medium-high heat until it shimmers, then fry sage leaves in 2 batches, stirring, until crisp, 30 seconds to 1 minute per batch. Transfer with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Reserve the oil.

Purée garlic with 1/4 cup of reserved olive oil and 3/4 teaspoon salt in a blender until smooth. [You can also use fresh olive oil; I was looking to infuse more sage flavor.] Toss sweet potatoes with garlic oil in a large bowl, then spread in 1 layer in a 15-by 10-inch shallow baking pan. Bake until golden in patches and cooked through, 20 to 30 minutes. Serve sweet potatoes with sage leaves scattered on top.

unlocking the carrot

2009-11-17T16:00:00.009-05:00

"I know of no other preparation in the Italian repertory, or in other cuisines for that matter, more successful than this one in freeing the rich flavor that is locked inside the carrot." A bold claim, to be sure. But if you're Marcella Hazan, maven of Italian cuisine, you know you have the goods to back it up.

Alas, there's no secret ingredient, or trick to her technique. The real art to this preparation is patience: one and a half hours of quiet observation (and quality control) as the homely carrot round transforms into something buttery, caramelized, and f--ing delicious.

This next recipe, adapted from Tony Maws of Craigie on Maine, is less authentically carrot-y, perhaps, but uniquely boozy and wonderful. Carrots emerge from the pan rich and perfumy, with a deep garnet-red glaze.

***

Braised Carrots with Parmesan Cheese
Adapted from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan

It's hard to think of ways to improve on this recipe. Next time, I might experiment with some combination of chicken stock and water, to see if that will tease out some extra richness.

Serves 4

2 pounds carrots
1/3 teaspoon sugar
4-5 tablespoons butter
Salt
3 tablespoons freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese

Peel the carrots, wash them in cold water, and slice them into 3/8 inch disks. The thin tapered ends can be cut thicker. Using one large or two medium saute pans, spread the carrot rounds in a single snug layer, without overlapping. Add the butter, and enough water to come ¼ inch up the sides. Turn on the heat to medium.

Cook until the water has evaporated, then add salt and the ¼ teaspoon sugar. Continue cooking, adding from 2-3 tablespoons water as needed. Your objective is to end up with well-browned, wrinkled carrot disks, concentrated in flavor and texture. It will take about 1 hour, during which time you must watch them, even while you do other things in the kitchen. Stop adding water when they begin to reach the wrinkled, browned stage, because there must be no liquid left in the end. In about 30 minutes, the carrots will become so reduced in bulk that, if you have been using two pans, you will be able to combine them in a single pan.

When done—they should be very tender—add the grated Parmesan, turn the carrots over completely once or twice, and transfer them to a warm platter.

Pan-Roasted Carrots in Red Wine
Adapted from Tony Maws

Serves 4

2 pounds of carrots, peeled and sliced
 2-3 tablespoons butter
 salt and freshly ground pepper 
1 cup full-bodied red wine 
1 cup stock or water 
Chopped chives and parsley

Saute carrots in butter, salt and pepper until slightly brown—about 10 minutes—or until the juices are released, stirring occasionally.

Add red wine and stir to combine pan juices and goodies. Cook until liquid is reduced to a syrup consistency. Add stock or water. Cover and continue cooking on very low heat until carrots are tender. If necessary, reduce liquid until thick. Add one tablespoon butter and chopped chives and/or parsley. Test for seasoning.

two pumpkin pie alternatives

2009-11-15T19:25:00.006-05:00

Alternatives may be the wrong word. For me, classic pumpkin pie is irreplaceable—a prerequisite for any up-to-par Thanksgiving table. But, while I'm not off looking for pumpkin pie substitutes, I still welcome any opportunity to sample a new squash dessert (preferably for breakfast).

As such, in the past month I've experimented with a couple of more avant-garde pumpkin recipes, just to test the waters. The first is from Pichet Ong, and to my mind it's enough to catapult him into pastry immortality:

This kabocha squash pie feels like a hybrid dessert—part pie, part cheesecake. (The 10 ounces of cream cheese, I suppose, place it decidedly in the second category, but they don't hijack the experience.)

It all starts with a walnut-graham cracker crust, which I highly recommend you dog-ear and export for future cheesecakes. It's genius (lime zest!), and, coupled with the slight twang of the pie filling and (to gild the lily) a generous drizzle of ginger-butterscotch sauce, totally addictive. I'll be honest, Mr. Ong nearly made me reconsider my no-pumpkin-pie-substitutes dictate.

The second specimen is a little harder to wrap my mind around, in part because it represents my greatest baking failure—aesthetically and emotionally—to date. Made with fresh sweet potatoes, pumpkin, and coconut milk, it's called Cazuela Pie, and Regan Daley (whom I generally trust) claims that it’s a personal favorite. (“It beats the pants off regular pumpkin pies!” she writes.) Oh, that I might say the same.

See that horrible fault line slashing down the left side? The soupy bog that's formed in the center (a refrigeration error on my part)? Those are just the start of my grievances—they don't account for the miserable 45 minutes spent sieving sweet potato (food mill, where art thou?); or the distracted moment in which I mistook cumin for ginger (don't worry, I fished it out...I think); or repeated botched attempts to cover the crust with tinfoil.

I naively hoped that, despite these mishaps, the pie would end in success. And it did, sort of. Texturally, once you got past the cosmetic issues, it was excellent. But I'm not 100% sold on the flavor. Cazuela was missing the classic spice profile I've come to desire in a pumpkin dessert, and the coconut milk was perhaps a little too sweet?

That said, seconds were had by many. And two people said they preferred this to classic pumpkin pie. Maybe you will too? For me there's a bit too much baggage here to be objective—this pie will forever serve as a reminder of my shortcomings. Approach it with an open mind, and a food mil, and I suspect you may feel differently.

***

Kabocha Squash Pie
Adapted from Pichet Ong

If you're not up for breaking down a kobocha, substitute 2 1/2 cups of canned pumpkin. I promise it will still be delicious.

For the filling:
1 medium kabocha squash, about 3 pounds or 2 1/2 cups of canned pumpkin
10 ounces (1 1/3 cups) cream cheese, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
3/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg (about 1/4 of a nutmeg)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 tablespoons brandy
2 eggs at room temperature

For the crust:
3/4 cup (2 ounces) walnuts
1/2 cup, packed, light brown sugar
3/4 cup graham cracker crumbs (about 7 crackers)
Grated zest of 1 lime
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup (2 ounces) butter, melted
Crème fraîche or whipped cream, for serving
Ginger butterscotch sauce, for serving (see recipe)

For pie filling, bring an inch of water to a boil in a large covered pot fitted with a steamer basket or rack. Put in squash, cover and steam, replenishing water as needed, until fork tender, about 1 hour. Turn squash over halfway through steaming. Set squash aside until cool enough to handle.

Heat oven to 325 degrees. For crust, place walnuts on a baking tray, and toast in oven, stirring once or twice, until fragrant, about 15 minutes. Let cool. Reduce oven temperature to 300 degrees.

In a food processor, combine walnuts with a few tablespoons brown sugar and pulse a few times, until nuts are coarsely ground. In a large bowl, whisk nuts with graham cracker crumbs, remaining brown sugar, lime zest, spices and salt. Pour melted butter over this mixture, and mix with your fingers until butter is distributed. Press evenly into a 10-inch glass pie plate. Bake crust until lightly browned, about 12 minutes, then set aside. Keep oven at 300 degrees.

When squash is cool, cut it in half and scoop out seeds and pulp. Scoop squash flesh into a measuring cup until you have 2 1/2 cups.

In a food processor, process cream cheese with sugar, spices and salt until light and smooth. Scrape down bowl, add squash and process until smooth. Mix in brandy and then eggs, one at a time. Finish mixing with a rubber spatula.

Place pie plate on a baking sheet and scrape filling into crust. Bake until just set in center, about 1 hour. Let cool before serving, topped with whipped cream or crème fraîche and drizzled with butterscotch sauce.

Ginger Butterscotch Sauce
Adapted from Pichet Ong

1/2 pound dark brown sugar
1 1/4 ounces (about 2 inches) fresh ginger root, peeled and sliced into coins
1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise, pulp scraped
5 tablespoons (5 ounces) unsalted butter, cubed
1 cups heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon salt

1. Place sugar, ginger and vanilla pod and pulp in a heavy pot set over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until sugar is molten and fragrant with ginger and vanilla, about 8 minutes. (It won't melt entirely but will be somewhat crumbly.) Add butter (stand back, it will foam up), and stir until melted and smooth, about 2 minutes.

Pour cream and salt into pot, stirring, and bring to a simmer. Let sauce bubble until thickened, about 8 minutes. Let cool for at least 1/2 hour, then strain out ginger and vanilla pod. Warm sauce before serving. [This sauce will keep for up to 2 weeks in refrigerator.]

Cazuela Pie
Adapted from In The Sweet Kitchen, by Regan Daley

Make sure the pie shell is thoroughly chilled to ensure the pastry won't over-bake during the long cooking time needed for the dense filling. If necessary, cover the crust with aluminum foil to prevent burning.

2 unbaked and well-chilled pie pastries, used to line 9 1/2 -inch glass pie dishes
2 1/2 pounds orange sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1 1/4 cups water
1 large cinnamon stick, broken into pieces
5 whole cloves
1 star anise, crumbled
1 1/2 -inch-long piece of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced
4 cups pumpkin puree
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons tightly packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 cup good-quality canned coconut milk (stir the contents of the can well before measuring)
Whipped cream, to serve

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Place the sweet potato chunks in a single layer in one large or two medium shallow, ceramic baking dish(es). Add the water, dividing it between the two dishes if necessary. The water should be about 1/2 inch deep; add more if the level is lower than this. Scatter the pieces of cinnamon stick, cloves, pieces of star anise and ginger slices among the sweet potatoes. Cover the baking dishes securely with aluminum foil and place in the preheated oven. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the sweet potatoes are very tender when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife.

Remove the potatoes from the dishes and force them through a ricer, food mill, or sieve. Let cool. Strain the baking liquid, discarding the solids, and measure. You want about 1/2 cup of liquid; if you have less, add enough fresh water to make 1/2 cup; if you have more, simmer the liquid in a small saucepan on the stove over high heat until it is reduced to about 1/2 cup. Let the liquid cool. [The pumpkin, sweet potato and spiced liquid can all be prepared up to 3 days ahead of time and stored in the refrigerator. Bring each to room temperature before proceeding with the recipe.]

Increase the oven temperature to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, combine the pumpkin and sweet potato purees and stir to blend well. Beat in the eggs, then stir in the melted butter and reserved spice liquid. In a separate bowl, stir together the granulated and brown sugars with a wire whisk. Sift the flour and salt over the sugars and stir to blend. Add the sugar-flour mixture to the pumpkin mixture and stir well until there are no pockets of sugar visible. Blend in the coconut milk.

Scrape the filling into the two chilled pie shells, dividing it evenly and smoothing the tops. Place the pies in the lower half of the preheated oven and bake for 1 3/4 to 2 hours, turning the pies several times so they bake evenly. The point of a thin-bladed knife should come out clean when inserted into the center of the filling, and the surface should be unevenly cracked. If the edges of the pastry seem to be darkening too much before the filling is cooked, cover them with strips of aluminum foil. Transfer the pies to wire racks and cool completely before serving with lightly sweetened whipped cream.

applesauce-chocolate chip bundt cake

2009-11-05T14:23:00.005-05:00

Applesauce and chocolate chips: two great tastes that taste great... together?

I'll admit I was skeptical, even when this cake emerged from the oven beautifully copper-toned and smelling of cloves. The cake got a similarly tepid reception from our dinner companions—in particular, a discerning three-year-old, who seemed confused and possibly offended by the unconventional flavor combination.

Her first approach to the cake was that of a practiced surgeon, carefully plucking out the melted tablets of chocolate and dusting off the surrounding crumbs. A few minutes in (and, I think, realizing the fair percentage of cake she was forfeiting through excavation), she took a tentative bite of the remaining, intact slice. Then another, then another—with a slowly dawning look of discovery.

Her expression mirrored my own experience, as skepticism yielded to tenuous like, and then to quiet triumph. This is a cake that grows on you until, hours later, you're still thinking about it, still wondering at the collaboration of chocolate and spice, the subtle piquancy of black pepper. Damn, I may be overselling it now. But I doubt it.

Applesauce-Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake
Adapted from Food & Wine

This is an all-purpose, any-occasion cake—M. was snacking on leftovers for breakfast, lunch and dessert. We initially served the cake with vanilla ice cream, but it was better the next day with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 cups unsweetened applesauce
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 stick unsalted butter, melted
One 12-ounce bag semisweet-chocolate chips
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 12-cup Bundt pan.

In a large bowl, whisk the flour with the granulated sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, cardamom, salt, cloves and pepper. Whisk in the applesauce, eggs, oil and melted butter. Fold in the chocolate chips.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with a few crumbs attached.

Transfer the pan to a rack and let the cake cool for 10 minutes, then invert it onto the rack and let cool completely, about 20 minutes. Sift confectioners’ sugar over the cake, slice and serve with whipped cream. [The cake can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature for up to three days.]

roasted banana ice cream

2009-11-02T21:31:00.004-05:00

I recently came into some egg yolks. Fifteen egg yolks, to be exact, which were orphaned in the name of egg-white omelets. Hoping to wield my culinary resourcefulness, I set out to find some suitably yolk-heavy recipes to make that evening. Of course, my thoughts turned to the custard family: puddings, crème brûlée, and then—genius!—ice cream, which seemed perfect given our oft-perused but underutilized copy of The Perfect Scoop.

After considerable yo-yoing between recipes (Guinness-Milk Chocolate or Malted Milk? Tin Roof or Butterscotch Pecan?), I settled on Lebovitz’s Roasted Banana Ice Cream, finally persuaded by the three bananas languishing on our butcher block and memories of a killer roasted banana and hot fudge combination from Bi-Rite Creamery.

It wasn’t until I removed the bananas from the oven—a chunky golden mash veined with deep brown caramel—and rereading the procedure, that I realized my mistake: Of all the ice cream recipes in the book, I had chosen one of the few sans egg yolks. D’oh.

Yes, I felt a bit defeated when scooping out the final product. But the remedy was immediate, and intensely delicious.

Roasted Banana Ice Cream
Adapted from The Perfect Scoop, by David Lebovitz

3 medium ripe bananas, peeled
1/3 cup (70g) light brown sugar
1 tablespoon butter, cut into small pieces
1½ cups (375ml) whole milk
2 tablespoons sugar
1½ teaspoons lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Slice the bananas into ½-inch pieces and toss with the brown sugar and butter. Place in a small baking dish and bake for 40 minutes, stirring once during baking. The bananas will be browned and cooked through.

Scrape the bananas and caramel into a blender. Add the milk, sugar, vanilla, lemon juice and salt, and puree until smooth.

Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze in the ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

rigatoni with five lilies and ricotta salata

2009-10-27T17:13:00.000-04:00

I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that, what Mozart did for the string quintet, Mario Batali does for onions in this “Rigatoni with Five Lilies.” Vidalias, red onions, leeks, scallions, chives—they’re all culinary instruments in the same family, and here they come together to form something rich and sonorous, each lily offering a subtle variation on the same caramelized flavor.

By the end of cooking, you have a delicious purple-golden mash—its sweetness tempered by salty shavings of ricotta salata and peppery herbs—the rigaoni nested happily below.

Rigatoni with Five Lilies and Ricotta Salata
Adapted from The Babbo Cookbook, by Mario Batali

Yield: 4 servings

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound Vidalia onions, halved then cut into ¼-inch slices
2-4 tablespoons butter
5 medium garlic cloves, minced
½ pound leeks, cut into 1/8-inch rings and washed
½ pound red onions, cut into 1/2-inch chunks
1 bunch scallions, trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths
½ cup water
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 pound rigatoni
4 ounces ricotta salata, coarsely grated
¼ cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 small bunch chives, chopped
Lemon wedges, optional

In a large saute pan, warm the olive oil over medium heat until hot but not smoking. Add the Vidalia onions, and reduce the heat. Cook over medium-low, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent; then raise the heat to medium and cook, stirring often, until deeply golden and caramelized. Remove the pan from the heat, and transfer the onions to a bowl. Set aside.

In the same skillet, heat the butter over medium heat until the foam subsides. Add the garlic, leeks, red onion, and scallions, and cook, stirring regularly, until very soft and golden. Add the water, and cook until the liquid evaporates. Season lightly with salt. Remove from the heat, and stir in the sweet onions.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and cook the rigatoni until tender but al dente. In the last minute of cooking, return the onion mixture to medium-high heat. Drain the pasta and add it to the onion mixture, tossing over medium-high heat for 1 minute. Remove from the heat and toss more, if necessary, to thoroughly disperse the onions amidst the pasta. Serve immediately in warmed bowls, topped with plenty of ricotta salata and sprinklings of parsley and chives. Season to taste and add lemon juice if desired.

sweet-and-spicy bacon

2009-10-25T17:19:00.000-04:00

I'll admit, it's not my pork product of choice. Blame the breakfast sausage links that seduced me at a young age—or, better yet, the recent proliferation of pork belly in restaurants across the nation. (If, as they say in When Harry Met Sally, "pesto is the quiche of the 80s," then pork belly is certainly the pesto of the new millennium.)

That being said, I still respect a good piece of bacon. For instance, this thick-cut, dry cured, applewood smoked bacon from Niman Ranch. It has the pedigree to stand alone, but, looking to gild the lily, I sprinkled on a mixture of brown sugar, cayenne and black pepper, which melted and caramelized into a sweet-spicy glaze. It was boutique bacon of the best sort.

Sweet-and-Spicy Bacon
Adapted from Gourmet

1 1/2 tablespoons light brown sugar
Rounded 1/4 teaspoon cayenne
Rounded 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 pound thick-cut bacon (about 12 slices)

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Stir together brown sugar, cayenne, and black pepper in a small bowl.

Arrange bacon slices in 1 layer on rack of a large broiler pan. Bake 20 minutes. Turn slices over and sprinkle evenly with spiced sugar. Continue baking until bacon is crisp and deep golden, 20 to 35 minutes more (check bacon every 5 minutes). Transfer to paper towels to drain.

potatoes girarrosto-style

2009-10-23T13:38:00.002-04:00

Okay, I confess, these aren't real skillet potatoes—the skillet was subbed in at the last minute for aesthetic purposes. Even with the skillet, these potatoes aren't much to look at. But breakfast potatoes have never scored points for good looks. In fact, when it comes to breakfast potatoes, I think appearance is often inversely proportional to taste. (Unless they look like this, in which case, awesome.)

You should assume then, from their homely presentation, that these Potatoes Girarrosto-Style, courtesy of Andrew Carmellini, were totally delicious. Carmellini's method requires that you alternate between oven and stovetop to achieve the perfect crispy results. First the potatoes, then the caramelized onions (almost in 1:1 ratio with the potatoes), then—in the skillet phase—a final flourish of garlic, rosemary, thyme and red pepper flakes, which magically infuses the whole dish. Don't ask questions. The man knows what he's doing.

Potatoes Girarrosto-Style
Adapted from Urban Italian, by Andrew Carmellini

4 Idaho potatoes
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 medium onions, cut in half and sliced
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
1 heaping tablespoon fresh thyme leave
sea salt and coarse-ground black pepper
1/4 cup chopped parsley

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Prick the potatoes with a fork, place them on a baking tray, and bake them on the middle rack until a fork goes in easily, about 1 hour. Remove the potatoes from the oven and set aside. When the potatoes are cool, roughly cut them into large chunks.

Pour the olive oil into the bottom of a large roasting pan. (Pick one that’s safe to use on the stovetop too.) Scatter the onions in the pan and layer the potato chunks on top. Bake uncovered on the middle rack for about 15 minutes, turning the contents every 5 minutes, until the onions begin to soften and caramelize.

Remove the pan from the oven and cook over high heat on the stovetop for 2 minutes to caramelize the potatoes and onions, being sure to stir the contents every 30 seconds or so to avoid burning.

Return the pan to the oven and continue baking for another 5 to 10 minutes, pulling the pan out periodically to shake the potatoes around with a spoon. Bits of potato on the bottom of the pan will brown up so they look almost like hash browns. Scrape these little flavor-and-crispiness bombs off the bottom and mix them in with the rest of the potatoes. When the potatoes are finished baking, they will be golden and crispy, with lots of brown bits.

Remove the pan from the oven and return it to the stove over medium-high heat. [This is where I transferred the potatoes to a heated skillet.] Add the garlic, butter, red pepper flakes, rosemary, and thyme. Stir, and season with salt and pepper. Cook for a few more minutes so the flavors meld. Remove the pan from the heat and add the chopped parsley. Serve immediately.

tall and fluffy buttermilk biscuits

2009-10-21T13:40:00.008-04:00

Some people are particular about their biscuits. I have never been one of those people. Growing up, I contented myself with the KFC and Pillsbury iterations, unconcerned with Southern authenticity. (I stand by KFC's ingenious melted butter packets, though I suspect butter has nothing to do with it.)

Since then, my biscuit horizons have expanded somewhat. I've sought out the best biscuits in New York (Clinton St. Baking Company and Hundred Acres come to mind), and M. and I completed a biscuit tour of duty in the Low Country (hellooo, Hominy Grill). So I hope you'll allow me some glimmer of credibility when I tell you that these are among the best biscuits I've ever had.

It's a unique breed of biscuit—lighter and more pillowy than the drop persuasion, less peel-and-eat than Pillsbury. (This, I glean, is a result of the steam produced by the tight baking quarters.) Even better, they're very low maintenance, and require about as much effort as a trip to the market. Alas, you won't have the satisfaction of popping the Pillsbury can, but I think they're worth it all the same.

Tall and Fluffy Buttermilk Biscuits
From Cook’s Illustrated

If you’ve never heard of double-acting baking powder, don’t be concerned; these days, most conventional baking powders are double-acting.

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon double-acting baking powder
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon table salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
4 tablespoons unsalted butter (cold), cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1½ cups buttermilk cold, preferably low-fat

To form and finish biscuits:
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour, distributed in rimmed baking sheet
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 500 degrees. Spray 9-inch round cake pan with nonstick cooking spray; set aside. Generously spray inside and outside of 1/4 cup dry measure with nonstick cooking spray.

For the dough: In food processor, pulse 2 cups flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, and baking soda to combine. Scatter butter cubes evenly over dry ingredients; pulse until mixture resembles pebbly, coarse cornmeal, eight to ten pulses. Transfer mixture to medium bowl. Add buttermilk to dry ingredients and stir with rubber spatula until just incorporated (dough will be very wet and slightly lumpy).

To form and bake biscuits: Using 1/4 cup dry measure and working quickly, scoop level amount of dough; drop dough from measuring cup into flour on baking sheet (if dough sticks to cup, use spoon to pull it free). Repeat with remaining dough, forming 12 evenly sized mounds. [I only made 10.]

Dust tops of each piece of dough with flour from baking sheet. With floured hands, gently pick up piece of dough and coat with flour; gently shape dough into rough ball, shake off excess flour, and place in prepared cake pan. Repeat with remaining dough, arranging 9 rounds around perimeter of cake pan and 3 in center. Brush rounds with hot melted butter, taking care not to flatten them.

Bake 5 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 450 degrees; continue to bake until biscuits are deep golden brown, about 15 minutes longer. Cool in pan 2 minutes, then invert biscuits from pan onto clean kitchen towel; turn biscuits right-side up and break apart to serve. [Store leftover biscuits in an airtight zipper-lock bag. To reheat, place them on a baking sheet in a 475-degree oven for 5 to 7 minutes.]

brown butter spoon cookies

2009-10-14T12:52:00.007-04:00

Some people plan for the future by brainstorming baby names, or investing in 401(k)s. I collect cookie recipes. From sugar to snickerdoodle, I’ve been studiously filing away my favorite recipes, preparing for an imaginary life of afternoon tea parties, elaborate holiday gift baskets, and kitchen cookie jars.

Certain quotas and cookie archetypes have already been filled:

Bon Appétit’s Ginger Spice Cookies, for instance, are chewy and crystallized in perfect proportion:

Photo by Bon Appétit. What is that cheese doing there?

Then there are these Crispy Salted Oatmeal White Chocolate Cookies, which I first spotted on Smitten Kitchen:

Photo by Picky Baker

Claudia Fleming’s Chocolate Brownie Cookies have a comfortable lead in the chocolate department:

And, for nostalgia’s sake, there are the Lime Zingers that my family decorates every Christmas.

Now, to unveil the newest member of my pantheon of cookie greats: Celia Barbour’s Spoon Cookies. Credit (and deep gratitude) goes to my friend Mollie for making this batch—another outtake from the Gourmet wake—and for having the generosity/discipline to share them.

These are tender, cherubic little cookies flecked with nibs of brown butter and haloed with berry preserves. (Everything a linzer cookie wants to be, but better.) They're exactly the kind of cookie you’d want to build a fantasy life around.

While I'm on the subject, what are your go-to cookies?

Spoon Cookies
Adapted from Gourmet

Barbour recommends making these cookies in advance: “After a couple of days, the cookies' texture becomes lovely and melting. Earlier, they are good, but later, they're transcendent. Honest.” Good luck with that.

Yield: 30 sandwich cookies

2 sticks (1 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/8 teaspoon salt, slightly rounded
1/3 cup fruit preserves [Barbour uses half strawberry and half cherry]

Make dough:

Fill kitchen sink with about 2 inches of cold water. Melt butter in a 2- to 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat and cook, stirring occasionally, until butter turns golden with a nutlike fragrance and flecks on bottom of pan turn a rich caramel brown, 10 to 12 minutes. (Butter will initially foam, then dissipate. A thicker foam will appear and cover the surface just before butter begins to brown; stir more frequently toward end of cooking.) Place pan in sink to stop cooking, then cool, stirring frequently, until butter starts to look opaque, about 4 minutes. Remove pan from sink and stir in sugar and vanilla.

Whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in a small bowl and stir into butter mixture until a dough forms. Shape into a ball, wrap with plastic wrap, and let stand at cool room temperature 1 to 2 hours, to allow flavors to develop. [Dough can be made 12 hours before baking and chilled, covered. Bring to room temperature to soften slightly before forming cookies, about 30 minutes.]

Form and bake cookies:

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Press a piece of dough into bowl of a deep-bowled teaspoon (not a measuring spoon), flattening top, then slide out and place, flat side down, on an ungreased baking sheet. (Dough will feel crumbly, but will become cohesive when pressed.) Continue forming cookies and arranging on sheet. Bake cookies until just pale golden, 8 to 15 minutes. Cool cookies on sheet on a rack 5 minutes, then transfer cookies to rack and cool completely, about 30 minutes.

Assemble cookies:

While cookies cool, heat preserves in a small saucepan over low heat until just runny, then pour through a sieve into a small bowl, pressing hard on solids, and cool completely.

Spread the flat side of a cookie with a thin layer of preserves. Sandwich with flat side of another cookie. Continue with remaining cookies and preserves, then let stand until set, about 45 minutes. Transfer cookies to an airtight container and wait 2 days before eating. [If you can.] Cookies keep in an airtight container at room temperature 2 weeks.

double chocolate layer cake

2009-10-12T22:25:00.008-04:00

Gourmet was not a fixture of my childhood the way it was for some. But it was there, providing vicarious culinary pleasures, back when my cooking extended only to chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon toast. Later, the magazine became a highly anticipated monthly ritual of reading, re-reading and archiving. For me, as for many others, the announcement of its folding was unexpected and incredibly sad.

So it was that last night I attended a farewell wake for the magazine, hosted by two friends and fellow Gourmet-enthusiasts. The premise was simple: a Gourmet potluck—an occasion to share our favorite recipes from years past, or discover new ones. Offerings ranged from the retro—a caviar tart and Moroccan-spiced shepherd’s pie (with lovely mashed potato florets)—to the contemporary—a candied-fennel lemon cake that had the stained-glass-window effect enjoyed by all great upside down cakes.

In many ways, my Double Chocolate Layer Cake was the most obvious selection. This cake has a reputation known to most Gourmet readers and Epicurious bookmarkers. Ten years after its original publication, it’s the most popular recipe on website, with accolades from over 1300 reviewers. And it felt like an appropriate way to mark the occasion.

The cake was (predictably) excellent, an exercise in pure, dense, chocolate oblivion. (I kept hoping for more ganache frosting, if only to cut through the richness of the cake itself.) As I learned this morning, when I tasted one of the cupcakes sired from leftover batter, it’s a cake the benefits from a day’s rest, so the flavors have time to marry. (Last night, the coffee notes were more pronounced, almost out of sync with the chocolate.)

It’s a Gourmet recipe—one of many—that I know I’ll reach for again, a promise of the magazine's delicious legacy.

Double Chocolate Layer Cake
Adapted from Gourmet

As one, unfortunately, has few occasions for this kind of cake, I think it will become my go-to cupcake batter recipe, a canvas on which I’ll experiment with other frostings (though there's certainly no need to diverge from the ganache). The recipe yielded two 8-inch cake layers and 10 cupcakes. If you can, make the cake layers a day in advance.

For cake layers:
3 ounces fine-quality semisweet chocolate such as Callebaut
1 1/2 cups hot brewed coffee
3 cups sugar
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch process)
2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
3 large eggs
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups well-shaken buttermilk
3/4 teaspoon vanilla

For ganache frosting:
1 pound fine-quality semisweet chocolate such as Callebaut
1 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter

Make cake layers:Preheat oven to 300 degrees, and grease two 10- by 2-inch round cake pans. Line bottoms with rounds of wax paper and grease paper.

Finely chop chocolate and in a bowl combine with hot coffee. Let mixture stand, stirring occasionally, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth.

Into a large bowl sift together sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. In another large bowl with an electric mixer beat eggs until thickened slightly and lemon colored (about 3 minutes with a standing mixer or 5 minutes with a hand-held mixer). Slowly add oil, buttermilk, vanilla, and melted chocolate mixture to eggs, beating until combined well. Add sugar mixture and beat on medium speed until just combined well.

Divide batter between pans and bake in middle of oven until a tester inserted in center comes out clean, 1 hour to 1 hour and 10 minutes. [For 8-inch layers, begin checking after 45 minutes. For cupcakes, reduce the baking time to 20 to 25 minutes.]

Cool layers completely in pans on racks. Run a thin knife around edges of pans and invert layers onto racks. Carefully remove wax paper and cool layers completely. Cake layers may be made 1 day ahead and kept, wrapped well in plastic wrap, at room temperature.

Make frosting: Finely chop chocolate. In a 1 1/2- to 2-quart saucepan bring cream, sugar, and corn syrup to a boil over moderately low heat, whisking until sugar is dissolved. Remove pan from heat and add chocolate, whisking until chocolate is melted. Cut butter into pieces and add to frosting, whisking until smooth.

Transfer frosting to a bowl and cool, stirring occasionally, until spreadable. [Depending on chocolate used, it may be necessary to chill frosting to spreadable consistency; I chilled mine in the refrigerator for 2 hours.]

Spread frosting between cake layers and over top and sides. Cake keeps, covered and chilled, 3 days. Bring cake to room temperature before serving.

chocolate brownie cookies

2009-10-05T12:17:00.007-04:00

Possible culprits behind my weekend fit of insomnia:

• A Claritin-D 24 hour extended release tablet (Pseudoephedrine, I thought I knew you)
• Late-night Turkish take-out
• These brownie cookies, which, between the high-percentage chocolate, and the half-tablespoon of espresso, accounted for approximately triple my weekly caffeine intake

Most likely, it is some combination of the three that precipitated my restlessness; however, I think it wise (if extremely prejudiced) to deflect all blame from the cookies, so as to (a) rationalize our consumption of the remaining cookies and (b) sanction future experiments with this recipe.

Brownie cookies—an invention of Claudia Fleming—represent my second attempt to recreate the devastating “earthquake cookie” at Ana Sortun’s Sofra Bakery. What is an “earthquake cookie”? It is, for one thing, a beautiful feat of engineering, with a crackly, almost meringue-like surface that crumbles and dissolves into a dense chocolate center. The whole thing is liberally coated in confectioner's sugar, save the dark fault lines that splinter down the middle (hence the name, I suspect). As chocolate cookies go, it’s a good’un.

Claudia Fleming’s brownie cookies, conceived at Gramercy Tavern, promised similar textural pleasures—the crackly surface, the rich chocolate interior—which is what drew me to them in the first place. But our taste test revealed important distinctions, too. The addition of semi-sweet chocolate chips, it seems, results in a fudgier, tar-pit interior, and a less delicate (though still crisp) surface. [Full disclosure: I used regular chocolate chips, rather than the miniature chips she recommends, which certainly had something to do with this.] There is also the obvious omission of confectioner's sugar, which I honored mostly because powdered sugar seemed incompatible with my ice cream-cookie pairing.

As Con Queso (who is better versed in Sofra’s offerings than I) will attest, these were no “earthquake cookies,” but they may have been something better. To know for sure, I’d have to do a side-by-side comparison, which—trust me—is not unlikely.

Finally, while I’m on the subject, I should probably mention my first Sofra copycat attempt, which you can see below (but which I never wrote up). They may, in fact, make a better approximation of the earthquake cookie, in terms of overall structure, though I would not recommend them over Claudia Fleming’s version. But heck, they were pretty good too.

Chocolate Brownie Cookies
Adapted from The Last Course, by Claudia Fleming

1/4 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 tablespoon brewed espresso
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
5 ounces extra-bittersweet chocolate [I used 70%], chopped
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
3/4 cup mini chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, briefly whip the eggs to break them up. Add the sugar, espresso, and vanilla and beat on high speed for 15 minutes, until thick. [As someone who used a hand-held immersion blender with whisk attachment can attest, this is where a standing mixer would really come in handy.]

Meanwhile, place the butter in the top of a double boiler, or in a small metal bowl suspended over a pot of simmering (not boiling) water, and scatter the extra-bittersweet and unsweetened chocolate on top. Heat until the butter and chocolate melt. Remove the boiler top from over the water and stir the chocolate and butter until smooth.

Gently fold the chocolate mixture into the egg mixture until partially combined (there should still be some streaks). Add the flour mixture to the batter and carefully fold it in. Fold in the chocolate chips. If the batter is very runny, let it rest until it thickens slightly, about 5 minutes.

Drop the batter by heaping teaspoonfuls onto the prepared baking sheets and bake until puffed and cracked, 8 to 9 minutes. Cool on a wire rack before removing from the baking sheets.

Chocolate Cloud Cookies
Adapted from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup confectioner's sugar, sifted

In a stainless steel bowl over a saucepan of simmering water, melt the chocolate and butter. Remove from heat and set aside.

In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the eggs and sugar until thick, pale and fluffy. (When you slowly raise the beaters the batter will fall back into the bowl in slow ribbons.) At this point beat in the vanilla extract and then stir in the melted chocolate mixture.

In a separate bowl whisk together the flour, salt and baking powder. Add dry ingredients to the chocolate mixture, stirring just until incorporated. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm enough to shape into balls, at least 1 hour (preferably several hours or even overnight).

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and place rack in center of oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.

Place the confectioner's sugar in a shallow bowl. With lightly greased hands, roll a small amount of chilled dough to form a 1-inch ball. Place the ball of dough into the confectioner's sugar and roll the ball in the sugar until it is completely coated and no chocolate shows through. Gently lift the sugar-covered ball, tapping off excess sugar, and place on the prepared baking sheet. Continue forming cookies, spacing about 2 inches apart on the baking sheets. If you find the dough getting too soft for rolling into balls, return to the refrigerator and let chill until firm.

Bake cookies 10-13 minutes or just until the edges are slightly firm but the centers still soft. For moist, chewy cookies do not overbake. Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.

sliced summer tomatoes with basil and walnut tabouleh

2009-09-23T07:55:00.000-04:00

Yes, I realize that autumn has officially arrived, but psychologically, I haven't caught up yet. While drugstores across the nation are rolling out their Halloween supplies, I am still clinging to the trappings of summer.

For anyone who shares my seasonal dissociative disorder, I can think of no better remedy than this salad, with its delicious strata of tomatoes, sweet corn, and basil-walnut tabouleh.

That's right: basil-walnut tabouleh. And, no offense to parsley, but now that I've tried this variation, I'm not sure I will ever go back. By itself, the stuff is intense—a bit like consuming pesto in grain form (which is to say, quite tasty, but probably best in moderation). But it forms the perfect bedrock for the dish.

Tomatoes, sweet corn, basil—even if, approaching October, these flavors seem like old news, this salad will make you appreciate their synergy in a whole new way.

Sliced Summer Tomatoes with Basil and Walnut Tabouleh
Adapted from Spice, by Ana Sortun

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup finely minced red onion
2 teaspoons finely minced garlic
1/2 cup fine bulgur
2 bunches sweet basil, clean leaves only (about 40 leaves)
2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted, plus more for garnish
3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2-3 heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced
1 cup heirloom cherry tomatoes, halved
2 ears grilled corn, kernels removed

In a medium bowl, combine lemon juice, onion, garlic and a pinch of salt. Let sit about 5 minutes to soften the onion. (It should turn pink.) Stir in the bulgur with 2 tablespoons of hot water. Let stand for 15 minutes, or until the bulgur swells and is tender.

In a food processor, pulse together the basil, parsley, walnuts and olive oil until a paste forms. (You may not need all the oil.) Season with salt and pepper. Add the paste to the bulgur mixture and stir to blend. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, add the tomatoes. Season with salt and pepper, and let sit for 5 minutes.

Spread the tabouleh in a thin layer on the bottom of a platter and top with sliced tomatoes, corn, and crushed reserved walnuts. (Make sure to add any juice left over from that tomatoes.) Adjust seasoning to taste.

lemon crème fraîche chicken

2009-09-21T06:00:00.001-04:00

So, Amanda Hesser. I've struggled with my feelings on this subject for some time.

Yes, I cringe at the name “Mr. Latte,” and experienced a few pricks of envy while watching this tour of her kitchen. (Really, Amanda Hesser? Is the “bane of your existence” the fact that the door of your dishwasher barely collides with your pull-out garbage bin? Really?)

But in other moments, she is the source of great joy. Take, for instance, the “Tripe Lady” photograph hanging over her kitchen table. Or her Recipe Redux column in the Times Magazine. Or the fact that every recipe of hers I’ve tried is an unequivocal success: a simple couscous salad with celery and red wine vinegar; Apician spiced dates (technically a Lupa invention, but she deserves credit for acknowledging its genius, and for printing the recipe); her famous Almond Cake (which, despite its inevitable deflated center, unites marzipan lovers everywhere).

Any one of these things would have endeared her to me forever. And then this chicken came along.

Don’t be deceived by the three-ingredient shopping list. This is an elegant dish—a testament to the transformative powers of lemon zest and crème fraîche. Swirled together with the requisite pan juices and crispy bits, they produce a rich, tangy gravy for the chicken—and a delicious sauce for bread-sopping.

Ms. Hesser, I am sorry for my inconstancy—and for that dishwasher door / garbage bin nuisance. You deserve better.

Lemon Crème Fraîche Chicken
Adapted from Amanda Hesser via The Wednesday Chef

Serves 4

1 1/2 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
4 whole chicken legs (thighs attached)
Course sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup crème fraiche

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Heat a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. After 3 minutes, add the butter and oil. Season the chicken generously with salt and very generously with pepper. Place the chicken, skin side down, in the skillet and brown well on both sides, turning once.

Transfer the skillet to the oven. Bake for 15 minutes, or until the juices run clear when the chicken is pierced with a knife.

Return the skillet to the stovetop. Transfer the chicken to a platter and keep warm. Remove all but 1 tablespoon of fat from the skillet. Place over medium heat, add the lemon juice, and stir to scrape up any pan drippings. Simmer for 1 minute, then add the crème fraiche and stir until melted and bubbling. Pour the sauce over the chicken and sprinkle with lemon zest and additional pepper. Serve hot.

zucchini with garlic and yogurt

2009-09-17T08:42:00.001-04:00

Consumed as I was by the unsavory side effects of these Carrots with Garlic and Yogurt, I'm not sure that I communicated how completely I fell in love with them—how, in retrospect, I believe them to be worth weeks of garlic-perfumed purgatory.

Having experienced repeated success with the recipe since then, and seeking to capitalize on the current glut of summer squash, I recently decided to experiment with zucchini—a variation recommended by the authors.

The instructions are the same, save the addition of dried mint. And, amazingly, they manage to tease out the same unexpected, smoky flavors from sauteed zucchini. Forced to choose, I would have to stick with the carrots—perhaps only because they came first, and thus raised my expectations unfairly. But I will continue to experiment with both versions, and invent others too. Could you substitute any vegetable here, I wonder, with the same rewards? Parsnips? Sweet potatoes? Rutabaga? We shall see.

Zucchini with Garlic and Yogurt
Adapted from by A Taste of Turkish Cuisine, by Nur Ilkin and Sheilah Kaufman

Seasoning the shredded zucchini mid-saute meant that it released a great deal of liquid. To avoid a watery dip, I would drain the cooked zucchini-onion mixture in a colander and wait until it is completely cool before adding the yogurt.

Serves 4

4-5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 pound zucchini, coarsely grated
2-4 garlic cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup Greek yogurt
2 teaspoons Aleppo pepper or paprika, optional

In a large skillet, heat the oil and sauté the onions, stirring over medium heat for 5 minutes. Do not let them brown or burn.

Add the zucchini, stirring to mix well, and continue cooking for 10 minutes. Season to taste. Remove from heat and let cool. If liquid has accumulated in the bottom of the pan, drain it in a colander.

Crush the garlic and salt with a mortar and pestle. Place the cooled carrots in a large bowl and add the drained yogurt and the garlic mixture to taste. [I only used about 2/3 cup of yogurt and 2 garlic cloves.] Mix well and place in a serving dish. Add the dried mint.

If desired, combine 1-2 tablespoons of olive oil, and the Aleppo pepper and drizzle in a design over the top of the carrots. [I just added the Aleppo.] Serve at room temperature or chilled.

fennel with orange and sambuca

2009-09-15T08:32:00.000-04:00

The idea of an “ultimate” recipe seems very shortsighted. Too often, convinced that I have discovered the best possible version of a thing, another recipe quickly surfaces to prove me wrong. It’s why, when it comes to food, I try not to abuse superlatives, and only rarely indulge in old favorites. (It’s also why I have little patience for Tyler Florence.)

But since I first tasted this fennel, it’s been hard to summon the energy—even the curiosity—for other fennel recipes. Indeed, each time I spot a fennel bulb, with it’s forest of green fronds, my thoughts immediately boomerang to Andrew Carmellini and his orange-sumbuca wizardry.

I know there are other fennel recipes out there. And one day I’ll get around to trying them—perhaps even stumble across a new favorite. But right now I am quite content believing that this is the best fennel I have ever tasted.

Fennel with Orange and Sambuca
Adapted from Urban Italian, by Andrew Carmellini

Serves 4

3 fennel bulbs
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons butter
1 onion, peeled, halved, and sliced
1 garlic clove, peeled and crushed
1 teaspoon fennel seeds, crushed with the flat of a knife
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup Sambuca, plus 1 tablespoon for finishing [I don't use the latter]
1/4 cup golden raisins, soaked to rehydrate for 20 minutes and soaking water reserved
1 cup freshly squeezed orange juice
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
Zest of one orange
2 tablespoons toasted and seasoned breadcrumbs [see Carmellini's recipe for "Crumb's Yo!"]

Cut the tops off the fennel where the green stalks meet the white bulb. Trim the ends off the bulbs and cut the bulbs in half lengthwise. Remove the outer layers and anything that’s browned, and trim away any excess stem. Cut each half into eighths. Chop the fronds and reserve.

In a large saucepan, heat the olive oil and butter over medium heat. Add the onion slices and sweat them, stirring, until they start to soften—but don’t let them brown.

Add the fennel, garlic, fennel seeds, and red pepper flakes, and season with salt and pepper. Deglaze the pan with the Sambuca, and cook until the liquid in the pan has evaporated, about 1 to 2 minutes.

Add the raisins and the raisin-soaking water, orange juice, and chicken broth. Cook, periodically turning the fennel and glazing it with liquid from the pan, until the liquid is reduced by three quarters. (It should be a thin layer on the bottom of the pan.) The liquid will thicken and the fennel will be well glazed, shiny, fattened, and softened.

Remove the pan from the heat, pick out the garlic clove, and mix in the chopped fronds and 1 tablespoon of the Sambuca (if desired). Transfer the fennel to a serving platter and sprinkle with breadcrumbs and orange zest.