Tuesday, March 03, 2015
For the past several years, I've been making hamantaschen — jam-filled Purim pastries — with a cream cheese crust. It's tangy, delicious, and creates something that's almost like a flaky little triangular tart. But the hamantaschen I grew up with weren't like tarts. They were like cookies. And I kinda wanted something like that.
These hamantaschen are indeed cookie-like — if you fancy deliciously buttery cookies. The dough is basically like a sweet butter cookie, all fat and flour and sugar and egg yolks. For a wee bit of fun, I added a touch of orange zest, to offset the sweet jam, and a bit of rye flour, for that Patisserie-by-way-of-Poland edge.
The end result isn't particularly dressed-up or fancy. No sweet cheese filling, no mashed-up international triangular turns, no need to fuss and freeze. Just butter, flour, and the jams I made myself back in the sunny late fall days, sent right from the counter to the oven (and then to my mouth). And right now, it feels perfect.
adapted from Joan Nathan in the New York Times
yields ~ 3 dozen small cookies
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, warmed to room temperature
zest of 1 orange
2 egg yolks
1 cup powdered sugar
hefty pinch salt
1 cup rye flour
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
Place the butter, orange zest, and egg yolks in a food processor. Pulse to mix, then add the powdered sugar, until well blended. Add the salt and flours, processing (and scraping down as needed) until the mixture just comes together. Turn out onto a square of waxed paper or plastic, shape into a chubby disk, wrap well, and refrigerate for a few hours (or overnight).
When you're ready to bake, preheat your oven to 350° Fahrenheit, and line a few cookie sheets with parchment paper. Take the dough from the refrigerator, and unwrap onto a lightly floured countertop.
Roll out the dough until it's somewhere between 1/8-inch and 1/4-inch thick. Using a cookie cutter or a glass dipped in flour, cut out rounds (I favor smallish cookies, ~2 1/4-inch (also because that's the size cutter I have)). Place a dollop of jam (about a teaspoon) in the center of each round, and fold the sides around to create a triangle (after doing a few, you'll get a sense of how much jam you can fit). Mush any dough scraps back together, and repeat.
Bake the cookies until lightly browned, ~10-12 minutes. Let cool, transferring to a rack if they seem like they're too brown on the bottoms.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
I often speak disparagingly of my old favorite of "hippie dinner." Some whole grain, steamed or sauteed vegetables, maybe a bit of tofu, and tahini. It's a healthy standard, sure, but it also pegs you as a dated, stubbornly unstylish old hippie. And then I happened upon a few articles, in the space of a week, that made me realize I was branding it all wrong. It wasn't hippie dinner, see —it was a grain bowl! My cooking is so au courant.
Thus rebranded, my quinoa-tofu-broccoli grain bowl seemed due for a bit of an update. Or, to be honest, I was thinking that I should try to put a dent in the enormous vat of barley that seems to have landed in my pantry. And then there were the mustard greens I had bought because they were just so pretty, but I didn't have much of a destination for (as my initial suggestion of "mustards pizza?" was roundly dismissed for the bad idea it so clearly was). And so, revamped hippie dinner! Excuse me, I mean, grain bowl.
As with hippie dinner of the so-dated past, grain bowls can really be anything. I had the aforementioned greens and barley, and some leftover chickpeas I'd simmered up a few days prior for whatever. I made up a standard tahini, but also tossed in some ground turmeric and freshly grated ginger (which both added a bit of flavor that stood up to the bitter blanched mustards, as well as some psychological witch doctor immunity against whatever late-winter illnesses seem to be circulating out there), and topped everything with a few random fresh herbs. Being trendy turns out to be delicious. I had no idea.
Grain Bowl with Barley, Mustard Greens, Chickpeas and Tahini
yields 2 servings
Ginger-Turmeric Tahini Sauce:
1/3 cup tahini paste
juice of 1/2 lemon or lime
1 clove garlic, pressed or grated
1-inch piece of ginger, grated
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
pinch each sugar and salt
1 bunch mustard greens, washed and torn/chopped into bite-sized pieces
2 cups cooked barley (I favor cooking mine like pasta in big pot of boiling water, as I'm less likely to scorch it)
~ 3/4 cup cooked chickpeas (warm to at least room temperature if they're coming out of the fridge)
handful of fresh herbs, if you've got (I had some scallions and cilantro)
To make the Tahini: mix together the tahini paste, lemon juice, garlic, ginger, turmeric, sugar and salt. Add a splash of water, and mix, adding more water (or, if it seems like it needs more bite, lemon juice) until you reach a thick-yet-pourable consistency. Set aside.
Bring a kettle of water to a boil while you wash and chop the mustard greens. Place the greens in a large heat-proof bowl, then pour the water over them. Let sit for a few minutes to soften, then drain (this both cooks the greens and leaches out some of the bitterness, and has the added benefit of making it harder to overcook).
While the greens are blanching, assemble your bowls. Divide the barley between two bowls, then top with the chickpeas. Add the blanched and drained mustard greens, top with a healthy dollop of tahini sauce, then sprinkle on the fresh herbs.
Friday, February 06, 2015
There are a lot of times when grown-up life is hard. When decisions and bills pile up, when you feel like you deserve some sort of trophy for managing to actually get through your days — hanging laundry and braving post office lines and fighting with your health insurance and meeting deadlines and oh dear god why is that light on the car blinking? The times when you wonder why nobody told you things would be like this.
But thankfully, there are the other times. When your life is exactly like a childhood dream. Where you get to live with your best friend, or take a stroll in the middle of the day because it's sunny out and you just want to. And make a dense, amazing chocolate cake just because.
Well, actually because I had leftover whipping cream. See, totally responsible grown-up.
But this cake. It's so good! And it's so much better the second day! This is a rich, chocolate-butter-eggs-sugar bite of perfection. And while I could easily inhale a terrifying amount, just a slim slice of this cake is surprisingly satisfying. Especially when you have another slim slice with your mid-afternoon coffee. And possibly another slim slice for breakfast. Because what is adulthood for, if not for that?
Almost-Flourless Chocolate Cake
adapted from I Want Chocolate by Trish Deseine, as adapted by Orangette
yields an 8-inch round cake
7 ounces dark chocolate, roughly chopped
7 ounces unsalted butter, cut into pats
1 1/3 cup (250 grams) granulated sugar
5 large eggs
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
barely-sweetened whipped cream, for serving
Preheat the oven to 375° Fahrenheit, and butter an 8-inch round cake pan. Line the base of the pan with parchment, and butter the parchment too.
Set a bowl above a pot of simmering water, to create a double boiler. Place the chocolate and butter in the bowl, and let melt, stirring occasionally. When melted, stir in the chocolate, and set aside to cool for a few minutes. Then add the eggs, one by one, stirring well after each addition, and then add the flour.
Pour batter into the buttered cake pan and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until most of the cake is somewhat set, and only the center jiggles. Remove to a rack, and let cool (the cake will fall, which is fine). To serve, run a knife along the edge, turn upside-down onto a plate, peel the paper off the bottom, then flip right side up onto another plate. Serve in small slices, with whipped cream.
Like brownies, this cake is much, much better the second day (store in the refrigerator, but let come to room temperature before eating).
Sunday, January 25, 2015
I am in a sporadically meeting book club. And my preparation seems to be somewhat sporadic as well. Some months I read the allotted portion long in advance, mulling over themes and reflecting on resonances. And I prepare for the potluck portion as well, thumbing through recipes that may be arguably thematically linked to the subject material (paella for Don Quixote!), or pulling out a dish I've had pinned for months, or leisurely strolling through the market to find the peak-of-the-season produce for inspiration. And then there are the other times.
So yeah, this past meet-up I didn't quite finish reading the book. Well, to be fair, I didn't quite like it (Memoirs of Hadrian is not making any of my top-five lists). So there was that. So, in possibly related news, when it came time for the potluck contribution, I didn't quite rally. In fact, I didn't think about it at all until that morning. And then it was that afternoon. And it was raining. And thus, Iron Pantry Chef rides again!
This game, for those of you not intimately familiar with my kitchen ecolect, is a recurring favorite — subtitled "what can be made for dinner without leaving the house?" The end result is always thrifty, often inventive, and, every now and then, even tasty. And oh, this one was tasty. And although my single, blurry, low-light phone pic doesn't do it justice, it was also beautiful.
This recipe is befitting a last-minute pantry meal — cheap, humble, and composed of the usual suspects knocking around your pantry and crisper (especially if you spend your winter obsessed with pomegranates, and got a bit too eager when tahini was on sale at the grocery overstock store). But despite this on-hand familiarity, the results feel fresh and surprising. The buttery-soft roasted carrots are enlivened by the unexpectedly herb-spiked tahini, and the pomegranate adds a bright pop of sour-sweetness (in addition to just being so very pretty). It's tempting to see the moral of this story as the benefits/rationalization of lack of preparation, but that has bit me in the butt far too many times for me to push for that takeaway. Let's just say it's a damned fine dish, and the fact that it can be easily whipped up on the fly is just gravy.
Roasted Carrots with Tahini, Parsley and Pomegranate
adapted from Blogging Over Thyme
yields one potluck-worthy large salad
~15 carrots, peeled
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/3 cup tahini paste
1 clove garlic, pressed
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 cup chopped cilantro or parsley leaves, plus a handful for garnishing
arils from 1/2 a pomegranate
Preheat the oven to 400° Fahrenheit.
While the oven is preheating, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the carrots, and boil until tender-firm, ~10 minutes. Drain, and toss on a rimmed baking sheet with a bit of olive oil to coat, and the cumin seeds and a sprinkling of salt. Roast until fully soft and beginning to brown, another half hour or so. Remove and let cool to room temperature.
While the carrots are roasting, prepare the tahini sauce. In a blender, or in a small bowl with a whisk or fork, blend together the tahini, garlic, lemon juice, and a good pinch of salt. It will get a bit pasty. Add water, bit by bit, until it thins out to a thick-yet-pourable consistency. Taste, and add more lemon juice or salt if needed. Stir in fresh herbs. Set aside.
To serve, place the carrots on a platter, and top with a puddle of the tahini (if you don't need all of it, reserve any remaining for your salads or hippie dinners). Top with a tumble parsley or cilantro leaves, and the pomegranate arils, and serve.
at 8:08 PM
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Were we talking about comfort food? Well, the conversation cannot conclude until we mention potatoes. I mean really — who are we kidding here?
Oven-baked fries are something I seem to rediscover every few years. Buttery yellow potatoes, oil and heat and a mess of salt — instant deliciousness. And, you know, vaguely healthier than deep frying. Inspired by a sadly-no-longer-updated Algerian-American blog, I gave these potatoes a bit of a North African spin. They're tossed with a savory dose of cumin and paprika, and then given a bit of harissa for heat (optional, yet delicious). And then, after they roast up into soft, starchy, crisp-edged warmth, they're tossed with a bright hit of lemon juice, fresh herbs, and raw garlic (which gets just barely tempered by the hot potatoes). Pair with a pile of steamed greens, and it's a perfect dinner. Even the day after (apologies for my wan pictures), they make a fine lunch.
And if you're looking to learn a bit more about North Africa, I recently produced a story about the Berber New Year. I had only the most passing knowledge of the Berbers a few weeks ago, but had the good fortune to be able to dig into their history and culture, and how it all wraps up in a NYE blowout. In mid-January. You can listen over at NPR.
North African Oven Fries
adapted from 64 Square Foot Kitchen
serves ~3-4, especially paired with a nice green vegetable
2 teaspoons sweet paprika
1 teaspoon ground cumin
~3 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons harissa, or your favorite hot sauce (optional)
6 large waxy potatoes (or more smaller ones), scrubbed but not peeled
1/4 cup chopped cilantro
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 garlic cloves, pressed or minced
Preheat the oven at 400° Fahrenheit.
While the oven is preheating, mix the paprka, cumin, olive oil and harissa together in a large bowl. Peel the potatoes, and slice into wedges or fries, and add them to the bowl. Toss to coat the potato wedges with the oil and seasoning, and a generous sprinkle of salt.
Spread the potatoes on a baking sheet in a single layer, and bake until golden brown and crisp on the outside, about 25-30 minutes (depending upon how thick you've cut them), turning once.
While the potatoes are cooking, place the cilantro, lemon juice, and garlic in a bowl (you can re-use the same bowl you used earlier). When the potatoes are baked, tip them into the bowl, and toss to coat. The hot potatoes will temper the garlic, and everything should smell amazing. Taste, add additional salt or harissa as needed, and serve.
Monday, December 29, 2014
For the record, I am a big fan a brown rice. Nubby, healthy, delicious. It's my weeknight staple. But I also love love LOVE white rice. A few months back I invested in a mega-sack of Basmati rice. How big is the sack? I don't know, as it's shoved out of the way on an inaccessible shelf, decanted into a more manageable jar as needed. I don't dip in very often, but when I do — oh man. It's aromatic, amazing, delicious. It's like a big warm good-smelling hug. Others may slide into a bowl of mac'n'cheese, or mashed potatoes. And I do so love the both of those. But a delicious pilaf with buttery white rice — that's my comfort food.
A few weeks back, I had some friends in need of a good comforting dinner. So I took my trusty rice, along with some delicious shrimp, and an Armenian cookbook I've had out from the library. I cooked up this easy dish, leashed up my dog, and hauled the cast iron pot through the neighborhood (along with a salad, and mason jar full of Mai Tais). And it did the trick.
This recipe is one of those simple, greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts bits of magic. Shrimp shells are simmered in stock, to give an extra richness to the rice, which is further bolstered with saffron and tomato paste (the original recipe offered either, but I, in my wisdom, opted for both). The shrimp are stirred in at the last minute, so they stay nice and tender (I take the extra step of brining, which also helps), and then everything is topped with feta and cilantro. The end result is intriguing enough to keep you reaching for bite after bite — yet simple enough to wrap you up in starchy comfort.
Armenian Pilaf with Shrimp, Cilantro and Feta
adapted from The Armenian Table by Victoria Jenanyan Wise
1 pound uncooked shrimp, in shell
3 cups broth (vegetable or chicken)
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
1/4 cup finely diced onion
1 1/2 cups long grain white rice
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 hefty pinch saffron
1 large handful cilantro leaves, plus additional for serving
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon aleppo pepper, plus additional for serving
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
Shell the shrimp, leaving the tails intact (if you fancy, for dramatic effect), and reserving the shells. Place the shrimp in a small bowl of water, along with a hefty pinch of salt and a small bit of sugar (this brining is optional, but I feel improves the flavor and texture). Place in the refrigerator.
Place the reserved shrimp shells in a small saucepan along with the broth. Bring to a boil over high heat, then lower the heat until high enough to maintain a brisk simmer. Cook until the shells are pink, about 3 minutes. Turn off the heat and set aside.
To make the pilaf, melt the butter (or pour the oil) in a good-sized saucepan or pot over a medium-high heat. Add the onion and rice, and saute until the rice is translucent (but not colored), ~2 minutes. Strain the shrimp broth into the pot through a fine-mesh strainer. Add the tomato paste, saffron, cilantro, salt and aleppo pepper, and stir to combine. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer for 22 minutes, until the rice is tender.
When the rice is done, turn off the heat, and take your shrimp from the refrigerator. Drain, and stir into the pilaf. Cover the pot again, and let sit for 5 minutes, until the residual heat cooks the shrimp until they're just barely pink. Serve warm, garnished with the feta cheese, and additional cilantro and aleppo pepper, if desired.
Monday, December 22, 2014
There's the hackneyed (and true) saying that defines insanity as doing the same thing and expecting a different result. And yet. I saw a blog post on rugelach, all splayed and fallen-over, which said that the recipe is both ridiculously flawed and ridiculously delicious. So I somehow thought oh, let me make them! Cut to: scene of a tray of rugelach, all splayed and fallen-over, and me shaking my fist at the recipe. And then swooning over the cookies.
So yes, this is not a foolproof tested recipe — even if the previous intrepid blogger already did some of the heavy lifting, like clearing up actual typos and conversion errors (sigh). But this oh-well-here's-my-best-guess recipe, with its misshapen results, yields one of the most delicious cookies I've eaten in a good long while.
I've long been a fan of our family rugelach recipe, yielding a crisp-yet-flaky cookie studded with cinnamon, rich nuts, and sweet-tart apricot jam. But these are a different animal. They use a cream cheese dough (versus my sour cream version), for a cookie that's also rich and flaky, but softer. The dough is scented with fennel and a spot of black pepper, then rolled around a lightly sweet, rich-yet-nubby poppyseed filling. The whole result is a bit more European, a grown-up, less sweet cookie with a whole lot going on. Oh so perfect with a cup of tea (or, as we proved, a glass of wine and some latkes).
So yes, accept that this is recipe has some flaws. You've got to take some leaps of faith (how big is that rectangle?), and make peace with the fact that the beautiful spirals you put into the oven might look a bit different when they come out. But they're also be very, very good. And even though they're different from my rugelach memories, they still feel like a holiday.
And if you're looking for more holiday food and flavor (without the frustration), here's a recent story I did on the Norwegian-American tradition of Christmas lefse. It's what it all comes down to, really. Listen over at NPR.
adapted from Bar Tartine by Nicolaus Balla and Cortney Burns, as first adapted/trouble-shot by Lottie and Doof
yields ~3 dozen rugelach
3/4 cup poppyseeds
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup whole milk
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup honey
Juice and zest of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1 large egg
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup light rye flour
1 cup kamut flour (I substituted whole wheat pastry flour for this)
2 tablespoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon fennel pollen (I swapped in 1/2 teaspoon ground fennel seeds)
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 pound (1 cup) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch dice, chilled
1/2 pound cream cheese, at room temperature
2 tablespoons sour cream, at room temperature (I tossed some full-fat yogurt to drain in a dishtowel, which seems close enough for just a few tablespoons)
Egg wash (an egg beaten with a splash on milk and pinch of salt)
coarse sugar for sanding
To make the poppyseed paste: In a spice or coffee grinder, pulse the poppyseeds in batches for 15-20 seconds until broken up and powdery.
In a small saucepan, heat the butter, milk, sugar, honey, lemon juice and zest, and salt over a medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the butter melts and the sugar and honey dissolve, and it starts to barely steam.
In a medium bowl, whisk the egg. Gradually drizzle in the hot milk mixture, whisking constantly, until incorporated. Return the mixture to the saucepan, and heat over a medium-low heat, whisking constantly, until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, ~5-7 minutes (this won't be full-on pudding-type thickness, but it will thicken, like a custard sauce).
Remove from heat and whisk in the poppyseeds and salt, then let cool completely (it will thicken further as it cools — you can do this up to a week in advance).
To make the dough: In a food processor, combine the flours, sugar, fennel, salt and pepper. Pulse to combine. Scatter the chilled butter over the flour mixture, and pulse until the mixture is crumbly, with rice-sized pebbly bits. Transfer to the bowl of a stand mixer, add the cream cheese and sour cream, and mix briefly until a smooth dough forms (you can do this by hand as well, with a wooden spoon). Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until well chilled, at least 4 hours, or for up to 24 hours.
To make the cookies: On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough to a rectangle about 1/4-inch thick (if it's too square-like, you'll have a nice long spiral, but a greater chance that the whole mess will tip over, so aim for something long). Spread the poppyseed paste in a thin layer over the dough, leaving a 1/2-inch or so on the far long edge. Starting from the inside long edge, roll up the dough into a log, with the seam on the bottom. Wrap tightly in plastic wrap or parchment, and chill until firm, at least 2 hours or up to overnight.
When you're ready to bake, preheat the oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. Brush the log with the egg wash, and sprinkle generously with the sanding sugar. Cut the log crosswise into 1 1/2-inch thick pieces (you can go for 1-inch, which are more delicate, but a bit more inclined to flop over).
Transfer the cookies to the prepared baking sheet, leaving about 2 inches between cookies. Bake until golden brown, ~15 minutes. These cookies are best the first day or two.