tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-187419282024-03-14T03:44:17.277-07:00mostly foodstuffsdeenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.comBlogger316125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-8159294117586151472015-09-17T08:03:00.003-07:002015-09-17T08:03:30.527-07:00Honey Cake<br />
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The ten day period between the Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is known as The Days of Awe — a time when the gates of heaven are said to swing open, when you can work for a divine rewrite of what goes down in the book of life. Or, as it's also known: honey cake season. <br />
<br />
Honey cake is a stodgy, brown, boozy cake. A cake of an earlier time. But it's also a cake that transmits holidays and love, a cake that gets better as it gets older, and a cake that is just lovely with a cup of tea or coffee. You can hear more about it over at <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2015/09/13/439573786/the-jewish-fruitcake-honey-cake-is-a-sweet-and-stodgy-tradition" target="_blank">NPR</a>. And happy 5776 to all! Hope it's a good one.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-47397028860867489302015-09-04T10:06:00.001-07:002015-09-04T10:06:42.434-07:00Fresh Tomato Shakshuka<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
For those not in the know, making shakshuka goes like this:<br />
<br />
Step 1: Make tomato sauce.<br />
Step 2: Add eggs.<br />
Step 3: Scoop up with bread, impress/delight guests/self.<br />
<br />
Seriously, shakshuka gives you a very impressive bang for your buck. It's a Middle Eastern favorite, and I can't for the life of me figure out why it's not more popular here. Because really, it's delicious. And <i>easy.</i><br />
<br />
You can make your tomato sauce the night before, and just crack in the eggs in the morning for an insta-brunch. You can use half the tomato sauce, and freeze the other for an all-you-need-is-eggs meal. Or you can, as I did, pour your sauce into a jar, tuck it in your bike bag along with a carton of eggs, and use an office hot plate to make a truly spectacular workday meal (ah, lunch club!).<br />
<br />
Shakshuka usually features sauteed peppers, but I'm not the biggest fan. So instead I just did the usually smattering of favorites: onions, garlic, tomatoes, with a bit of depth and interest from cumin, paprika, and caraway (the latter isn't necessary, but it's nice). You can make shakshuka all year long with canned tomatoes, but this version, with a pile of fresh ones, is especially lovely. And did I mention easy?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fresh Tomato Shakshuka</b></span><br />
<br />
<i>adapted, loosely, from <a href="http://www.balaboostaway.com/uncategorized/shakshuka-day/" target="_blank">Einat Admony</a></i><br />
<i>Serves 6-8<br /> </i><br />
1/4 cup olive oil<i> </i><br />
2 medium yellow onions, finely chopped<br />
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped<br />
1 tablespoon paprika (you can swap out half or all for smoked paprika)<br />
1 tablespoon ground cumin<br />
1 teaspoon crushed caraway seeds (optional)<br />
1⁄4 cup tomato paste<br />
1 bay leaf<br />
6 good-sized fresh tomatoes, chopped<br />
salt, pepper and sugar to taste<br />
12 large eggs<br />
<br />
Heat a large pot over a medium high heat, and pour in the olive oil. Add the onions, along with a pinch of salt, and cook until translucent and slumped but not colored, ~10 minutes, turning down the heat if needed to keep them from browning. Add the garlic, and stir another 3-5 minutes until softened. Add the paprika, cumin, and caraway (if using), stir for a minute or two to toast, then mix in the tomato paste, then add the bay leaf and fresh tomatoes, and salt, pepper and sugar to taste. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture cooks down entirely, and the oil begins to come out — about 30—40 minutes.<br />
<br />
When the mixture has cooked down, add enough water to restore it to a somewhat soupy tomato-sauce consistency, and taste to adjust seasonings. At this point you can proceed with the recipe, hold it until later, or freeze (all or half) of the mixture until you're ready to serve.<br />
<br />
When it's time to cook, pour half of the sauce into a large skillet. Turn the heat to medium-high, until the mixture starts to bubble, and crack in a half-dozen eggs. Cover, turning down the heat if it's sputtering too much, and cook until the eggs are set to your liking — it should take less than 10 minutes to get a nice, set-but-runny consistency, where the whites have set but the yolks are still a bit saucy. Serve with crusty bread, and feta, olives and hot sauce on the side. Repeat with remaining sauce and eggs, or reserve for another meal.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-9760635093130351892015-08-13T22:33:00.002-07:002015-08-14T14:27:10.898-07:00Everday Granola<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm calling this everyday granola, because I eat it almost every day. This is not an exaggeration. After going through a spate of leftovers-for-breakfast, and then the boiled egg years, I am now firmly in a delicious rut of granola. It's my new go-to gift for friends who need a little culinary love. It's something I'm sure I have a fresh batch of before my friend arrives for house-/dog-sitting duty. It's something I just can't seem to get tired of.</span><br />
<br />
This recipe came from <a href="https://www.cooksillustrated.com/" target="_blank">Cook's Illustrated</a>, as flagged by my dear friend <a href="http://rcakewalk.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-flying-time-bigger-batch-ginger.html" target="_blank">Rebecca</a> (though I've tweaked it a wee bit further). It's basic, brown, and, comparatively, not so exciting. It's also ridiculously delicious. I canNOT STOP making this. <br />
<br />
This granola is, of course, perfect for breakfast. But it's also a perfect hold-me-over snack. And a perfect I'm-walking-by-the-jar-I-might-as-well-grab-a-handful indulgence. It's lightly sweetened, and clumps into crunchy clusters (thanks to a nice tamping-down before the oven). These summer days, I'm fond of it mixed with a bit of tart yogurt and juicy nectarines, but it's also lovely with just a splash of almond milk. I've occasionally dressed it up with a handful of buckwheat (which toasts to a surprisingly light crispness), and recently even tried a spoonful of fennel (lesson learned: don't). But mostly, I make it just as written. Again and again and again.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Everyday Granola</b></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~8 cups </span></i><br />
<br />
1/3 cup light brown sugar<br />
1/3 cup maple syrup<br />
1/2 cup oil (olive oil is nice, though others work too)<br />
1 tablespoon vanilla<br />
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt<br />
4 1/2 cups rolled oats<br />
1 cup raw almonds, coarsely chopped<br />
1/4 cup sunflower seeds<br />
2 tablespoons flax seeds<br />
<br />
Move your rack to the top third of the oven, and preheat your oven to 325<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit (make sure it's fully preheated, or you risk scorching the bottom). Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment or silpat liner (reportedly this is not optional, unless you fancy chipping granola off a pan). <br />
<br />
In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, maple syrup, oil, vanilla, and salt, until well combined. Add the oats, almonds, sunflower and flax seeds, and stir, scooping the goo from the bottom, until everything is well coated.<br />
<br />
Transfer the mixture to your pan, and smooth it into an even layer. Using a pancake spatula, press down firmly and evenly — like really, really firmly — to compress the mixture as much as you can. If you don't have a flat spatula, you can place another sheet of parchment on top, and then press down with another pan.<br />
<br />
Transfer the pan to the oven, and bake ~30-40 minutes, until just lightly browned. Turn off the oven, and leave the pan in the residual heat for another 10 minutes. Remove the pan, and let it cool fully — this will take longer than you'd think (about an hour), but you need to wait in order for your granola to set and not crumble to bits. When cool, break into chunks of your desired size, and store in a covered container.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-8005114730541413312015-07-12T11:43:00.002-07:002015-07-12T11:43:31.314-07:00Raspberry Rose Rugelach<br />
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A little over a week ago, my dear friends got married. We bore witness to a beautiful ceremony, watched some precarious descending of outdoor stairs in fierce high
heels, read poems about love, toasted the supreme court, drank rum
and coke, and danced until we were sweaty and spent. <br />
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But amidst all the beauty and flowers and fried cheese, there’s
a bit of sadness at the inability to just grab hold of all of it. How can all
the people we love be in one place, but we can’t spend days upon days with each
one of them? College friends and cousins, parents and coworkers. Even when you
forego sleep (as inevitably happens), you can’t grab fistfuls enough of it all.
It makes you wonder why we don’t rent up an Italian villa, and shove all of our
dearest there for, say, the month of August — with time enough for catching up
and adventures and down time, and three-hour dinners with glasses of wine long
into the night. That's how it's supposed to be, right? I can’t help but feeling like we’re somehow doing this all
wrong. Hopefully we can someday do it up as God and Europe intended. But, in
the meanwhile, there’s brunch. With cookies.</div>
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I signed on to host the post-wedding brunch, so that we could have one more leisurely opportunity to all spend time together (and because I have a compulsion to foist
food upon people, and an inability to conceive of people paying big money for brunch when we can pull it off ourselves). With thanks to friends and partners and neighbors (and obsessive google doc planning), brunch triumphed. We were expecting 50 people, so decided to forgo the insanity of serving hot food. Instead we picked up some bagels and lox, and laid out onions and capers and dill and a rainbow of sliced tomatoes. There were drippy-sweet nectarines, and a bowl of yellow cherries with some sprigs of mint tucked here and there. But I couldn't let it go without some home-baked contribution. So before I left, I baked up some rugelach.<br />
<br />
I love love love <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2009/12/ruggelach.html" target="_blank">rugelach</a>, all flaky and rich, swirled around apricot jam and walnuts and cinnamon. But since I was making 100+, I wanted a bit of variety. Loosely inspired by the amazing cookbook <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cookie-Love-Techniques-Ordinary-Extraordinary/dp/1607746816" target="_blank">Cookie Love</a>, I decided to fill half of my favorite family dough recipe with a new filling — raspberry jam, pistachios, and rosewater sugar.<br />
<br />
The combination is just lovely. There's a bit of tang from the raspberry, with the aromatic notes of rosewater (and rose petals, because I had some so why not), wrapped in that familiar rich dough. I froze them and toted a cooler on a plane, then just took them out of the freezer an hour or so before things got going. Guests noshed and talked, and stretched out the love-fest out for a few more leisurely living room/backyard hours. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Raspberry Rose Rugelach</b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields 64 small cookies </span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Dough:</span><br />
3 cups flour<br />
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt<br />
2 tablespoon sugar<br />
1/2 pound (two sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon-sized cubes<br />
1 cup sour cream<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Filling:</span><br />
1/2 cup sugar<br />
2 teaspoons rosewater<br />
a few dried rosebuds (optional) <br />
scant 2 cups raspberry jam<br />
1 cup chopped pistachios<br />
<br />
egg wash of 1 egg beaten with a splash of water<br />
<br />
The day before you want to bake, make the rose sugar. In a food processor
(you can just use a bowl if you're skipping the rose petals), mix
together the sugar and rosewater. Add the rose petals, if using, and
blitz until combined. Leave out, uncovered (or partially covered,
depending upon your bug situation) overnight, until dry.<br />
<br />
At least an hour before you want to bake, make the dough: In a bowl or a food processor, mix together the flour, salt and sugar
until combined. Add the butter, and pulse in the food processor or cut
with a pastry cutter (or two knives) until it is reduced to bits that
are about half the size of a pea. If using a food processor, dump the
contents into a bowl at this point. Stir the vanilla into the sour
cream. Using a spoon, and then your hands when needed, knead the sour
cream and vanilla into the flour mixture until it is well incorporated,
and the dough holds together when you squeeze it. Stop as soon as this
is possible — do not over-mix. Shape the dough into four chubby disks,
cover with plastic and allow to relax in the refrigerator for at least
one hour (overnight is fine too).<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit, and line two cookie sheets with parchment
or liners (very important, as the molten jam tends to solder them to a
pan).<br />
<br />
Take a disk of dough out of the refrigerator, and place on a floured
countertop or pastry mat. Roll out to a 12" circle, trimming off the
ends if needed. This dough is much softer than a traditional pastry
crust, so you shouldn't need to let it warm up before rolling. Spread
1/4 of the jam over the round of dough, and sprinkle with 1/4 of the nuts, and a few tablespoons of the rose sugar. Taking a chef's knife or pizza cutter,
divide the dough evenly into 16 wedges. Starting from the wide base of
each wedge, roll towards the center to form a crescent. Place on your prepared baking sheets, making sure that
the tip of the crescent is pinned underneath to prevent the cookie from
unrolling.<br />
<br />
Take your egg wash, and, using a pastry brush, gently give the cookies a nice slather. Sprinkle generously with the rose sugar. Transfer to the oven, and bake until the filling is bubbling and the crust is just
beginning to color, about 30 minutes. Remove to a rack to cool, being
careful of the hot jam. Repeat with remaining dough and filling. Best enjoyed the day they are made (any
leftovers are best kept in the freezer).
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deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-56444099115337525802015-06-20T21:18:00.000-07:002015-06-20T21:18:40.691-07:00Minted Lima Bean Dip<br />
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<br />
I have been preparing dozens and dozens of cookies for a friend's wedding (more on that later), which is a project that requires freezer space. And my freezer.... well, it does not have space. Instead, it has four-year-old coconut flakes. And bags of frostbitten vegetable trimmings I once intended to turn into stock. And... well... is that tomato paste? Chipotles in adobo? A curry base from that cookbook I checked out the library a few years ago? C'mere, take a sniff and tell me what you think. No? Fair enough.<br />
<br />
So yeah, it's a bit of a(n overcrowded) state. To clear some room, I purged some of the more ancient and unidentifiable items. And then I set about trying to take some of the miscellaneous remainders out of the deep freeze, and into something edible. <br />
<br />
I have absolutely no idea why I bought frozen baby lima beans. Were they on sale? Did I have some plan? Maybe some Persian recipe? Literally no idea. This bag expired a year ago, so the initial motivation is now lost to the ages. And yes, I probably should have thrown them in the compost — but I am just this kind of devil-may-care thrifty danger-skirter.<br />
<br />
I briefly flirted with a Greek-inspired bake, pairing the beans with feta and dill and heaps of garlic. But it's a bit too hot to bake these days. So instead, I went for a dip (which, as bonus, could also involve several of the odd bags of baguette slices and bread heels also loitering around the freezer). I simmered the beans, and then tossed them in the food processor along with a few sprigs of mint (thanks, neighbors' garden!), some garlic and lemon, and a handful of spinach (not necessarily, but I always love me some greens). The result is simple, green, and fresh-tasting — and given its frost-bitten origins, that's quite a feat.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Minted Lima Bean Dip</b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~2 cups</span></i><br />
<br />
1 bag frozen baby lima beans (10 ounces)<br />
1 handful spinach<br />
a few sprigs fresh mint<br />
1 large garlic clove, roughly chopped<br />
juice of 1/2 lemon<br />
glug olive oil<br />
salt and pepper<br />
<br />
Bring a small pot of salted water to a boil. Add the lima beans, and simmer until tender, ~15 minutes. Drain.<br />
<br />
Throw the softened beans in the food processor, along with all of the other ingredients. Process, scraping down as needed, until a rough puree forms. Taste to adjust seasonings, and serve. <br />
<br />
deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-42960912967610261642015-05-22T11:59:00.002-07:002015-05-22T15:57:46.125-07:00Kachka!<br />
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I know, I know. I don't call, I don't write. Well, it's because I've been working on a <a href="http://www.eater.com/2015/4/29/8507609/kachka-portland-russian-restaurant-cookbook" target="_blank">Russian cookbook</a>! <br />
<br />
Given the glacial pace of publishing, you'll sadly have to wait until 2017 for your own copy. But in the meanwhile, I'll be working with <a href="http://kachkapdx.com/" target="_blank">Kachka</a> on the delicious recipes and stories of Russian cuisine. And stopping in to tell you about non-herring-related items along the way. Did you know that there hasn't been a Russian cookbook from a major press in 25 years? Let's change that.<br />
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<br />deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-1066070576723552642015-04-24T11:16:00.001-07:002015-04-24T11:16:28.929-07:00Pizza with Cilantro Pesto, Roasted Broccoli, and Red Onion<br />
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I have been making (and eating) a lot of pizza. It tends to be a Friday night ritual, a sabbath of sorts, when you want to mark the end of the week but not leave the house, and linger over something delicious. It's a ritual I may love even more than challah, with a similar religious fervor. But, at the same time, it can get a little boring.<br />
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When you have pizza every week, there are a lot of benefits. There's the ritual of it all, the removal of the daily crap-what's-for-dinner scramble, and the fact that you (mostly) remember to set up dough the night before. Also, you get good at it. You learn how much yeast, which oven rack works best, what proportion of whole wheat flour you can get away with. But when you make pizza regularly, you also start to hunger for a bit of variation. Yes, I still love a classic red pie, with a pile of thinly-sliced mushrooms and a few green olives (and a good shake of the addictive <a href="http://www.thespicehouse.com/spices/chicago-deep-dish-pizza-pizzazz" target="_blank">pizza pizazz</a> spice mix that came along with a tin of cookies in my Christmas package from a dear friend). And lately, I've been back on my seasonal spate of <a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/foodday/index.ssf/2012/04/slices_of_the_season.html" target="_blank">asparagus pies</a>. But with pizza after pizza, I sometimes want to mix it up. Sometimes this does not go so well (okra curry pizza, I'm looking at you). But this pie was pretty great.<br />
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I don't know why, but this worked. Cilantro pesto is bright and bracing, and roasted broccoli has got that fusty caramelization. Add red onion (and, of course, lots of cheese), and it's surprisingly successful — a welcome little bit of variation within the comfortingly delicious ritual.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Pizza with Cilantro Pesto, Roasted Broccoli, and Red Onion</b></span><br />
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Pesto (enough for multiple pies):<br />
1 bunch cilantro, washed and dried<br />
1 garlic clove, roughly chopped<br />
2-3 tablespoons pumpkin seeds<br />
1 teaspoon mild vinegar, such as rice or cider<br />
2-4 tablespoons olive oil<br />
<br />
2-3 broccoli crowns (I tend to make a lot, as I end up eating a good amount of broccoli off the pan)<br />
olive oil<br />
1 ball of dough, ~10 ounces<br />
1/4 - 1/3 pound mozarella, shredded<br />
1/4 a small red onion, thinly sliced<br />
<br />
To make the pesto: Place all ingredients in a blender or food processor, and blitz until a loose paste forms (you may need to scrape things down a few times until it gets going). Add more olive oil as/if needed, then add salt and additional vinegar to taste. Set aside. <br />
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Preheat your oven to 425<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit. Place a pizza stone on the bottom to heat up, and a rack in the middle for your broccoli.<br />
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Break or cut the broccoli into bite-sized florets, and toss with olive oil. Place on a baking sheet, sprinkle with salt, and bake until beginning to soften/caramelize (it'll bake more on the pizza, so don't go nuts). Remove, and let cool somewhat. Turn the oven temperature up to 475.<br />
<br />
To assemble the pizza: Place the pizza dough on a lightly-floured counter top, and
press outward into a thick disk (leaving a 1" unpressed area along
the edge as the crust). Pick up the disk and let it drape over the
backs of your hands, letting gravity help you stretch it into a 12-14"
circle. If the dough resists, let it relax for a few minutes (covered), then try again. Place the stretched dough on a peel (or overturned
cookie sheet or cutting board) that's lightly dusted with semolina
or other type of flour.<br />
<br />
Spread a generous portion of the pesto over the dough, up to within an inch of the crust (refrigerate any leftover pesto for another use, such as pasta). Sprinkle on the cheese, then scatter the roasted broccoli and red onions. Slide the pizza onto the preheated stone in your oven, reduce the heat
to 450, and bake ~7-10 minutes, until the crust browns and the cheese melts and everything looks delicious. Remove the pizza from the oven, let cool for
a moment, then slice and serve. deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-11546462663670259592015-04-10T07:45:00.000-07:002015-04-10T07:45:15.497-07:00Chocolate Macarons<br />
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A few years back, I was having a drink with a bunch of writers here in town. And one woman (whose work I admired, but whom I had never met) walked in with her two little kids, and plopped them down at a nearby table with a clatter of crayons. And then she explained how she was late because, well, she'd jumped out of bed earlier to deal with some household emergency, slipped on a sheet, and cracked a rib against a bedpost. And by cracked, I mean fractured. So here she was, trussed up, tending to her kids, sipping a glass of wine. Oh, and her husband was traveling, and not slated to return to the country until later that night. How was she even here, we wondered? How was she even upright? She waved away our concerns. "I kinda feel like I can do <i>anything</i> right now," she laughed. "I'm just running on fumes." And, likely, painkillers.<br />
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I've had a spate of those weeks as well recently. Wherein you produce <a href="http://www.pri.org/stories/2015-04-02/jewish-vegetarians-say-you-dont-have-make-brisket-passover-and-theyve-got-recipes" target="_blank">story</a> after <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2015/04/04/397323302/in-freedom-seder-jews-and-african-americans-built-a-tradition-together" target="_blank">story</a>, jump at the feast-or-famine freelance chance to do some background reporting/recording for another <a href="http://www.marketplace.org/" target="_blank">radio program</a>, field an unanticipated spate of calls for a separate project (more soon), and, oh yeah, get ready to host a dozen people for Passover. Lordy. Fumes indeed.<br />
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Thankfully the madness is mostly over. Stories were filed, floors were scrubbed, food cooked and folding chairs purchased. After a few weeks of overworked insomnia (which involved a 5 am bathroom cleaning one Saturday morning), I even slept in. Exhaaaaaale.<br />
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And part of the secret to my success lay in these cookies. I knew that my schedule was about to explode, and in the pre-madness weeks, I did what prep I could. And thankfully, these cookies freeze beautifully.<br />
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I have long been a fan of the delicate cookie plate as a Passover dessert, mostly because we're full of the meal (and it allows me to supply saucers instead of proper dessert place, which is generally all that's left in circulation at that point in the evening). Yes, these particular cookies are a wee bit fussy. But they're delicious, all chocolate and almonds and air. Also, sometimes a bit of fuss is nice — especially when you can get it out of the way before the madness begins. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Chocolate Macarons</b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">adapted from David Lebovitz's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Sweet-Life-Paris-Adventures/dp/076792889X" target="_blank">The Sweet Life in Paris</a></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~18 finished cookies <span style="font-size: x-small;">(I doubled the recipe for a crowd)</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">If you're making this for Passover, you can omit the corn syrup, and make sure you have kosher-for-Passover powdered sugar (most of them have cornstarch). Also you can swap out a dairy-free cream and margarine for the butter, and end up with a dairy-free dessert.</span></i><br />
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<b>Batter:</b><br />
1 cup (100 grams) powdered sugar<br />
½ cup almond flour (50 grams)<br />
3 tablespoons (25 grams) unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder<br />
2 large egg whites, at room temperature<br />
5 tablespoons (65 grams) granulated sugar<br />
<br />
<b>Ganache:</b><br />
½ cup heavy cream<br />
2 teaspoons light corn syrup (optional)<br />
4 ounces (120 grams) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped<br />
1 tablespoon (15 grams) butter, cut into small pieces<br />
<br />
<br />
Preheat your oven to 350<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit. Stack two cookie sheets together, and line the top one with parchment paper (this isn't necessary, but in my experience gives you the best results). Prep three stacks of cookie sheets — if you don't have enough, just lay out three sheets of parchment paper.<br />
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Sift or grind together the powdered sugar, almond flour, and cocoa powder. Set aside.<br />
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In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, beat the egg whites, gradually and then increasing the speed to high, until
they begin to rise and hold their shape. While whipping, sprinkle in the
granulated sugar, and continue beating a few more minutes until you form stiff peaks.<br />
<br />
Carefully fold the dry ingredients into the beaten
egg whites with a flexible rubber spatula. Continue to mix until it becomes a batter that will pour off of your spatula in a thick-yet-pourable (not plop-able) stream — the party line in macaron-making is going for something that "flows like magma". You want it so that when the batter pours down it will hold its shape for a few seconds, but then gradually slump down into the remaining batter. Yes, you will be deflating things. But that's okay. Think about the fact you're going to pipe cookies that you want to hold their shape somewhat, but not maintain the peak from where you piped them.<br />
<br />
When the mixture has reached this stage, transfer it into a pastry bag, or plastic bag (if the latter, then snip off a corner). Pipe one-inch circles onto your parchment paper, with about an inch between them (I just aim for as small as I possibly can). Repeat with remaining batter and sheets. <br />
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When the cookies are all piped, rap the baking sheet against the counter once or twice to pop air bubbles (if you have free range sheets of cookies, you can lift up the parchment by both sides, and then drop it from a height of a few inches). Bake about 12-15 minutes, until the cookies are set just enough on the bottom where you can almost peel one off. Remove, let set on the sheet a few minutes, and then remove the cookies to a cooling rack. Repeat with remaining cookies — if you're recycling cookie pans, let them cool slightly between batches. And don't worry about the cookies sitting out on the counter awaiting their turn in the oven — some recipes actually recommend that.<br />
<br />
When the cookies are baked and cooled, heat the cream and corn syrup in a small saucepan. When the
cream just begins to boil at the edges, remove from heat, and add the
chopped chocolate. Let sit one minute, then stir until smooth. Stir in
the pieces of butter. Let cool until it becomes thick-yet-still spreadable (I kept trying to speed this up in the fridge, then missing my window and needing to microwave it — seriously like 3 times). When the ganache is ready, take a spoon or knife or small spatula, and place a small spoonful of ganache on the flat bottom of a cookie. Find a similarly sized cookie (if yours, like mine, um, vary a bit), and sandwich them together. Let age a day before eating, or store in the freezer for a few weeks.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-214051961591877222015-03-13T11:48:00.002-07:002015-03-13T11:48:14.407-07:00Fresh Pasta in Lemon Cream Sauce with Seared Scallops<br />
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Sometimes I make meals that transform humble, dare-I-say-cheap ingredients into something fancier. <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2015/01/roasted-carrots-with-tahini-parsley-and.html" target="_blank">Roasting some carrots and dressing them up with sauce and garnish</a>, or <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2015/01/north-african-oven-fries.html" target="_blank">elevating potatoes with a pile of North African spices</a>. All delicious. And then there are meals on the flip side — where I take fancy, indulgent, special occasion ingredients. And do almost nothing to them, and just let their simple deliciousness shine through. Like I did the other night.<br />
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I recently had a friend over for dinner, and did that lovely fake math wherein you decide well, since we're not eating out as we'd initially planned, I'm still actually saving money by buying these fancy ingredients, right? Perhaps you are familiar with these batshit calculations? Anyways, in this case, it involved a leisurely walk down pick up some fresh-made pasta, and a tub of creme fraiche. Then some scallops — which, admittedly are terrifyingly expensive, but luckily you only need a few per person for a transcendent meal. And this was transcendent.<br />
<br />
This is one of those meals that's more about shopping than cooking. After we enjoyed a delicious salad (butter lettuce, leftover roasted cauliflower, kumquats and feta), I ducked back in the kitchen to pull this together in just minutes. The scallops seared, the pasta boiled, and a plop of creme fraiche, lemon, and arugula hit the pan. That's it. I took a hasty cellphone pic, and we ate in amazement.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Fresh Pasta in Lemon Cream Sauce with Seared Scallops</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>inspired by the pasta dish in Amanda Hesser's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cooking-Mr-Latte-Courtship-Recipes/dp/0393325598" target="_blank">Cooking for Mr. Latte</a>, but tweaked beyond recognition</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>serves 2</i></span><br />
<br />
~6 large fresh scallops<br />
high-heat oil, like grapeseed<br />
1 pound<br />
1 cup creme fraiche<br />
zest and juice of a meyer lemon<br />
a few handfuls arugula, washed and torn into bite-sized pieces<br />
<br />
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and bring a large skillet to a screaming high heat. Set the scallops out to dry (I just set them out on a plate lined with a piece of a brown paper bag).<br />
<br />
When your pan is very hot, pour in a bit of oil to slick the surface, and place in the scallops. Sear for a few minutes, until they develop a nice crust, then flip and sear on the other side. Remove from the pan, and set aside. Salt.<br />
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Place the pasta in the boiling water, and cook until done. Drain (I like to pour some of the pasta water into the serving plates to warm them, as this dish is best warm). Turn the scallop pan back on, and add the creme fraiche and lemon juice/zest. Stir to mix everything together (including that delicious flavor from the pan), then stir in the arugula and pasta, and toss everything together until the arugula is just wilted. Salt to taste. Drain your serving plates if you filled them with pasta water, then fill with pasta, and top with scallops. Serve. Moan. Enjoy.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-91740840094112820692015-03-03T19:47:00.003-08:002015-03-03T19:47:28.843-08:00Cookie-Style Hamantaschen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For the past several years, I've been making <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2010/02/hamantaschen.html" target="_blank">hamantaschen</a> — 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.<br />
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<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The end result isn't particularly dressed-up or fancy. No <span id="goog_834736401"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/">sweet cheese filling<span id="goog_834736402"></span></a>, no <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/article/5-savory-hamantaschen-recipes-with-culinary-inspiration-from-spain-russia-india-mexico-and-the-middle-east" target="_blank">mashed-up international</a> 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.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Cookie-Style Hamantaschen</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">adapted from Joan Nathan in the <a href="http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1014146-hamantashen-with-poppy-seed-filling" target="_blank">New York Times </a></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~ 3 dozen small cookies</span></i><br />
<br />
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, warmed to room temperature<br />
zest of 1 orange<br />
2 egg yolks<br />
1 cup powdered sugar<br />
hefty pinch salt<br />
1 cup rye flour<br />
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour<br />
<br />
jam<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
When you're ready to bake, preheat your oven to 350<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit, and line a few cookie sheets with parchment paper. Take the dough from the refrigerator, and unwrap onto a lightly floured countertop.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-18433394854428622382015-02-17T22:13:00.000-08:002015-02-17T22:13:24.064-08:00Grain Bowl with Barley, Mustard Greens, Chickpeas and Tahini<br />
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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 <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/test-kitchen/cooking-tips/article/grain-bowl" target="_blank">few</a> <a href="http://food52.com/blog/12119-how-to-make-a-grain-bowl-without-a-recipe#OpI3Yf:fkN" target="_blank">articles</a>, 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 <i>grain bowl!</i> My cooking is so<i> au courant.</i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Grain Bowl with Barley, Mustard Greens, Chickpeas and Tahini</b></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields 2 servings</span></i><br />
<br />
<b>Ginger-Turmeric Tahini Sauce:</b><br />
1/3 cup tahini paste<br />
juice of 1/2 lemon or lime<br />
1 clove garlic, pressed or grated<br />
1-inch piece of ginger, grated <br />
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric<br />
pinch each sugar and salt<br />
<br />
<b>Grain Bowl:</b><br />
1 bunch mustard greens, washed and torn/chopped into bite-sized pieces <br />
2 cups cooked barley (I favor cooking mine like pasta in big pot of boiling water, as I'm less likely to scorch it)<br />
~ 3/4 cup cooked chickpeas (warm to at least room temperature if they're coming out of the fridge)<br />
handful of fresh herbs, if you've got (I had some scallions and cilantro)<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-6516118127870330432015-02-06T12:52:00.002-08:002015-02-06T12:52:18.030-08:00Almost-Flourless Chocolate Cake<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Well, actually because I had leftover whipping cream. See, totally responsible grown-up.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Almost-Flourless Chocolate Cake</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/I-Want-Chocolate-Trish-Deseine/dp/1592230083" target="_blank">I Want Chocolate</a> by Trish Deseine, as adapted by <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/2004/08/and-then-cake-came-forth.html" target="_blank">Orangette</a></i></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields an 8-inch round cake</i></span><br />
<br />
7 ounces dark chocolate, roughly chopped<br />
7 ounces unsalted butter, cut into pats<br />
1 1/3 cup (250 grams) granulated sugar<br />
5 large eggs<br />
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour<br />
barely-sweetened whipped cream, for serving<br />
<br />
Preheat
the oven to 375<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">°</span></span> Fahrenheit, and butter an 8-inch round cake
pan. Line the base of the pan with parchment, and butter the parchment
too.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Like brownies, this cake is much, much better the second day (store in the refrigerator, but let come to room temperature before eating).deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-85575587695725980772015-01-25T20:08:00.000-08:002015-01-25T20:08:16.834-08:00Roasted Carrots with Tahini, Parsley and Pomegranate<br />
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<br />
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 <i>Don Quixote!</i>), 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.<br />
<br />
So yeah, this past meet-up I didn't quite finish reading the book. Well, to be fair, I didn't quite like it (<i>Memoirs of Hadrian</i> 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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Roasted Carrots with Tahini, Parsley and Pomegranate</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://www.bloggingoverthyme.com/2014/10/29/roasted-carrots-green-tahini-sauce-pomegranate/" target="_blank">Blogging Over Thyme</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields one potluck-worthy large salad</i></span><br />
<br />
~15 carrots, peeled<br />
olive oil<br />
1 teaspoon cumin seeds<br />
1/3 cup tahini paste<br />
1 clove garlic, pressed<br />
juice of 1/2 lemon<br />
1/2 cup chopped cilantro or parsley leaves, plus a handful for garnishing<br />
arils from 1/2 a pomegranate<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Preheat the oven to 400° Fahrenheit.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fffcfa; color: #222222; line-height: 20.799999237060547px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-57142487443815966512015-01-18T15:19:00.001-08:002015-01-18T15:19:45.037-08:00North African Oven Fries<br />
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<br />
Were we talking about <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2014/12/armenian-pilaf-with-shrimp-cilantro-and.html" target="_blank">comfort food</a>? Well, the conversation cannot conclude until we mention potatoes. I mean really — who are we kidding here?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2015/01/14/377008599/far-from-north-africa-berbers-in-the-u-s-ring-in-a-new-year" target="_blank">NPR</a>.<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>North African Oven Fries</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://thym-thym.blogspot.com/2010/02/weeknight-potatoes-les-potatoes-de-la.html" target="_blank">64 Square Foot Kitchen</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>serves ~3-4, especially paired with a nice green vegetable</i></span><br />
<br />
2 teaspoons sweet paprika<br />
1 teaspoon ground cumin<br />
~3 tablespoons olive oil<br />
2 teaspoons harissa, or your favorite hot sauce (optional)<br />
6 large waxy potatoes (or more smaller ones), scrubbed but not peeled<br />
1/4 cup chopped cilantro<br />
1 tablespoon lemon juice<br />
2 garlic cloves, pressed or minced<br />
<i>
<br />
</i>Preheat the oven at 400° Fahrenheit.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-32956742025398658982014-12-29T15:38:00.002-08:002014-12-29T15:38:38.162-08:00Armenian Pilaf with Shrimp, Cilantro and Feta<br />
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<br />
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 <a href="http://www.tilda.com/" target="_blank">Basmati rice</a>. 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Armenian Pilaf with Shrimp, Cilantro and Feta</b></span><br />
<br />
adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Armenian-Table-Treasured-21st-Century/dp/0312325312" target="_blank">The Armenian Table</a> by Victoria Jenanyan Wise<br />
serves ~4<br />
<br />
1 pound uncooked shrimp, in shell<br />
3 cups broth (vegetable or chicken)<br />
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil<br />
1/4 cup finely diced onion<br />
1 1/2 cups long grain white rice<br />
1 tablespoon tomato paste<br />
1 hefty pinch saffron<br />
1 large handful cilantro leaves, plus additional for serving<br />
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt<br />
1/4 teaspoon aleppo pepper, plus additional for serving<br />
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-9510475722150391212014-12-22T15:46:00.002-08:002014-12-22T15:46:48.329-08:00Poppyseed Rugelach<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoCnpAIEgpz8RUNacV3eKXwWWVDmEhYUpWSCSjklzkb0hCb3pOSpNg-hbmDOCSZsW0jkJqJfZuYdfNhA1awLA4mCAtWHGGGHOd-6_G53gKSRjKnNzS8He6MG-GmsM9v3j2Rqx/s1600/rugelach+stack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoCnpAIEgpz8RUNacV3eKXwWWVDmEhYUpWSCSjklzkb0hCb3pOSpNg-hbmDOCSZsW0jkJqJfZuYdfNhA1awLA4mCAtWHGGGHOd-6_G53gKSRjKnNzS8He6MG-GmsM9v3j2Rqx/s1600/rugelach+stack.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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 href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/2014/12/rugelach-redux-again/" target="_blank">a blog post on rugelach,</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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 (<i>sigh</i>). 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.<br />
<br />
I've long been a fan of our <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2009/12/ruggelach.html" target="_blank">family rugelach recipe</a>, 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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2014/12/19/371941681/for-norwegian-americans-christmas-cheer-is-wrapped-up-in-lefse" target="_blank">NPR</a>.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Po<span style="font-size: large;">ppyseed </span>Rugelach</span></b><br />
<br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bar-Tartine-Techniques-Cortney-Burns/dp/1452126461" target="_blank">Bar Tartine</a> by Nicolaus Balla and Cortney Burns, as first adapted/trouble-shot by <a href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/2014/12/rugelach-redux-again/" target="_blank">Lottie and Doof</a></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~3 dozen rugelach</span></i><br />
<br />
<b>Poppyseed Paste:</b><br />
3/4 cup poppyseeds<br />
2 tablespoons unsalted butter<br />
1/2 cup whole milk<br />
1/4 cup sugar<br />
1/4 cup honey<br />
Juice and zest of 1 lemon<br />
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt<br />
1 large egg<br />
<ul>
</ul>
<ul>
</ul>
<b>Dough:</b><br />
1/2 cup all-purpose flour<br />
1/2 cup light rye flour<br />
1 cup kamut flour (I substituted whole wheat pastry flour for this)<br />
2 tablespoons sugar<br />
3/4 teaspoon fennel pollen (I swapped in 1/2 teaspoon ground fennel seeds)<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt<br />
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper<br />
1/2 pound (1 cup) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch dice, chilled<br />
1/2 pound cream cheese, at room temperature<br />
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)<br />
<br />
Egg wash (an egg beaten with a splash on milk and pinch of salt)<br />
coarse sugar for sanding <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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). <br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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). <br />
<br />
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.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-43801891771865725472014-12-14T17:50:00.004-08:002014-12-14T17:50:47.786-08:00Hanukkah Gelt!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRAqVFKFR59W-IDbG9KHc5fdv1kc6aU5iQsXkjyzR5b5Aj1rgWgX3YUykNxRWAtAlUwgbFuGb3vOMV6NYHXj6HESBy7tqOOvN-tQQoSR3iLXtnTCaHJ1zIVE3NFoFfN77P35y/s1600/gelt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRAqVFKFR59W-IDbG9KHc5fdv1kc6aU5iQsXkjyzR5b5Aj1rgWgX3YUykNxRWAtAlUwgbFuGb3vOMV6NYHXj6HESBy7tqOOvN-tQQoSR3iLXtnTCaHJ1zIVE3NFoFfN77P35y/s1600/gelt.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh, Hanukkah gelt. These foil-wrapped chocolate coins, required holiday noshing for Jewish children, are, so often, waxy and nasty. Like, unbelievably so. And yet, I love them. They're like tokens I can slip into a time machine, and go back to childhood. Where they were hoarded, and relished. I counted them, clacking them against each other, until I prized from their wrappers, which could be flattened with a thumbnail and folded into shiny golden origami. <br />
<br />
I've been looking into the history of Hanukkah gelt for a radio story, and bought a few bags of the coins to take a picture. And then I ate coin after coin, loving each one. Sure, now I nibble them with a cup of coffee instead of milk. But beyond that, it's pretty much the same.<br />
<br />
And if you'd like to hear a bit more about the history of Hanukkah gelt (spoiler alert: not always chocolate!), you can take a listen over at <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2014/12/12/370368642/hanukkah-history-those-chocolate-coins-were-once-real-tips" target="_blank">NPR</a>.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-54265234531555994242014-12-04T16:56:00.003-08:002014-12-04T16:56:40.994-08:00Persimmon Smash<br />
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<br />
Prior to this year, I had eaten exactly one persimmon in my life. One. And the past few weeks? I've been averaging one every other day. I LOVE PERSIMMONS. I'm talking the firm fuyu persimmons (perhaps I'll leave hachiya for next year) — all orangey-salmon and squat, with their somewhere-between-tomato-and-peach texture, and tropical-yet-autumnal confusingly delicious flavor. Where have persimmons been all my life? It's like suddenly getting a whole new color added to the rainbow.<br />
<br />
For the most part, as with any new love, I've been content to just loll about with persimmons, enjoying the simple pleasures. Wedge, peel, consume. Repeat. But as we've gotten to know each other a bit better, I've felt emboldened to play around. <br />
<br />
The persimmon smash takes my new best friends and cooks them down into an essence-of-persimmon syrup, perked up with a bit of citrus. I stripped the spices out of the initial recipe (as persimmon itself has enough crazy layered floral notes to more than carry things through), cut down the citrus (same reason), and oh my it's delicious.<br />
<br />
And if you're looking for more seasonal drinks to discover, might I interest you in a glass of switchel? You can find my story about this colonial cocktail (well, mocktail) and its resurgence over at <a href="http://www.pri.org/stories/2014-11-28/colonial-era-drink-called-switchel-making-21st-century-comeback" target="_blank">The World.</a><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Persimmon Smash</b></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">inspired by <a href="http://www.marcussamuelsson.com/recipe/persimmon-smash-cocktail" target="_blank">Marcus Samuelsson</a>, but heavily tweaked</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields 2 drinks (with syrup fo<span style="font-size: x-small;">r about 3-4)</span></span> </span></i><br />
<div class="group">
<div class="group">
</div>
<div class="group">
<b>Persimmon Syrup</b><span class="amount"> </span></div>
<div class="group">
<span class="amount">3</span> <span class="name">fuyu persimmons</span>, peeled and chopped (you can make this without peeling, but it yields a smoother puree)<span class="amount"><br /></span></div>
<div class="group">
<span class="amount">2 cups water</span></div>
<div class="group">
<span class="amount">3/4 cup sugar </span></div>
<br />
<span class="amount"><b>Finished Drink </b></span></div>
<div class="group">
2 ounces whiskey</div>
<div class="group">
2 ounces <span class="name">persimmon syrup</span></div>
<div class="group">
3/4 ounce <span class="name">lemon juice</span><span class="amount"> </span></div>
<div class="group">
<span class="amount">1/2 ounce</span> <span class="name">orange juice</span><span class="amount"> </span></div>
<div class="group">
<span class="amount">sprig of</span> <span class="name">mint</span>, for garnish (I decided to go with rosemary, rather than brave the rain and harvest some neighborhood mint, but mint really is best)</div>
<b><br /></b><div class="directions" itemprop="recipeInstructions">
<b>To Make Persimmon Syrup: </b><br />
Place the persimmons, water and sugar in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cook until the persimmons have softened and the liquid has thickened slightly, ~15 minutes. Cool, then puree in a blender. Chill. <br />
<br />
<b>To Make Cocktail:</b><br />
In a cocktail shaker (or, as it's known in this house, canning jar), combine the persimmon syrup, whiskey, lemon
juice, and orange juice with a bit of ice. Shake well, taste to adjust as needed,
and strain (or, if we're being honest, pour) into a cocktail glass with ice. Garnish with a sprig of mint.</div>
deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-36637942966092261222014-11-11T20:47:00.000-08:002014-11-11T20:47:21.808-08:00Almond Sticks with Cacao Nibs<br />
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I've been trying to make my peace with the coming winter. The shortening days, the rain, the wind, the farewell to reading in the backyard on a camping chair in the last of the light. The light that now disappears before 5:30. Sigh.<br />
<br />
I once read a <a href="http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/10-things-that-will-make-you-happier-at-home-174151" target="_blank">list of ways to make yourself happier around the home</a>, that included this excellent suggestion: If you can't get out of something, get<i> into </i>it<i>. </i>This mantra, cribbed from one of the legions of how-to-get-happier books on the market, encourages you to let go of what you would have frankly rather been doing, and just embrace where you're at. Doing the dishes? <i>Do those dishes! Heckyeah dishes! </i>And so forth. So I'm trying to do that for winter. I'm flirting with picking up a cheap little sunny picture to tack to my walls, as a sort of wintertime gift that'll make me feel better about the gray outside. Oh, and I'm baking cookies. <br />
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Far be it from me to decry the value of a gooey, oozy <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2014/07/chocolate-fromage-blanc-brownies.html" target="_blank">brownie</a>. Or a <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2014/06/strawberry-rhubarb-galette.html" target="_blank">galette</a> that spills sugary fruit syrup over its edges. But bittersweet cookies seem just the thing for turning my bitter feelings into sweetness.<br />
<br />
These particular cookies, from pastry guru Alice Medrich, have been likened to biscotti. But really they're more of a shortbread stick, with ground almonds taking the place of some of the butter. And then they're studded with cacao nibs, the full-flavored-yet-unsweetened building blocks of chocolate (which, as a bonus, add nice little crunchy nubbins throughout). As the days darken, and the possibility of something called a "wintery mix" enters into the forecast, I'm still struggling to get into winter. But cookies? I'm <i>so</i> into those. I'm trusting the rest will follow.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">Almond Sticks with Cacao Nibs</span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
<i><span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">adapted from Alice Medrich's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Seriously-Bitter-Sweet-Ultimate-Chocolate-ebook/dp/B00DWK546K" target="_blank">Seriously Bitter Sweet </a></span></span></i><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~18 cookies</span></i></span></span><br />
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<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">1 cup plus 2 tablespoons</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">flour</span></span>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">3/4 cup</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">whole almonds</span></span>
(Medrich recommends blanched, but I'm not that fancy)<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">2/3 cup</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">sugar</span></span>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
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<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"></span></span></div>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">1/2 teaspoon coarse </span><span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">salt</span></span>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">6 tablespoons</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">unsalted butter, cubed</span></span>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">1/4 cup</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">roasted cacao nibs</span></span>
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount"> </span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="quantity" itemprop="amount">1 teaspoon</span> <span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">vanilla extract</span></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredient" itemscope="" itemtype="http://data-vocabulary.org/RecipeIngredient"><span class="ingredients" itemprop="name">2 tablespoons cold water </span></span><br />
<div itemprop="instructions">
<br />
Pulse the flour, almonds, sugar, and
salt in a food processor until smooth. Add the butter, and pulse until pea-size
crumbles form. Add the cacao nibs, vanilla, and water, and pulse just a few times until a crumbly dough forms.<br />
<br />
Form the dough into a 6- x 9-inch rectangle, about 1/2-inch thick, and wrap in plastic wrap, parchment, or a plastic bag. Transfer to your refrigerator, and chill at least 2 hours, or up to overnight.
<br />
<br />
When you're ready to bake the cookies, preheat your oven to 350° Fahrenheit, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper (or two baking sheets, if yours are small). Unwrap the dough onto a cutting board, and slice crosswise into 1/2-inch x 6-inch thick batons. Transfer to your baking sheets, leaving an inch between cookies. Bake until cookies are golden around the edges, ~20 minutes. Transfer to a rack, and
cookies cool completely before serving.</div>
deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-20605125524860529292014-11-04T08:54:00.001-08:002014-11-04T08:54:29.363-08:00Apple Walnut Salad with Bread, Cheddar and Lime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was in something of a groove with summer salads. Soft butter lettuces, drippy-sweet peaches or melon, a handful of basil leaves. Maybe some corn shaved off the cob, or mild and briny feta. These were less salads than summer celebrations. And then the rains set in, and corn and peaches and basil leaves disappeared. And salads became the same. Lettuce, carrots, maybe some beets or toasted pumpkin seeds if I was feeling fancy. You know, salads. Boring salads. And then I saw this recipe. Crisp apples, fresh croutons, cheddar cheese and scallions. Oh, and parsley, all tied together with a limey dressing. Hello, fall salads!<br />
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This recipe comes from Joshua McFadden, the genius behind the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/24/dining/24appe.html?_r=0" target="_blank">ur-kale salad</a>, way back in our kale-free days of 2007. McFadden now, blessedly, has set up shop in Portland, where I was lucky enough to eat at his <a href="http://avagenes.com/" target="_blank">restaurant</a>. And he does have a way with vegetables.<br />
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This salad is just lovely — much like my summertime versions, more celebration than salad, a curated assembly of the fruits of the season. The dressing is aggressively limey, but is perfectly balanced by the cheese, bread, and scallions. And then there's the nuts! And apples apples apples! Can you tell I'm excited? It's just that sort of salad.<br />
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And if you'd like another reason to wax enthusiastic about the autumnal harvest, I recently produced a story about eating acorns (or, if you prefer to think of them this way, oak nuts). You can hear all about it over at <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2014/10/24/358527018/nutritious-acorns-dont-have-to-just-be-snacks-for-squirrels" target="_blank">NPR</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Apple Walnut Salad with Bread, Cheddar and Lime</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://avagenes.com/" target="_blank">Joshua McFadden</a>, via <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/apple-salad-with-walnuts-and-lime" target="_blank">Bon Appetit</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>serves ~6 small first courses, 4 larger courses </i></span><br />
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1/2 cup walnut halves<br />
1 generous cup rough-torn pieces of crusty bread<br />
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus more for the bread<br />
1/4 cup lime juice<br />
dollop honey<br />
generous pinch chili flakes <br />
2 crisp apples (Pink Lady, Honeycrisp, etc)<br />
1/4 cup parsley leaves, plucked off the stems<br />
4 scallions, thinly sliced on a diagonal<br />
1/3 cup crumbled sharp white cheddar<br />
<br />
Preheat your oven to
350° Fahrenheit. Spread the walnuts in a rimmed baking sheet, and toast, stirring occasionally, until golden brown (~8-10 minutes). Give them a rough chop (or just crush them with your hands), and set aside in a small dish.<br />
<br />
Raise the oven temperature to 450° Fahrenheit, and place the bread chunks on that same baking sheet. Toss with a drizzle of olive oil and sprinkling of salt, then toast, stirring occasionally, until toasted to a golden brown on the edges, ~10 minutes (you can also do this in a skillet, but hey if you've got the oven on it's easy). Remove, and set aside.<br />
<br />
In a large bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lime juice, honey, and chili flakes, along with salt to taste. Core and thinly slice the apples, then toss them with the dressing to coat (which, conveniently, will keep the apples from discoloring). Then add the parsley, scallions, cheddar, and reserved walnuts and bread, and gently toss. Transfer to plates and serve.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-15744848420902401762014-10-23T22:18:00.003-07:002014-10-23T22:18:50.327-07:00Mushroom Barley Soup<br />
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Several years ago, the little hippie natural market down the street was going out of business. I must admit I wasn't terribly crushed to see it go — their prices weren't great, the in-house bakery didn't make the sort of breads and cookies I fancy, and they would never mark produce down to the half-priced bin until it was nearly in a state of active decomposition. But in addition to clearing the way for a less flawed grocery store to move in, their departure had another unexpected benefit: the Going Out of Business Sale.<br />
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I remember filling up a few bags of marked-down groceries, though all these years later I don't remember what they were. But here's what I do remember: an enormous, gallon-sized glass jar of dried porcini mushrooms.<br />
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Dried porcinis are the shortcut to deep, amazing flavor. They are also beyond expensive. So when I asked a clerk the price on the unmarked jar, I expected something ridiculous. "Um, $20?" he suggested. "But we're in our final days, so everything's half-priced. $10." I grabbed the jar, hit the checkout, and ran home before anyone reconsidered. <br />
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It's a deal so good I kinda feel a bit guilty. And it was quite the haul — although the dwindling supply has been transferred to smaller and smaller jars over the years, I'm still making my way through them. But that's okay. Because I can just keep making mushroom barley soup.
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">Like many with roots in Eastern Europe, I grew up with mushroom barley soup. It's hearty, delicious, and perfect for these blustery days. This recipe comes from the lovely <a href="http://www.zingermansdeli.com/" target="_blank">Zingerman's deli</a>, and uses the dried porcinis to add some fusty oomph to the sliced fresh mushrooms. I upped the vegetable component, because that's what I do, and even stirred in a few ribbons of tender baby collards. Even if you don't have your own stash of dried porcinis, it's still likely a good soup. But with them, it's even better.</span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients"><br /></span>
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<span itemprop="ingredients"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mushroom Barley Soup</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://www.zingermansdeli.com/" target="_blank">Zingerman's Deli</a>, via Joan Nathan's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jewish-Cooking-America-Expanded-American/dp/0375402764" target="_blank">Jewish Cooking in America</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields one enormous pot of soup (which also freezes well)</i></span><br />
<br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1/4 cup dried porcini mushrooms</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">2 tablespoons butter</span>, oil or margarine<span itemprop="ingredients"><br /></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1 large onion, diced</span><span itemprop="ingredients"></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">2 ribs celery with leaves, diced</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1/4 cup parsley</span> (I swapped this out with a few leaves of young collards, as I love me some greens)
<span itemprop="ingredients"><br /></span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">2-3 carrots, peeled and diced</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">3 cloves garlic, chopped</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1 pound fresh mushrooms (buttons or criminis), thickly sliced</span><span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1 tablespoon flour</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">2 quarts broth or water</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
<span itemprop="ingredients">1 cup whole barley</span>
<span itemprop="ingredients"> </span><br />
bay leaf <br />
salt<br />
<br />
Bring a kettle of water to a boil. Place your dried porcinis in a small heat-proof bowl, and pour the hot water over them to cover completely. Let soak half an hour. Swish out any dirt from the dried mushrooms, transfer to a cutting board, and pour the soaking liquid through a coffee filter or cheesecloth. Reserve this mushroom liquid. Coarsely chop the dried mushrooms, and reserve those as well. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Melt the butter or oil in a large soup pot over a medium heat. Add the onion, celery, half the parsley<span style="font-size: small;">, carrots, <span style="font-size: small;">and garlic. <span style="font-size: small;">Add a pinch of salt and saute, stirring occasionally, until the veget<span style="font-size: small;">ables are<span style="font-size: small;"> softened b<span style="font-size: small;">ut not colored, ~<span style="font-size: small;">5-7 minutes. Add the mushrooms, and <span style="font-size: small;">cook until they give off their liquid and soften, <span style="font-size: small;">another ~7 minutes. (If your pot isn't <span style="font-size: small;">huge, you can split this process into two <span style="font-size: small;">po<span style="font-size: small;">ts, and then combine at this point.)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">When the mushrooms have softened, sprinkle on the flour, and stir until for a few mi<span style="font-size: small;">nutes, until the mixture is </span>well combined and begin<span style="font-size: small;">ning to thicken. Gradually add the broth o<span style="font-size: small;">r water,<span style="font-size: small;"> a cup or so at a time at first, st<span style="font-size: small;">irring and raising the heat until it begins to simmer. Add all <span style="font-size: small;">of the liquid, along with the reserved mushrooms and their liquid, and they bay lea<span style="font-size: small;">f and barl<span style="font-size: small;">ey. Stir well, add salt to taste<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">S<span style="font-size: small;">immer, partially covered, stirring every now and then, for at least an hour, until the barley is tender and the soup is delicious (if <span style="font-size: small;">you're a hippie like me and want to use some kale or collar<span style="font-size: small;">ds, add them in for the last <span style="font-size: small;">15 minutes or so). </span></span></span>Remove the bay leaf, add the remaining chopped par<span style="font-size: small;">sley<span style="font-size: small;">, adjust seasonings and serve.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-79745867150100193282014-10-16T18:09:00.001-07:002014-10-16T18:14:11.013-07:00Ful Medames (fava puree)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4JU2NLaJdvTJpUiEFo6qhWSXqwB15PH63vYFsgm-fe_0Dpz6iDnnIcwE5Qf7TOZzlnxT1Rn8PbPZoiJF0xv8cc913WWc74Gsdqjs0ou_5CzEYyO14_zaP3iZoJmy-l2YQt1E/s1600/ful+close.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4JU2NLaJdvTJpUiEFo6qhWSXqwB15PH63vYFsgm-fe_0Dpz6iDnnIcwE5Qf7TOZzlnxT1Rn8PbPZoiJF0xv8cc913WWc74Gsdqjs0ou_5CzEYyO14_zaP3iZoJmy-l2YQt1E/s1600/ful+close.JPG" height="296" width="400" /></a></div>
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I have split and peeled fava beans in my pantry, and they are generally there for one purpose only: to make <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2009/07/falafel.html" target="_blank">falafel</a>. This is a noble purpose, enough to warrant them permanent residence on my over-full shelves. But still, it seems a little silly. I can't but wish I had something else I could do with them. Which is why I was quite excited to come across a recipe for ful medames.<br />
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Ful medames are a beloved Middle Eastern fava bean preparation. Not the ridiculous-amount-of-work fresh favas, but the fully mature beans, cooked into a simple yet satisfying dish. I'm a big fan of the dish, but pretty much exclusively from a can. My local Middle Eastern store stocks a full shelf of ful cans with enthusiastic banners on the label — <i>Egyptian style! Saudi style! Palestinian style! </i>— each a slight tweak on whole or pureed beans, maybe some cumin, lemon juice, possible garlic or tomato paste. I love em all. But while the can is easy-peasy, I figured fresh was best. And cheapest. Also: I had the favas on my shelf.<br />
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And so I tried this recipe. And I liked it. It's sort of like a tweak on your usual hummous, but with the favas' slightly deeper flavor (and, thanks to the dried beans being peeled and split, quicker cooking time). I soaked the beans overnight, then simmered them up to a mush (which I then pureed into an even smoother mush). Garlic, tomato paste, and lemon juice give it a nice balance, but really the fun comes in the toppings. I brought it to a brunch (as this dish is actually a common breakfast offering in the region), and sprinkled on some olive oil, cilantro leaves, and the <i>*sniffle*</i> last of the garden tomatoes. But you could just as easily go with a dollop of tahini, drizzle of yogurt, or sprinkle of aleppo pepper or sumac. With favas as your canvas, it's hard to go wrong.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ful Medames (split fava puree)</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://www.yasalamcooking.com/foul/" target="_blank">Ya Salam Cooking</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields ~2 cups</i></span><br />
<br />
1 cup dried split fava beans, soaked overnight<br />
1 tablespoon tomato paste<br />
3 cloves garlic, peeled<br />
1 teaspoon cumin<br />
1 tablespoon lemon juice<br />
salt to taste<br />
toppings: cilantro leaves, chopped tomato, olive oil, plain yogurt<br />
<br />
Place the beans in a pot with water to cover by an inch or two. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer, and cook until the beans are totally soft, ~30-40 minutes. Halfway through, add the tomato paste and garlic cloves.<br />
<br />
When the beans are cooked through, drain off the excess water, and transfer to a blender or food processor. Add the cumin and lemon juice, and a bit of salt, and process until smooth. Taste and adjust flavors — feel free to doctor it up to your taste (and keep in mind the lemon will fade upon standing). <br />
<br />
Transfer the ful into a bowl (I like to create a bit of a depression, so as to better contain what's coming next), and top with any or all of the toppings. Scoop up with wedges of pita bread. <br />
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deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-73465742280313775612014-10-06T16:54:00.003-07:002014-10-06T16:54:51.551-07:00Chocolate-Dipped Almond Horns <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyU_hcgYU-9ug-Hp8uFOLYtgly2lCCdJ62FRSYdV8ueOyDDPeVsTMt-RPCZtm4dKFSpuFyLo_sw0jLNz-FsD0nKhUe5__J8VQpsGS2VBFBv3x927TCfv02weUV0efqGH3hEld/s1600/almond+horn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWyU_hcgYU-9ug-Hp8uFOLYtgly2lCCdJ62FRSYdV8ueOyDDPeVsTMt-RPCZtm4dKFSpuFyLo_sw0jLNz-FsD0nKhUe5__J8VQpsGS2VBFBv3x927TCfv02weUV0efqGH3hEld/s1600/almond+horn.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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When you move, there are things you miss immediately. The local market, the friends you cooked dinner with, the bar where you ruled at trivia. And then there are things that, years later, you suddenly realize oh wait! Where did that go? Has it literally been years? Seriously, why is it that no bakery around here seems to be selling almond horns?<br />
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Now, it's possible I'm just looking in the wrong places (a side effect of not liking to venture too far from my house). But it's also possible that the by-the-pound Italian bakeries of my New York youth just don't exist here. Which would be a shame. Especially when it comes to chocolate-dipped almond horns.<br />
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These cookies are lovely. Just lovely. And, requiring a tube of almond paste for just a half dozen cookies (large, but still), they ain't cheap. And yes, you can make your own almond paste (more on that later). But they're worth it. So when I came into a tube of the stuff thanks to a generous friend, I knew just what I wanted to make.<br />
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The almond paste (reinforced with almond meal and sliced almonds) creates a cookie that is rich and moist, but not overly sweet. That's what the glaze is for. They're so, so perfect for enjoying with a cup of coffee. I hid the leftovers in the freezer, where they stay perfectly fresh (and, if you're generous, at the ready should you want to treat an unexpected visitor). As a huge trafficker in nostalgia, I of course still miss the bakeries (sfogliatelle, anyone?). But honestly, this recipe is just as good. Maybe better.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiiYq168veDsv28c1iXjxJurK4UK6gDhNUs3VTM6UU2ymXxcaYj_lD4XoJrQFnZlvUD3pB0qMzZP5ukN8crQDUnoQ1seJyNECVkaRtxoVUCDD7dAgDueg7pMzrLRD7-X9rX8Y/s1600/cookies+tray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEiiYq168veDsv28c1iXjxJurK4UK6gDhNUs3VTM6UU2ymXxcaYj_lD4XoJrQFnZlvUD3pB0qMzZP5ukN8crQDUnoQ1seJyNECVkaRtxoVUCDD7dAgDueg7pMzrLRD7-X9rX8Y/s1600/cookies+tray.jpg" height="241" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Chocolate-Dipped Almond Horns</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>adapted from <a href="http://www.loveandoliveoil.com/2013/04/chocolate-glazed-almond-horns.html" target="_blank">Love and Olive Oil</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields 6 large cookies</i></span><br />
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<div class="copy-paste-block">
<div class="ingredients">
Cookies:<br />
8 ounces (about 3/4 cup) almond paste (not marzipan)<br />
2 egg whites, lightly beaten in a small dish<br />
1/3 cup granulated sugar<br />
3 tablespoons almond meal or almond flour<br />
~3/4 cup sliced almonds (they'll toast up in the oven, so no need to pre-toast)<br />
<br />
Glaze:<br />
2 tablespoons heavy cream<br />
1 pat of butter<br />
squirt corn syrup (optional, but makes for a nice gloss)<br />
generous 1/4 cup chocolate chips or chopped chocolate</div>
<h3 id="directions">
Directions:</h3>
<div class="instructions">
Line one baking sheet with parchment paper, or grease well and hope for the best. Set aside.<br />
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In a bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, break almond paste into
almond-sized chunks. Add sugar and 3 tablespoons of the beaten egg whites (reserving the remainder), and mix on medium-low speed until a smooth, sticky dough is formed, with no lumps. Add almond flour and mix until combined.<br />
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Whisk 1 tablespoon of water into the remaining tablespoon or so of egg whites, and set aside.<br />
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Pour the sliced almonds onto a shallow dish or plate. Take 1/6th of the dough, shape into a rough ball, and drop onto the plate sliced almonds. Roll, using the
almonds to prevent the dough from sticking to your hands, into a 4-inch
log. Transfer to a parchment-lined baking sheet, and gently shape into a
crescent, pressing down to flatten slightly. Repeat with remaining
dough.<br />
<br />
Let cookies sit, uncovered, for
30 minutes, to dry out slightly. As they're drying, preheat your oven to 375° degrees Fahrenheit. When the cookies are ready, brush with the remaining egg white mixture. Bake for ~15 minutes,
or until bottoms and almond edges are golden brown. Remove from the oven, and let cool on
cookie sheet while you prepare the glaze (if the bottoms are too brown, you can transfer to a rack to cool — but be careful, as they're delicate while warm).<br />
<br />
When the cookies are cooled, make the glaze. Place the cream, butter, corn syrup and chocolate in a dish, and melt on low in the microwave in 10-second bursts (alternately, melt carefully in a saucepan or, less carefully, a double boiler). Cool slightly, and dip half the cookies into the glaze (or sort of spoon it over the top). Return to
the baking sheet, and let sit for 30 minutes until glaze is set (or longer, depending on the temperature — you can place in the refrigerator to speed the process). Enjoy immediately, or transfer to an airtight container or the freezer.</div>
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deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-73680638802239636012014-09-28T17:48:00.001-07:002014-09-28T21:01:06.694-07:00Salmon Gefilte Fish Terrine<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzOYaQJjRQVk5j4rLQQZIazmuMVN8U-AUZIOwHgyzm7ue7q2Go1SGycMe2dRPS4RkMKzSioDyqtm0EM_mkJlnl4gkfMQijjSHLqDBh4gZuxba2H1Ahv0EBQnNEcgwyNJj9HbA/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzOYaQJjRQVk5j4rLQQZIazmuMVN8U-AUZIOwHgyzm7ue7q2Go1SGycMe2dRPS4RkMKzSioDyqtm0EM_mkJlnl4gkfMQijjSHLqDBh4gZuxba2H1Ahv0EBQnNEcgwyNJj9HbA/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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There are some novelists who seem to write the same book over and over. Whether it's a lost child, a distant parent, a romance soured — the titles may change, but the themes stubbornly persist. It's as though they try to move on to new ideas, but these tropes push their way in and demand to be reworked again and again, until they finally are made right. And I know how this is. I'm the same way with gefilte fish.<br />
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My gefilte fascination has become something of a running joke. I tell stories of <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125170590" target="_blank">West Coast variations</a>, and <a href="http://www.bonappetit.com/entertaining-style/holidays/article/passover-gefilte-fish-recipe-soviet-style-by-imperial-chef-vitaly-paley" target="_blank">Russian gefilte history</a>. I make fancy chefs and scholars <a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/foodday/index.ssf/2011/04/korean_gefilte_fish_who_knew.html" target="_blank">eat several variations</a>. You would think that I would run out of gefilte stories to tell. But please. There are always more.<br />
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This year, as the Jewish holidays approached, I explored the surprisingly rich story of the <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2014/09/24/351185646/the-gefilte-fish-line-a-sweet-and-salty-history-of-jewish-identity" target="_blank">sweet-savory gefilte divide</a>. But you can't eat a story. And so, when it came to my own holiday table, I had find a new way to bring the gefilte to the plate.<br />
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I've long been fond of this <a href="http://mostlyfoodstuffs.blogspot.com/2010/03/smoked-whitefish-gefilte-fish-with.html" target="_blank">smoked gefilte fish</a> recipe, yielding patties that are both smoky and delicate. But I was ridiculously busy this week, and didn't quite have the time to shape and steam round after round of hand-shaped patties. And so when I saw a recipe for a single gefilte terrine made in a bundt pan — not to mention using our local West Coast salmon — I was sold.<br />
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But, of course, I couldn't resist changing the story a bit. I added some smoked fish and scallions, as I love what they add to my other variation. And instead of grating, I simmered and pureed the carrots, to integrated them a bit more fully into the mix. I dropped the dill and mustard, to better let the fish flavor come through (and allow it to better pair with a carrot-citrus horseradish). And it was delicious. I may just tell this same exact gefilte story next year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbqOW35TOs9ZPFSdzMxRa14DH6R7b6mf_GusKqga6VYMvccqyVlJDegFCfFVWhVjqBOy_oeFIey3EzmQVUFFV9NddEfH5-grhyphenhyphenDUdK-Deo3uidQVa2TcQuv_Kgs9r9f1Ij3Or/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbqOW35TOs9ZPFSdzMxRa14DH6R7b6mf_GusKqga6VYMvccqyVlJDegFCfFVWhVjqBOy_oeFIey3EzmQVUFFV9NddEfH5-grhyphenhyphenDUdK-Deo3uidQVa2TcQuv_Kgs9r9f1Ij3Or/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Salmon Gefilte Fish Terrine</b></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">adapted (heavily) from <a href="http://www.tabletmag.com/recipes-2/183891/salmon-gefilte-fish-mold" target="_blank">Joan Nathan, via Tablet Magazine</a></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">yields ~ 15-20 slices </span></i><br />
<br />
2 carrots, peeled and chunked <br />
3 tablespoons olive or other oil, plus addition for topping the terrine<br />
3 medium onions, peeled and diced<br />
1 bunch scallions, sliced<br />
2 pounds salmon fillets, cut into large (~2 inch) cubes<br />
1 pound cod, flounder, rockfish, or whitefish (I used Oregon petrale sole), cut into cubes<br />
1/2 pound smoked whitefish or mackerel (this gives a subtle smoked flavor — if you prefer, you can swap out more smoked fish for some of the fresh white fish, but you'll want to reduce the salt to accommodate)<br />
4 large eggs<br />
4 tablespoons matzo meal<br />
1 tablespoon coarse salt<br />
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper<br />
<br />
Place the carrot chunks in a small saucepan, and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer until the carrots are quite tender, ~7-10 minutes. Set aside.<br />
<br />
While the carrots are simmering, pour the oil into a large saucepan or Dutch oven, and bring to a medium-high heat. Add the onions, along with a pinch of salt, and saute, stirring, until soft and translucent but not browned, ~15 minutes (lower heat as needed to keep them from coloring). When done, stir in the scallions, cook for another minute, then turn off the heat. Let cool slightly.<br />
<br />
Drain the carrots, and place them in a food processor, along with the onions and scallions. Puree until smooth. Toss in the eggs and matzo meal, and pulse to combine. Transfer the mixture to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment.<br />
<br />
Place all of the fish in the bowl of the food processor, and pulse until reduced to small bits, but not totally pureed (you want a bit of texture). Transfer this to the mixer bowl with the onions and carrots. Add the eggs, matzo meal, salt and pepper, and beat on medium speed for 10 minutes.<br />
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While the mixture is beating, preheat your oven to 325° Fahrenheit. Grease a large Bundt pan, and find a casserole dish that it can fit inside. Heat a kettle of water until it's not quite boiling.<br />
<br />
When the fish mixture has beaten, pour it into your prepared Bundt pan, then place the pan in the casserole dish. Smooth the top of the mixture with a spatula, and pour a little bit of oil over the top, then cover tightly with foil.<br />
<br />
Place the pan-in-dish in your preheated oven, then carefully pour some of the warm water (not boiling hot, lest you shatter the pan) into the casserole dish, until it comes a few inches up the side of the Bundt pan. Bake for one hour, or until the center seems solid.<br />
<br />
When the terrine is cooked, remove from the oven, and remove the Bundt pan from its water bath. Let the terrine cool for at least 20 minutes, and up to about an hour. When cool, slide a long knife around the inner and outer edges (both!) of the pan to free the terrine, then invert onto a flat serving plate. Cover, and refrigerate for several hours, or overnight. Slice and serve with horseradish. Keeps up to five days.</div>
deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18741928.post-29129917889021250482014-09-01T08:08:00.001-07:002014-09-02T08:04:33.411-07:00Late Summer Matzoh Ball Soup<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7__JDq2UimtNTQUGQUDs4hJr3lavl5F0YlizufZLVQfCrunQfgubaHAHk04vtwBeyw2exmCxEcY3XYnKBUrYd8hHp3urCcpflxDmNJ9ixW8pu-LWtDbedswfAWRT2X9waZ4a8/s1600/soup+overhead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7__JDq2UimtNTQUGQUDs4hJr3lavl5F0YlizufZLVQfCrunQfgubaHAHk04vtwBeyw2exmCxEcY3XYnKBUrYd8hHp3urCcpflxDmNJ9ixW8pu-LWtDbedswfAWRT2X9waZ4a8/s1600/soup+overhead.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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There are so many little niceties that fall by the wayside of modern life. But really, they only take a few minutes, and they can turn someone's day around. Get-well cards. Sickbed food deliveries. And don't get me started on thank-you notes. Do I sound like a grandma? Well, let me make you a pot of soup.<br />
<br />
I can get as wrapped up in my busy life as the next person. But lately, I've been trying to step up in these little ways. I happened to have a get-well card on hand the other day (because I could not resist a letterpressed illustration of a dog in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabethan_collar" target="_blank">Cone of Shame</a>), and so it just took a few minutes to write a note to a friend who broke her ankle (also, Portland has overnight local mail delivery, which always seems like something of a modern miracle). Then the other day, a friend posted that he had a miserably high fever (he described his state as 'writhing'). And since this is a friend who's helped me out many times, I couldn't sit back. So I channeled my inner grandmother, and made up some matzoh ball soup.<br />
<br />
But there was one complication — despite what the calendar may say, summer is still kind of in effect. And, in the midst of hot, sunny days, a bowl full of my usual dill-and-garlic, parsnip-filled standard just seemed a bit <i>too much</i>. So when sickbed duty called, I gave matzoh ball soup a summer update. And it turns out to be delicious.<br />
<br />
I threw my frozen bag of vegetable trimmings in the stockpot, with a few additions and subtractions to create a sunny broth heavy on the carrots, garlic and parsley. Then I shaved the kernels off a few ears of corn, and threw the cobs in to simmer as well. I used my standard matzoh ball recipe (also grandparental in origin), but gave it a similar summer update with a mix of chopped fresh parsley, dill and basil. I kept the simmered carrots for a bit of depth, but rounded the soup out with those oh-so-summer corn kernels, and a few halved sungold tomatoes, both floated in the soup right before serving. And then topped the whole summery mess with another dose of those fresh herbs.<br />
<br />
The resulting hybrid is clearly matzoh ball soup, full of all that healing goodness. But it's lighter and brighter, perfect for a warm sickbed evening. My grandmother would be proud.<br />
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And speaking of trying to be half the people our grandparents were, I recently produced a radio story about learning to be a man in prison (and beyond). You can take a listen over at <a href="http://www.npr.org/2014/08/29/343777517/i-am-not-an-inmate-i-am-a-man-and-i-have-potential" target="_blank">NPR</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Late Summer Matzoh Ball Soup</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>yields 1 generous sickbed delivery, plus a few bowls for yourself</i></span><br />
<br />
<b>Matzoh Balls:</b><br />
5 eggs<br />
1/2 cup neutral oil, like canola<br />
~3/4-1+ cups matzoh meal<br />
1/2 teaspoon baking powder<br />
~2 teaspoons salt<br />
pepper<br />
a handful each chopped fresh parsley, dill, and basil
<br />
<br />
<b>To Finish:</b><br />
~2 quarts broth (homemade is nice, but if you've got a premade broth you can simmer it with the peelings from your carrots, a few garlic cloves, and the corncobs) <br />
3 carrots, peeled and sliced into coins<br />
corn shaved off of 2 ears <br />
~12 sungold tomatoes, halved<br />
a handful each chopped fresh parsley, dill and basil, mixed together <br />
<br />
To make the matzoh balls: Whisk together the eggs and oil. Add as much matzoh meal as needed to
make a texture somewhat like thick mud — you want it to have some body, but not thick enough to even mound on a spoon (the mixture will
firm up upon standing). Stir in the baking powder, salt, pepper, and
chopped herbs. Taste, and adjust seasonings as needed (it should be
fairly salty). Chill for at least 10-15 minutes.<br />
<br />
While the matzoh ball mixture is chilling, bring a large pot of salted
water to a boil. Check the chilled mixture — if it's not firm enough
to just scoop after resting, add more matzoh meal, and let rest a bit longer. Shape matzoh balls
of your desired size with a small ice-cream scoop, two oiled spoons, or
oiled hands, and plop them directly in the simmering water. Turn the
heat down just enough to maintain a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally
to rotate, for at least 30 minutes. They're done when you can cut them open to reveal a ball that's fully cooked through. When done, turn off the pot, and let them cool in the water.<br />
<br />
While the balls are resting/cooking, pot the carrot coins in a small pot, and add water to cover by a few inches. Bring to a boil, and reduce heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cook until fully tender, ~20 minutes. Let cool.<br />
<br />
To serve, add the carrots (and their delicious cooking liquid!) to the broth. Remove the matzah balls with a slotted spoon, and add to the broth. Heat everything up, and add the corn and tomatoes (just a small bit for each person) for the final minute or so, until just heated through. Ladle into bowls, and top each serving with a smattering of fresh herbs. If you're bringing this as a sickbed delivery, it's best to package the tomatoes and corn together, and the fresh herbs in a separate parcel as well, so that they each can be added later to preserve their fresh taste.deenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08220954984319638867noreply@blogger.com0