Hippie Krispie Treats

You know that thing wherein you think you're one of many people nibbling away at a particular snack? And then you find out that, in fact, everyone else has had just a bite or two, if that, and you've essentially eaten the entire thing yourself? This is one of those snacks.

Luckily this recipe is surprisingly healthy, a boon to those who end up finishing the majority of the batch (over a few days, but still). Ostensibly they're a take on scotcheroos, the krispie treat variation featuring peanut butter. And a cup of corn syrup. And a cup of sugar.

But this hippie version loses the refined sugar in favor of maple syrup, and instead of artificially flavored "butterscotch chips", gets caramel sweetness and heft from brown rice syrup. They are undeniably sweet, but not cloyingly so, especially when you enjoy it with a cup of tea. And then you enjoy another. And then another.

Hippie Krispie Treats

adapted, only slightly, from The Bojon Gourmet (brilliant!)
yields 8 squares

Bars:
1/4 cup (3 ounces) maple syrup
1/4 cup (2 3/4 ounces) brown rice syrup
1/4 cup (2 ounces) almond butter or peanut butter
1/4 cup (1 1/2 ounces) chocolate chips, or chopped chocolate
1 tablespoon (1/2 ounce) coconut oil
1/8 teaspoon coarse salt
2 cups crisp Rice Krispie-style cereal

Topping:
1 tablespoon (1/2 ounce) coconut oil
1/3 cup (2 ounces) chocolate chips, or chopped chocolate
2 tablespoons chopped, toasted almonds (optional)
1/8 teaspoon coarse salt (optional)

Line an 8x4 or 9x5" loaf pan with a sling of parchment paper.

In a large saucepan, bring the maple and rice syrup to a rolling boil for 1 minute, stirring frequently with a heatproof spatula or wooden spoon (be careful not to let it boil over).

Remove from the heat, and stir in all of the remaining bar ingredients except the cereal (nut butter, chocolate, coconut oil, and salt). Stir until the mixture is well combined, then fold in the cereal. Pour the mixture into your lined loaf pan, packing down firmly with a spatula or your hands.

In a small saucepan (or the same big one, if you've scraped it clean), melt the remaining 1/4 cup of chocolate and 1 tablespoon coconut oil together over very low heat, stirring constantly just until melted (be careful not to scorch the chocolate). Pour this chocolate mixture over the rice mixture, spreading to form a smooth top layer. Sprinkle the nuts and salt (if using) over the top.

Let the bars set at cool room temperature (about 1 hour) or in the fridge (about 1/2 hour) until firm. Lift the sling out of the pan, trim away the edges if you like (delicious!), and cut into 8 squares.

They will keep at room temperature for several days. Bojon Gourmet thought they were best the day of (with the cereal softening a bit thereafter), but I found them to be lovely for several days (in case the crisp secret lay in the cereal, it was Erewhon Crispy Brown Rice).

Pineapple, Avocado and Sweet Potato Salad

Preparing a vegan dish can feel like enough of a challenge for some cooks. But vegan and gluten-free? Oh, and also toddler-friendly? Facing these restrictions at a recent potluck dinner party, I contemplated some sort of plate full of tofu. It works, right? But instead, I decided upon this salad.

For the record, I happen to really like a plate full of tofu. But I also really, really like this salad. This is not a dish that screams out I meet a rigorous listing of dietary restrictions! It's a dish that says Hello! Would you like some tropical pineapple, broiled into caramelized sweetness? How about a buttery chunk of avocado? 

The inspiration for this salad comes from a Cuban recipe, all sweet pineapple, smooth avocado, and snappy greens. I kept the basic format, but also added some wedges of sweet potato and a handful of beans, to make it more of a meal. And it's a good one. Topped with sweet-yet-healthy bites that toddlers will happily grab onto, sans animal products and gluten, and full of delicious.

Pineapple, Avocado and Sweet Potato Salad

adapted from Gran Cocina Latina: The Food of Latin America
serves ~4-6

3 small white or orange sweet potatoes, scrubbed & woody end bits trimmed off as needed
1 good-sized pineapple, peeled, cored, and cut into 1-inch thick slices
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 cup olive oil, plus additional for sweet potatoes
1 clove garlic, pressed
2 tablespoons lime juice
hefty pinch salt
1 bunch arugula, washed and torn into bite-sized pieces
1 large buttery avocado, cut into cubes
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
1/2 cup cooked black beans (optional)

Set the sweet potatoes in a large pot of water, and bring to a boil. Let simmer until just fork-tender, ~15 minutes, and remove from the pot and let cool slightly.

While the sweet potatoes are cooking, preheat your broiler. Place the pineapple slices on a baking pan, and sprinkle with the sugar. Broil until caramelized to a golden brown, ~5-10 minutes (broilers can incinerate things quite easily, so check often!). Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.

Turn your oven from broil to 450° Fahrenheit. Cut the par-baked sweet potatoes into wedges, and place them on a baking pan. Drizzle lightly with oil, and sprinkle with salt. Roast until they are butter soft and starting to become golden on the edges, ~20 minutes, turning once. Remove, and let cool.

To make the dressing, place the olive oil, garlic, lime juice, and salt in a covered jar, and shake to emulsify. Taste, and adjust as needed.

To assemble the salad, place the arugula in a large bowl, and top with the avocado, red onions, black beans, and reserved pineapple and sweet potato wedges. Top with the dressing, toss (if desired), and serve.

Poached Salmon with Cucumber Sauce

Salmon and cucumber seems like a combination from a long time ago. I'm not sure if I come by this opinion from my own personal history, or obsessive reading of old cookbooks (it's hard to tease apart the two sometimes). Regardless, it pulls up thoughts of gelatin-set salmon molds, of cucumber slices made to look like fish scales, and other tropes that were the height of luncheon catering some twenty-five years past. But I clearly need to readjust my thinking. Because poached salmon with cucumber sauce is a timeless combination. It's what I had for dinner last night, and last week as well. And what I should be having once a week every summer.

The inspiration for this particular incarnation of the classic comes from the always-in-style Julia Child. And it couldn't be simpler. Salmon is slipped into a barely-simmering bath of water, where it manages to delicately set without overcooking (and, thanks to a generous helping of salt and vinegar, doesn't wash out but instead gains even more flavor). And then it is served with a cool, slippery sauce (if you could even call it that) of sour cream, Greek yogurt, cucumbers and dill. Pair it with a simple summer salad (I went with arugula, peaches and corn), maybe a chunk of leftover bread for sopping up the plate, and you've got a summer meal that's just about perfect. Timeless, even.

Poached Salmon with Cucumber Sauce

inspired by Julia Child's The Way to Cook
serves 4

Cucumber Sauce:
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup Greek yogurt (not nonfat)
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon vinegar (cider or sherry work well)
1 cucumber, chopped in a 1/4-inch dice
~2-3 tablespoons chopped fresh dill

1 pound salmon, cut into 4 slices
salt and white vinegar (see below)

To make the cucumber sauce: In a bowl, stir together the sour cream, Greek yogurt, sugar, salt and vinegar until well combined. Taste, and adjust as needed. Stir in the cucumber and dill, and set aside to chill while you prepare the salmon.

To prepare the salmon: Pour water into a very deep-walled saucepan, or wide-bottomed pot, to a depth of three inches. For every quart of water this requires, add 2 teaspoons coarse salt, and 3 tablespoons vinegar. Bring to a boil, then slip in the salmon, and adjust the heat so that it is just barely about to simmer. Cook at this level until done, meaning it has a bit of internal firmness, and is thinking about flaking but not quite there yet — the exact time will vary depending upon the thickness of your fish, but start checking before 5 minutes are up. Remove with a slotted spoon (no need to rinse off), let drain a moment, and serve with cucumber sauce.

Teff Brownies

When my friends left town a few months ago for a year of world travel, I was sad to see them go. But happy to inherit a good chunk of their pantry. Since Ken went gluten-free, he'd stocked up on all sorts of flours and starches. I turned the almond meal into Passover macarons, thickened pastry cream with cornstarch, and have been eying the tapioca flour in anticipation of setting summer fruit pies. But after spending the better part of a morning transferring each starch from a plastic bag to its own repurposed-and-relabeled glass jar, I had an unpleasant realization: while I have done my share of gluten-free baking (both on these pages and non-blog-worthy failures), it's mostly been to eat with my friend Ken. Swept up in our shared love of good food and foolhardy kitchen experimentation, I somehow missed that fact that Ken is one of my only gluten-free friend in baked-good-sharing distance. So now I've got fetching little containers of amaranth flour and guar gum, but no real need to use them.

But luckily I've found a way out of my O. Henry-ish moment. Because it turns out that gluten-free baking isn't just about allergies and intolerance and substitution. Sometimes, it's just about baking. Good baking.

I recently heard a gluten-free baker maintain that in a decade all of our cakes will be gluten-free, because it just produces a better product. It struck me as a kind of wishful sour grapes, but there are some grains of truth to it. Because wheat flour, see, is a wonder in the kitchen. But alternative flours have their own alternative charms. And sometimes they hold their own, giving you a different flavor profile and result that can be totally delicious in its own right. As Portland's own (yay!) Kim Boyce detailed in Good to the Grain, there's a whole world of flours out there. And, as I discovered the other night, some of them make delicious brownies.

If there's ever a recipe to try gluten-free, it's brownies. They are, at heart, a study in chocolate and butter and eggs, with just a bit of flour tossed in to liaise those primary elements together. After wondering what the heck I was going to do with a little jar of nutty brown teff flour, I came upon this recipe from Gluten-Free Girl. She notes that teff has chocolatey, nutty undertones, making it perfect for brownies. Plus its a whole grain flour, allowing you to have pretensions of health. Amaranth flour, you're up next.

And if you're looking for another story of something unexpected inside a dairy-filled comfort food, I recently produced a radio story on an FDA standoff over Mimolette cheese. French culture! Tradition! Drama! Cheese mites! You can listen to the whole story over at NPR.

Teff Brownies

adapted from Kitchen Sense: More than 600 Recipes to Make You a Great Home Cook, with gluten-free tweaking via Gluten-Free Girl

4 ounces (aka 1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pats
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
100 grams teff flour (a generous 3/4 cup)
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
2 handfuls chopped hazelnuts or walnuts
2 handfuls chopped semisweet chocolate, or chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Line an 8-inch baking pan with greased foil or parchment paper, or grease and flour. Set aside.

In a double-boiler (or in bursts in the microwave), melt the butter and chocolate. Stir to combine, and let cool until it's no longer too hot. Add the sugar, stir, and then add the eggs, stirring in between (mix until the eggs are incorporated, but no need to whip the bejesus out of it — you're not looking to incorporate air). Add the vanilla, stir, then add the teff flour and salt, and stir until combined. Fold in the nuts and chopped chocolate.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and spread it out evenly. Bake until the center is just starting to set and the edges pull away from the sides, ~20-25 minutes (I consider over-baked brownies to be one of the sadder kitchen outcomes, so I make sure to check it regularly as it approaches this stage). Remove from the oven, and let cool on a rack. Slice and enjoy.

Perfectly Seared Fish with Fennel Arugula Salad

There's always a thrill of pride when you figure out how to coax some restaurant-only type dish out of your own humble kitchen. And find out how it's been within reach all along. Blistered loaves of bread, say, or an airy souffle. Or perfectly seared fish.

I have come a bit of a ways from my always-overcooked-all-the-time method of fish preparation (the secret: pull it from the heat just before you think it's done, a method I long heard but only recently followed).  But even though my technique improved, I could never get that perfect treatment I found in restaurants, where the fish is butter-soft and just barely flaking, yet the skin is a beautifully crisped omega-filled chip. What sort of kitchen wizardry are they using?

Turns out it's surprisingly user-friendly. All you have to do is get a good piece of fish, glug of oil, and use a ridiculously high heat. I picked up a fillet of steelhead from a local shop, followed the instructions carefully laid out on this blog, paired it with a tangle of salad made from a fennel bulb and dollar bag of arugula, and turned out a meal worthy of any restaurant (and if the blog and my own home's case study are any indication, this restaurant-worthy assessment will be a universal reaction). Who knew that simply turning up the flame (and conquering my fear of fire/oil burns) would yield such an amazing result? It's the sort of kitchen magic that should be trotted out at dinner parties (except for the whole smell-of-hot-oil-and-fish part), but it's also the sort of kitchen magic that you should bust out any time you get a good piece of fish. It's the sort of magic that's going into the regular kitchen rotation.

Perfectly Seared Fish with Fennel Arugula Salad

serves 2
inspired by Kenji Lopez-Alt, as prepared by The Amateur Gourmet

Dressing:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon meyer lemon juice, or mild vinegar
dollop honey
salt and pepper
Salad:
2 handfuls arugula
1 small bulb fennel, or 1/2 large bulb fennel, shaved into thin slivers
1 orange, supremed into sections
1 handful olives, pulled into pieces

Fish:
3/4 pound skin-on fish fillets, all pin bones removed, cut into two pieces
2-3 tablespoons high heat oil, such as grapeseed or canola
salt and pepper
olive oil

Take the fish out of the refrigerator, and let sit at room temperature for a few minutes to take the chill off. Mix together the dressing ingredients until combined. Toss the salad with the dressing, and divide onto two plates.

Blot the fish dry with paper towels or brown paper bags, and season each side with salt. Heat a large skillet or two small ones over a high heat. Add the oil, and let get really hot, almost to the point of smoking (handy tip: when the oil's hot, if you stick a wooden spoon in it should bubble vigorously around the edges). Add the fish, skin side down, and turn down the heat just slightly. Cook until the skin detaches from the skillet, and the fillet slides around a bit when you shake the pan (~2 minutes). If it's a thick fillet, wait another minute past this point, then flip the fillets with a spatula (in order to avoid dramatic fires that can result from hot oil splashes, I pull the pan away from the burner for the few seconds it takes to execute this maneuver). Cook on the other side until the fillets are cooked through, another two minutes or so, depending upon thickness (Lopez-Alt recommends cooking to 120 degree internal temperature, but I just went by sight and then tested them).

Use a spatula to remove from the pan, let the fry oil drain a bit, then plate with the salad. Season with salt and pepper, and drizzle with additional olive oil.

Gluten-Free Sesame Crackers

Years ago, my friend Emily was freaking out over an international trip she and her husband were planning, and the stress it would put on their tight finances. She mentioned these gnawing fears to an older neighbor, who gave her these words of wisdom: money is for travel and education. And she's so right.

As much as I am reduced to obsessive researching and wavering over any purchase totaling more than about $25 (beyond food), I know that those are the two categories where you must unequivocally open your purse strings. It's what the purse is for. There's no way around it — travel and education pretty much always come with a hefty price tag. But paying the price tag opens up the world to you, and makes your life so much richer for it.

A few months ago, my dear friend (and former housemate) was faced with a likely downsize at work. So he decided to opt for the most awesome of responses: he's packing up his belongings, renting out his house, and spending a full year traveling the world with his love. Morocco, Ghana, Italy, Croatia, Russia, China, India, Vietnam, New Zealand. And more. They got it right, and I'm so happy for them. And just a tiny bit fiercely jealous.

But the downside to this great idea is that some people I like a lot are going to be pretty far away. So when my friend mentioned a brief window in his packing/working/appointment-making/task-checking life yesterday, I jumped at the chance to come over. But I couldn't come empty handed. Since he offered to provide the fire and cocktail, I figured I could bring the cheese and crackers.

But how could I bring store-bought crackers for such an occasion? And especially, how could I bring store-bought crackers when my friend is gluten-free? GF crackers are often off-the-charts expensive, and/or of an entirely different species. They'll be rice-based, or just a small paving of seeds — good in their own right, but not the traditional cocktail hour cheese accompaniment. Also, who can bear spending $6 for a box of what is, essentially, flour and water? Well, also butter.

I was first converted to the cracker-making gospel by my friend Ivy, who kindly gave me some feedback on going gluten-free (namely too much cornstarch renders a cracker "thirsty," and butter gives a nicer flaky texture than olive oil). I also threw in some sesame seeds, because I love them, baked them up, and grabbed an assortment of cheeses and a nice crisp apple. And we sat down in front of the wood stove while my dog chewed some kindling, and ate our cheese and flaky, savory, delicious crackers, and drank a toast to the world. I hear it's lovely.

Gluten-Free Sesame Crackers

yield will vary depending upon cracker size, but should be ~3 dozen

4 1/2 ounces (a heaping cup) brown rice flour
2 ounces (~1/2 cup) sorghum flour
2 ounces (~1/3 cup) cornstarch
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt (plus additional for sprinkling)
1/2 teaspoon xanthan gum
6 tablespoons cold butter, cut into pats (you can substitute shortening for a vegan version)
3 tablespoons sesame seeds (or a bit more, if you like it extra seedy)
~1/2 cup cold water

Preheat your oven to 400° Fahrenheit. Take out two cookie sheets, a rolling pin, and a few sheets of parchment paper.

In a food processor or large bowl, mix together the rice flour, sorghum flour, cornstarch, baking powder, salt, and xanthan gum. Add the butter, and pulse (if using a food processor) or cut with a pastry cutter or two knives until it's reduced to little oatmeal-sized bits (don't over-process, as you want your crackers to be flaky). Turn the mixture into a large bowl, and mix in the sesame seeds. Add the water, starting with a scant half cup at first and adding more as necessary, until the mixture comes together in a nice ball of dough.

Divide the dough in half. Leave half in the bowl (covered, so it doesn't dry out), and place the other dough ball between two sheets of parchment paper. Roll out with a rolling pin until it's quite thin, ~1/16th-inch. Cut into cracker shapes of your choosing (you can use a pizza wheel to cut squares or rectangles, or make things more difficult for yourself and cut out rounds and re-roll the scraps). Place the crackers on a parchment-lined sheet (you don't need too much space between), dock them a few times with a fork so that they don't puff up, and sprinkle with bit of additional salt. Bake until browned, ~15 minutes. Let cool slightly, then serve with cheese to celebrate world travel.

Quesadillas (Salvadoran Savory-Sweet Cakelets)

I'm often a creature of habit. To an embarrassing degree. In theory I am in favor of change -- but when it affects the constants of my own life, I tend to reconsider. I get huge comfort from the familiar, sometimes even clinging to it when it's a bad idea (when I should, you know, select something more growth-inducing instead). But I try to shake out of my routine. And there's nothing like a good trip to do it.

At home, I often have trouble breaking out of my usual work-write-cook-sleep-insomnia regimen. But last weekend I traveled to the Bay Area to celebrate my birthday with dear friends, and remembered how much fun change can be (and how I can minimize my aaah-things-are-different anxiety with trusted companions and stiff cocktails). I traded in the wintery slog of Portland for breezy sunshine. I picked meyer lemons off the tree, lingered at a museum, hiked windy bluffs, had a frighteningly thorough scrub at a Korean spa, and ate out more in 5 days than I normally do in several months. It was great fun, all of it. And amidst the adventure, I did get in a bit of cooking. Including these quesadillas.

As befitting the new-experiences-of-vacation mindset, these are like nothing I've ever had before. They're undeniably rich, thanks to the butter and sour cream, but are also light, with a moist, short texture. They take savory cheese (we used a dry old wedge of romano), and put it in a lightly sweet context. And they are, hands down, my favorite snack to enjoy with a cup of coffee. Change, you are delicious.

Quesadillas (Salvadoran Savory-Sweet Cakelets)

via The Food52 Cookbook
yields 18 muffins

I'm normally a fan of hulkingly large muffin-topped muffins, but these are so rich that just a small one suffices (that said, I have eaten two in a sitting).

1 cup rice flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 pinch salt
1 cup butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup grated hard cheese, such as parmesan or romano
a few spoonfuls sesame seeds (these are optional, but add a nice nubbly counterpoint to the rich muffins)

Preheat the oven to 350, and grease 18 muffin cups.

Whisk together the rice flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, cream together the flour and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, mixing until incorporated and scraping down the sides as needed. Add the sour cream and cheese, mix, and then add the rice flour mixture (since this is gluten-free, you don't have to worry about making the muffins tough). Pour mixture evenly into muffin cups, then top with the sesame seeds.

Bake until set and just beginning to color, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool, and then enjoy with a cup of tea or coffee.

Blueberry Macarons with White Chocolate Buttercream

I somehow seem to think that I can be immune to the rules that govern everyday life. For the most part, I have grown up and accepted reality. I no longer think that my daily activities are being viewed with special interest by higher beings, nor that I (or my childhood dog) am secretly a princess (Sheba's royal human transformation was predicated on me finding the magic word, which I never seemed able to do, though I would hug her and reassure her that I would someday). No, these days I'm mostly realistic about my lot in this mortal realm. With a few exceptions.

Every now and then I do something so phenomenally ridiculous it truly boggles the mind. If pressed, I would acknowledge that I have no superhuman abilities, and that the laws of physics do, in fact govern my life. But my actions would indicate otherwise. For example, I seem to think that I am capable of removing my sweater whilst riding my bicycle (a button-down cardigan, and a sleepy residential street, but still). Or that tucking your fingers down when cutting onions is for suckers (I am sporting a shiny new butterfly bandage and throbbing pain on my left thumb as I type). Or that I can make Parisian macarons without following directions.

If you are unlucky enough not to have tried a macaron, I must tell you: try one. They are simply the best cookie, delicious and magical, like what a princess would serve to celebrate being released from canine form. Two adorable little disks of nut-enriched meringue (with a ruffly foot on the bottom and the merest hint of marzipan dampness inside) are sandwiched around a filling, usually buttercream or ganache, which unites the element into a whole that is far greater than the sum of its parts. Like I said, magic. If NPR is to believed (and we know they are), the cupcake has met its match.

But the catch: they're fussy. Very fussy. Macarons can go wrong in any number of ways: emerge footless, crack and deflate, or, my personal specialty, come out all peaked and piled instead of softly domed. These faults can result from high or low oven temperature, over- or under-mixing, mistakes in the age and temperature of your egg whites, and countless other factors. It's enough to make you give up, and instead fork over the $2 that most people seem to demand for such a confection. But I wanted to tackle the macaron challenge myself, found a stellar recipe, and, after finally deciding to follow it, turned out these beauties.

The recipe for these blueberry macarons was developed by the ever-awe-inspiring Not So Humble Pie. And if you follow the recipe, these beauties could be yours. Let me just stress: follow the recipe. Weigh out your egg whites. Weigh out everything. Mix it just the right amount. And don't like me, decide at the last minute that double-stacking your cookie sheets for an insulated bottom is just too annoying and fussy (especially if you, say, only have two cookie sheets), and instead to decide to go rogue. You will be punished with macarons that rise for the heavens like aspiring volcanoes, and then crack to expose their empty air pockets inside. And then when the second batch comes around, and you decide you aren't in fact too cool to listen, you will follow instructions perfectly, and be rewarded by these magical cookies. Admittedly, they're still not perfect macarons (some of the details just come with practice), but man are they closer than I've ever come before.

Like a stir fry, this recipe has a lot of elements that come together in quick succession, so be sure to pre-read and pre-measure as needed. It also requires a candy thermometer (which I managed to secure for $3.75), but beyond that all you need to do is devote a chunk of cooking time. And, you know, accept reality and follow directions.


Blueberry Macarons with White Chocolate Buttercream

macarons adapted from Not So Humble Pie (with huge love to her for developing a failsafe recipe and spelling it out in painful detail), buttercream adapted from Purple Cookie

yields ~3 dozen finished cookies

Macarons
20 grams freeze-dried blueberries
130 grams almond meal (Trader Joe's is the cheapest source I've found)
150 grams confectioner's sugar
120 grams room-temperature egg whites, divided
food coloring (optional -- I'm a bit afraid of it, so I omitted, and still managed to get a bit of color from the blueberries alone)
185 grams sugar, divided
50 grams water

Buttercream:
1/2 cup sugar
2 large egg whites
1 1/2 sticks (12 Tablespoons) butter, softened to room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
50 grams white chocolate, melted and cooled to room temperature

Place the blueberries in a food processor, and blitz until they are mostly powdered. Add the almond meal and powdered sugar, and pulse another minute. Pour into a large mixing bowl, and add 60 grams of the egg whites. If using the food coloring, add a few drops now. Stir until everything is combined, and set aside.

Place the remaining 60 grams of egg whites in a stand mixer. Weigh out 35 grams of the sugar, and place in a dish next to the mixer.

Place the remaining 150 grams sugar in a saucepan, along with the 50 grams water. Get your candy thermometer out, and get ready for the fun!

Heat the sugar water over a medium heat, and once it's melty, start testing the temperature. When it hits 210, start mixing your egg whites, first on a low and then on a high speed. When they start to get foamy, add the 35 grams of sugar you've set aside, and beat until it forms soft peaks.

Check your sugar syrup. When it reaches 245 degrees (which will be a boil), take it off the heat. With the egg white mixture on high, drizzle in the hot hot hot sugar syrup. To avoid mixer blades flinging it everywhere, aim to pour it in a slow but steady stream down the inside of the mixer bowl. At this point, the difficult coordination is over! Allow the mixer to run for another 5 minutes as the mixture cools. Prepare a pastry bag with a wide tip, or a plastic bag with the end snipped off, and line cookie sheets with parchment paper. Layer each lined cookie sheet inside another unlined cookie sheet, to insulate the bottoms and ensure even cooking.

After 5 minutes, you can fold the meringue into your almond-blueberry mixture. Add a small scoop of the egg whites first, and mix well to lighten your mixture. Add the remainder, and fold in gently, using big bottom-sweeping strokes to incorporate the mixture in as few stirs as possible. Mix until it is just barely uniform, and the mixture ribbons thickly off the spatula back into the bowl (it should be just thin enough to pour rather than plop).

When the mixture is ready, load it into your pastry bag. Pipe 1" circles onto your prepared cookie sheets, aiming for uniformity, and leaving a bit of space between (they shouldn't spread that much, but need to bake evenly). Give the cookie sheets a strong rap on the counter to bring up any air bubbles, and allow to sit 15 minutes. During this time, preheat the oven to 335. If you don't have enough oven space (or cookie sheets) to bake them all at once, leave the remaining dough in the pastry bag and pipe it when the first batch is done -- this meringue-based batter is stable enough that it'll still bake up lovely even if you pipe it out an hour later.

After the cookies have rested, place in the oven and bake 10-12 minutes. They will dry out and set, but shouldn't color. Remove, and let cool on the sheets for 30 minutes before removing to a rack to cook completely.

While the cookies cool, prepare the buttercream. Place the sugar and egg whites in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water, and whisk constantly until it feels hot to the touch and has begun to get bubbly and glossy, ~3 minutes. Pour this into a stand mixer, and beat (first on a low speed and gradually increase to a medium-high one) until it forms soft peaks. Switch from a whisk to a paddle attachment, and add the softened butter by tablespoons. When it's all been added, continue beating until the mixture is thick and very smooth, ~6-10 minutes (sometimes buttercreams curdle, but if so it should come back together during this time). Add the vanilla and melted white chocolate, and mix until blended.

To form your cookies, choose two similarly-sized cookies (on the off chance yours aren't perfectly uniform), place a hefty blob of buttercream on one, and top with the other. Place on a plate or in a container, and chill until the buttercream firms up. Macarons are actually best served the day after they're made, when the filling and cookies have had a chance to meld. Store in a covered container in the refrigerator for a few days, and the freezer if you need longer storage.

Gluten-Free Pierogies

When you tell stories (fiction or nonfiction), the narrative you end up with can be vastly different than the one you thought you were going to tell. A while back I heard about a Ukrainian church here in Portland that sells handmade pierogies, and figured it might make for a good radio/print piece. The Pacific Northwest became a hub for Soviet evangelical immigration when Gorbachev let religious minorities out of the country in the 1980s, so I figured I'd find a bunch of old grandmothers making dumplings. Maybe I'd find a few young people learning the traditional foodways, or maybe I'd just profile the last vestiges of a disappearing art.

Instead, I found a basement full of people of all ages. Men and women made dough and shaped pierogies, and even the littlest kids proudly carried out salt and pepper shakers. This wasn't just a bunch of grandmothers talking about the old country. It was a mix of new and old immigrants, all having a ridiculous amount of fun. It was a community coming together, around a living, evolving recipe. It can be so nice to be surprised. (If you'd like to hear the NPR story itself, you can find it here, and I'll link to The Oregonian's longer print story when it runs next week.)

After my story ran, I heard from an old housemate who wanted to try his hand at making pierogies. Gluten-free pierogies. How could I say no? We found a pasta recipe Gluten-Free Girl was kind enough to share with the internet (thanks, Epicurious!), upped it by half in order to make an army of dumplings, and prepared the church's filling recipe. And oh, were they good. Perhaps a new gluten-free tradition has been born (one that evidently makes us so excited we only manage one blurry phone shot before devouring -- sorry there).

Gluten-Free Pierogies

dough adapted from Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef, filling adapted from St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Orthodox Church
yields ~50 small pierogies, or fewer larger ones

As with most gluten-free recipes, measuring by weight is preferable if you can swing it.

Dough:
1 cup (3.75 oz) corn flour or sorghum
3/4 cup (3.75 oz) quinoa flour
3/4 cup (3.25 oz) potato starch
1 Tbsp xanthan gum
1 1/2 tsp guar gum
1 1/2 tsp salt
3 eggs
6 egg yolks

Filling:
2 Tbsp neutral oil
2 onions, chopped (1 for filling, 1 for topping)
1 1/2 lb russet potatoes
1/2 cup grated cheddar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

To Finish:
butter
sour cream

To make the filling: Heat the oil in a large skillet over a low flame. Sauté the onions in the oil until golden brown, about 15-20 minutes. While the onions are cooking, peel the potatoes and cut into 1-inch cubes. Cook potatoes in a large saucepan of boiling salted water until quite tender, about 10 minutes. Drain the potatoes, and mash until smooth. Mix in half the caramelized onions (set aside the other half) and the cheddar cheese, and season with salt and pepper. Cover and keep the filling refrigerated until you are ready to fill your pierogie (can be prepared the night before).

To make the dough: Mix together all of the dry ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Add the eggs and yolks, and mix until the it forms a cohesive, firm dough. This should take a few minutes. If it doesn't come together, add an additional egg yolk. The resulting dough will be firm but easily moldable.

To finish the pierogies: Set a pot of salted water to boil over the stove. Pinch off a small amount of dough, and cover the rest so that it doesn't dry out. On a gf flour-dusted counter, roll the dough as thin as you can, about 1/8" or thinner (alternately, you can feed this through a pasta machine). If you favor traditional small pierogies, cut out circles with a 2" cutter. If you are lazier (like me), a slightly larger cutter works fine as well. Pull up the dough scraps, mold them together, and set aside with the remaining dough. Place a small amount of filling in the center of the circle, ~1 tsp for a 2" circle. Moisten the edges of the circle with a bit of water, fold in half, and crimp closed with a fork. Repeat with remaining dough and filling.

As the batches of pierogies are finished (or at the end, if you're working solo), drop them gently into the boiling water, and simmer until done, ~8 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon or skimmer, and toss with a bit of butter to keep them from drying out.

To serve, take your reserved caramelized onions, and add a few tablespoons of water. Bring up to a boil for a minute or so, to soften the onions and make them saucy. Serve the pierogies topped with the caramelized onions and a good blob of sour cream.

Gluten-Free Vegan Rugelach

A gluten-free diet can present its own set of hurdles. But to be gluten-free and dairy-free? Those folks have it rough. I feel for them. And when I feel for someone, generally I want to bake for them as well.

These rugelach are admittedly something of cheat. I realized I had no hope of adapting my favored sour-cream-and-butter rugelach dough, and futzed around a bit with the alternatives. Sure, I could use some soy-based sour cream, but those tend to have a weird soy flavor I'm not really down with, overpowering any of the nicely cultured tang they contribute. So instead I looked towards vegan/gf pie crust instead, to capture rugelach's essential flaky delicacy. I took a stellar gf vegan crust recipe and tweaked it according to my own tastes (and, to be frank, the particular mix of gluten-free flours that I happened to have in my pantry and a slight misreading of one section), and then slathered it with my favorite rugelach filling of apricot jam, walnuts, and liberal shaking of cinnamon and sugar (this was added to the filling, rolled into the dough itself, and for the sake of overkill, sprinkled on the finished rugelach before they hit the oven). The resulting cookies did not disappoint.

These rugelach will win anyone over, regardless of their dietary restrictions. They're flaky and delicate, and easily capture the European-tea-cookie soul of the recipe. The tender crust wraps around the sweet-but-not-too-sweet filling, creating a something like a tiny tart. The jam may leak out a bit and make a mess (as it does in the buttery, wheaty original--parchment or silpats are especially nice here), but becomes deliciously caramelized to give the cookies a sophisticated edge. Sadly it's my final Hanukkah present to you, but it's a pretty sweet parting gift.

Gluten-free and Dairy-free Rugelach

dough inspired by Gluten-Free Girl's piecrust (albeit adapted heavily), filling inspired from my childhood rugelach memories

yields 32 small cookies

Although it's gluten-free, this dough is fairly forgiving. The only bit of fuss is that it is a bit soft and sticky (which might also have something to do with the copious amount of fat involved), so rolling it out between parchment paper or plastic wrap (or, if you're me and have run out of the former, a cut-open plastic bag) is something of a necessity. And, as with most gf recipes, if you've the means to do it, it's best to go with the weights rather than the volume measurements.

Dough:

scant 1/2 cup (2 oz) cornstarch

2/3 cup (2 oz) garbanzo bean flour (this will have a weirdly beany taste in the dough, but will bake off in the finished product -- you can swap out sorghum if desired)

1/3 cup (2 oz) potato starch

1/2 cup (3 oz) rice flour

1 tsp xanthan gum

1/2 tsp salt

1 Tbsp sugar

1/2 cup (aka 4 oz, aka 1 stick) non-hydrogenated (need I say it?) shortening, such as palm shortening, cut into several pieces

1/4 (aka 2 oz, aka 1/2 stick) cup non-dairy margarine (or use all shortening), cut into several pieces

~1/4 cup - 1/3 cup cold water, as needed

Filling:

2/3 cup apricot jam

2/3 cup walnuts, chopped into fairly small bits

2 Tbsp sugar mixed with 1 tsp cinnamon

In a food processor or large bowl, mix together the cornstarch, bean flour, potato starch, rice flour, xanthan gum, salt and sugar (aka all the dries). Cut or pulse in the shortening and margarine until the largest bits are about the size of rolled oats -- don't overmix! If you're using a food processor, turn the mixture out into a bowl at this point. Add the cold water, bit by bit, mixing it around with your hands, until the mixture is moist enough that it comes together easily when you pinch it. Turn the dough over a time or two (aka knead very lightly), just until the elements are dispersed evenly and the dough coheres. Underkneading is better than overkneading. Divide the dough in two, and shape each bit into a chubby disk. Cover with plastic wrap or parchment (or tuck into a plastic bag, and refrigerate at least 1 hour.

When your dough has chilled, preheat your oven to 350. Line two cookie sheets with parchment or silpat liners.

Take out 1 disk of dough, leaving the other in the refrigerator. Lay out a sheet of parchment or plastic wrap, and sprinkle it lightly with the cinnamon sugar mixture (use ~1 tsp total). Place the dough on top, and sprinkle with additional cinnamon sugar. Top with another sheet of parchment or plastic, and roll out between the two until you have a circle that's ~11 inches in diameter. Spread the dough with half of the jam, sprinkle on half the walnuts, then sprinkle with a teaspoon cinnamon sugar.

Now comes the cutting and rolling! Taking a chef's knife or pizza cutter, divide the dough into 16 equal sections (just cut in half, then quarters, then eights, etc.), taking care not to slice up your countertop. Starting at the wide outer edge, roll each section towards the center to form an adorable little roll (you may need to lift the parchment/plastic to guide the cookie, so that it rolls without breaking at first). Place each cookie on the prepared sheet, making sure that the end is pinned underneath so that it doesn't unroll. When you've shaped all the cookies, sprinkle an additional teaspoon full of sugar over the tops of the cookies (that's ~1 teaspoon for the whole tray, not 1 per cookie). Place the tray in the freezer, and repeat the process with the remaining disk of dough.

After the dough has chilled for ~15-20 minutes (about how long it takes to roll, fill and shape the next batch), take the cookie sheet from the freezer and place it in the oven (and place your second sheet in the freezer for the same amount of time). Bake until the filling is bubbling and the crust has lightly colored, ~30 minutes (if the spilled jam is darkening too much at the base, move the sheet to a higher oven rack). Let sit on the cookie sheet for a minute or two, then move to a rack to cool completely. These are best devoured the day they're made, or stored in the freezer.

Gluten-Free Crusty Seeded Bread

Good crusty bread seems to be the final frontier in gluten-free baking. Cupcakes and cookies certainly take a bit of skill and care, but if you have a good recipe (especially one with a lot of fat and sugar to do the heavy lifting), you'll end up with something delicious. Sandwich bread needs to be able to stay together, sure, but usually they're topped with enough flavorful ingredients and tasty spreads that by the end it doesn't matter too much. But a good, crusty hearth loaf? The sort of old-school, artisan boule with a toothsome crust and a rangy, airy crumb? For most gf people, these can be a sad, distant memory.

A good friend of mine recently went off gluten, and has been sorely missing these loaves. Before the dietary shift, gluten was a big part of her existence. She bought flour in 25-lb sacks, and on weekends would mix up a double batch of Jim Lahey's famous no-knead bread, stud it with seeds, and bake the loaves up for the family to enjoy throughout the week. It's a pretty hard thing to say goodbye to.

But thanks to some amazing gluten-free bakers, you don't have to. The wonderful Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë Francois, along with Shauna James Ahern came up with a gluten-free loaf that does a shocking job of passing for its gluten-filled inspiration. A mix of several different gf flours, xanthan gum, eggs and oil combine into a a crusty, satisfying hearth loaf. In keeping with the tradition (and my own hippie leanings), I tossed a good handful of seeds into the dough, and scattered more on top. The results are amazing.

Would you mistake this for standard bread? Possibly. It's pretty darned close, I'll say. Although it's definitely "bready," if you pay close attention you might find it a little more spongy, a little less rangy and airy than the usual hearth breads. In that way it's similar to the spongier Italian semolina loaves, sort of a hybrid of that style and the leaner artisan boule. But mostly, it's just good. Really really good.
Gluten-free Crusty Seeded Bread

yields 1 2-lb loaf

Adapted from the Gluten-Free Crusty Boule in Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë Francois' lovely book Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day

Things to keep in mind:

1) You will see the word "gently" appear in this recipe several dozen times. Gentleness is key, it turns out. While all unbaked doughs are somewhat delicate, gluten-free dough is especially so. If you handle it roughly after it's risen, you'll knock out those hard-earned air pockets, and lose your lovely texture in the finished product. A bit of babying will pay off mightily.

2) While you'll want to tear into this bread right away, it continues to cook internally and set after removing from the oven. You break it open, you get gummy bread. So you must wait, sadly.

3) Many people with gluten intolerance are sensitive to even the smallest amounts of trace cross-contamination. If you're not gluten-free but cooking for someone who is, make sure you use clean, nonporous equipment and avoid any traces of gluten. If your Dutch oven has been used on other gluten-y meals, use a large enough piece of parchment paper to prevent the dough from coming in contact with the pot.

Bread:
1 cup brown rice flour
3/4 cup sorghum flour
1 1/2 cups tapioca starch
1 Tbsp xanthan gum
2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 1/3 cups water (slightly warm, especially if your rising area is cold, but not so warm that you kill the yeast -- just comfortably warm)
1 Tbsp active dry yeast
2 eggs
1 Tbsp plus 1 tsp neutral oil, like canola
1 Tbsp sugar
1/3 cup toasted pumpkin seeds
1/4 cup whole flax seeds
3 Tbsp toasted sesame seeds

Topping:
1 egg, beaten with 1 small splash water (aka "the egg wash")
3 Tbsp raw pumpkin seeds
2 Tbsp whole flax seeds
2 Tbsp sesame seeds

Mix together the rice flour, sorghum flour, tapioca starch, xanthan gum, and salt. Set aside. In the bowl of a mixer (or another large bowl), pour the water and sprinkle the yeast over it. Let sit for a few minutes to allow the yeast to soften. Add the eggs, oil and sugar, and mix thoroughly. Add the gf flour mixture, and mix thoroughly to combine. If you're using a mixer, use the paddle rather than the dough hook. Continue to mix together until the dough is well-combined and smooth. The dough will not seem like a traditional bread dough -- it's somewhere between a cake batter and smooth mashed potatoes. Add the pumpkin, flax, and sesame seeds, and stir to combine.

When the dough is mixed, place it in a lightly-oiled covered container, and let sit, loosely covered, at room temperature for 2 hours. If your rising place is particularly warm, cut this down to 1 1/2 hours. After it has risen, gently take the container and place it in the refrigerator. Chill at least overnight, and up to about a week.

When you're ready to bake, gently take the dough out of the refrigerator. Tip it out onto a piece of parchment paper, taking care to not deflate any of the air that it has captured. Using a wet hand, shape the dough into a round, and smooth out the surface as best you can (keep wetting your hand to prevent the dough from sticking, and to wet the surface of the dough enough to smooth it out). Cover loosely with a piece of plastic, and allow to rise an hour and a half (less time if your rising area is warm).

Half an hour before the rising time is done, preheat your oven to 500 degrees. Place a large Dutch oven and its cover (making sure the cover doesn't have a meltable plastic knob) in the oven to preheat. While this is preheating, mix together the seeds for the topping.

When the dough has warmed and risen slightly, brush the surface completely with the egg wash (use a pastry brush if you have it, otherwise just wad up the plastic you'd used to cover the dough, and use it to gently blot the surface of the dough with the egg wash). Sprinkle the seeds for the topping evenly over the surface. Take a sharp serrated knife, and gently cut slashes 1/4" deep over the surface of the dough.

Carefully remove the preheated Dutch oven from the oven. Gently pick up the piece of parchment paper around the loaf, and gently lower it into the preheated pot. Cover, and gently place in the oven. Let bake 25 minutes, then remove the lid, and lower the oven temperature to 450 degrees. Let bake an additional 20-25 minutes, until the surface of the dough is browned (it may be difficult to see under the seeds), and the dough seems done to your liking. Lift it out of the pan, and cool on a rack. When nearly completely cool, slice and serve.

Sloppy Sauce (aka Tahini with Miso and Almond Butter)

Several years ago, I left my dog alone at a friend's house for an evening, and returned to find that he had eaten all of the dog food in the house. All of it. When he came to greet us at the front door, he was noticeably larger. We rushed our barrel-shaped pup to the veterinarian, who pronounced him fine (and showed us an amusing x-ray, wherein you could still see all of the individual pieces of kibble in his overly-full stomach). In addition to piece of mind (and a hefty bill), we were given my absolute Favorite Diagnosis Ever: dietary indiscretion. Seriously. Dietary Indiscretion. It's sort of like diagnosis: bad decision-making. I suffer from that all the time.

For the most part, my diet is fairly healthy, full of fresh produce and whole grains and all that good stuff. But sometimes it's not. Sometimes I'm dining out, and the deliciously retro ice cream sundae on the menu calls to me. Or I'm catching up with friends over happy hour, and after a few drinks an order (or three) of fries suddenly seems like a phenomenally brilliant idea. Or I am eating something so addictively delicious, say these little cheese-filled puff pastry palmiers at my friend Sarah's house, and I just cannot stop. Dietary Indiscretion.

After such poor choices, we've come up with a recovery meal known around our household as Hippie Dinner. It's the best way to sop up booze, grease, and bad decisions, and set you on the path to dietary righteousness. There are three elements: whole grains (in the form of some brown rice or quinoa); protein (in the form of marinated tofu or a piece of lean fish); and a huge pile of steamed or sauteed vegetables. Actually, make that 4 elements: the whole plate is topped off with a tahini variation called sloppy sauce.

Sloppy sauce, inspired by a friend who needed to recover from a nearly all-pizza diet, is a great way to make a huge pile of steamed kale and sweet potatoes much more exciting. It starts off like a traditional Middle Eastern tahini sauce, mixing sesame paste with lemon juice and garlic. But it's given a bit of savory heft (and arguable health benefit) from a scoop of miso, and delicious nuttiness from almond butter. I like to further play up the East meets Middle East dimension by stirring in a bit of grated ginger, or a handful of scallions or chopped cilantro if you've got. And sometimes I emphasize the peanut sauce resemblance by using lime juice instead of lemon. As suggested by its name, sloppy sauce is a pretty informal affair, and can be easily adapted to your taste. And it can be enjoyed any time, whether you're recovering from a dietary indiscretion or not.


Sloppy Sauce (aka Tahini with Miso and Almond Butter)

yields ~3/4 cup

1 Tbsp miso (any type)
2 Tbsp tahini
2 Tbsp almond butter
1 clove garlic, crushed
1/2" ginger, grated
juice of 1 lemon
water
handful minced scallions and/or cilantro (optional)

Mix together the miso, tahini, and almond butter until well combined. Stir in the garlic and ginger, then the lemon juice. Add water, a little at a time, until it reaches a thick-but-pourable consistency (~1/4+ cup). Stir in the scallions and/or cilantro, if using. Taste, and adjust seasonings as needed. Pour over whatever hippie concoction you desire. The sauce will thicken upon standing, so just stir in a little additional water or lemon juice to loosen leftovers.

Shrimp with Green Garlic

Spring is all about green shoots and new growth. We tilt towards the sun, the ground warms, and the first spring crops come peeking through. Last week I helped transplant tomato starts outside, my hands full of that green-spring tomato-leaf smell. It sort of makes you heady with thoughts of what's to come.

But amidst all of this potential, there's a bit of destruction as well. I refer to the inevitable springtime thinning of the garden. For those who don't grow, here's how it works: when you plant seeds directly into the garden soil, you've got to hedge your bets against the inevitable non-starters, and sprinkle in a few extra. Or sometimes they're just so darned tiny it's hard to keep track. But often the seeds prove you wrong, and sprout up in a thicket. In order to give your plants enough room to grow, you've got to pull up a bunch of these little green babies.

Sometimes you can find a friend whose garden needs some extra seedlings, or sometimes you set a box of uprooted plants on the curb to seek a new home. Sometimes you're so weary from crouching in the dirt that you just toss them on the compost pile. And sometimes, in the case of green garlic, you can eat them.

Green garlic, which is available at farmer's markets now (at least in the Pacific Northwest), looks a bit like scallions:


In fact, it's just your standard garlic plant, but uprooted before the cloves have had a chance to fully form and swell (the ones you'll see in the markets are generally a bit thicker than the home-harvested examples above). They're a bit too nippy to eat like scallions, but are lovely when pounded into a pesto, or incorporated into a saute. Cooked, they mellow and soften, yielding a flavor that has both a garlicky depth and a springtime green freshness.

This particularly recipe, adapted from the lovely Chez Pim, is like green garlic itself: both springtime-light and full of flavor. Shrimp and green garlic are sauteed with a simple sauce of curry powder and fish sauce. In my limited Southeast Asian seasoning pantheon, fish sauce is always bff with lime juice, and seldom ventures out alone. And certainly not with curry powder. But they work shockingly well together, forming a sauce whose flavor seems to be much greater than the sum of its simple parts. Pulling up green shoots before their full prime can be a bit sad. But with green garlic, and dishes like this one, it's a fairly delicious sacrifice.


Shrimp with Green Garlic

adapted from Chez Pim, but simplified and tweaked a bit
serves 2-3

1 Tbsp neutral oil, like canola
1/2 cup (or more, if you have it) green garlic, julienned into 2" matchsticks
1 lb shrimp, shelled (I like to sit mine in a saltwater brine for about 15 minutes before draining and cooking to add flavor and moisture, but that's optional)
1 tsp curry powder
1 Tbsp fish sauce
splash water (1-2 Tbsp)
cooked jasmine rice for serving

Heat the oil in a heavy skillet over a medium-high heat. When hot, add the green garlic, and saute, stirring often, until it softens but doesn't color (~3-5 minutes). When the green garlic is soft, add the shrimp, cooking a few minutes until just shy of done (time will vary depending on the size of your shrimp and how well-done you like them, but it shouldn't take long). Sprinkle on the curry powder, stir to combine and toast the powder, then add the fish sauce and water to form a bit of sauce. Let cook a moment to remove the harsh edge, then remove from heat. Serve with the rice.

Flourless Chocolate-Walnut Cookies

As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, the truth is that I do not always handle disappointment with the utmost grace. I'd love to be the sort who accepts bad news with a sunny shrug, and then rolls up her sleeves and moves on to the next task. But the truth is that I often spend several hours mourning the loss of Plan A before I can even think about moving on to Plan B. Which brings me to flourless chocolate walnut cookies.

This past weekend I attended a delicious Sephardic-style Passover Seder, full of saffron pilaf, Tunisian fish patties with aioli, spinach-feta minas, and good friends. My host asked if I would bring chocolate-covered matzoh caramel buttercrunch, known to all who enjoy it as matzoh crack. It's ridiculously addictive, the sort of dessert you almost don't want to make, because it is all anyone will ever you to make ever again. Well, for Passover at least.

I headed out to the grocery store with this singular vision, but couldn't find any matzoh. I figured my matzoh-finding skills must have been on the fritz, and sought out some assistance:

me: I'm sorry, I can't seem to find the matzoh.
manager: We're sold out.
me: Are you joking?
manager: Why would I joke about that?

Yes, they were sold out of matzoh. On Passover. So did I cruise the shelves looking for alternate dessert inspiration? Did I phone a friend to get a shopping list for a new recipe? Of course not. I fumed out the door and biked home, composing angry letters to the grocery store management in my head all the while. Because that's helpful. And then I proceeded to reenact the above conversation to several people, both in my home and on the telephone, and share my indignation. And then I remembered Oh yeah! I still have to make dessert! Like now!

After all this attempted-matzoh-getting and protracted-hissy-fit-throwing, I didn't have time to go shopping again. Luckily I remembered a recipe I'd seen a few years back for a flourless chocolate cookie studded with toasted walnuts. I had all the ingredients in my house, and the mixing and baking times were nice and short. And the cookies? Divine.

If you're seeking a chewy chocolate gluten-free (or Passover-friendly) cookie, look no further. They're ridiculously simple--just some toasted walnuts, powdered sugar, cocoa powder and egg whites, spiked with a bit of salt and vanilla. Because the egg whites are just stirred in rather than beaten, you end up with a cookie that's fudgey-chewy rather than meringue-crisp. They're glossy and chocolatey, and taste much more sinfully rich than they are. Not getting what you planned on should always be so delicious.


Flourless Chocolate Walnut Cookies

adapted from Payard, via New York Magazine

yields ~4 dozen cookies

2 3/4 cups walnut halves or pieces
3 cups confectioners' (aka powdered) sugar
1/2 cup + 3 Tbsp cocoa powder (Dutched is recommended)
1/2 tsp salt
4 egg whites, at room temperature
1 Tbsp vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Spread the walnuts on a rimmed baking sheet, and bake, stirring occasionally, until lightly golden, ~7-10 minutes (check frequently!). Let cool slightly, and coarsley chop. Set aside.

Reduce the oven temperature to 320 degrees, and line two baking pans with parchment or Silpat liners if you have, or grease well and hope for the best. Set aside.

In a large bowl, sift together the powdered sugar, cocoa powder, and salt. Add the chopped nuts, stir, and then add the egg whites and vanilla. Stir until just combined (do not overmix). Let the batter sit ~5 minutes.

Spoon the batter onto the prepared cookie sheets in heaping tablespoons (allow space--cookies will spread). Bake 14-16 minutes (rotating racks halfway through), until the tops are glossy and lightly cracked. Remove from oven, and let set a few minutes until the cookies are cool enough to remove. Remove to a rack to cool completely, and repeat with remaining batter.

Potato Tagine with Preserved Lemon and Olives

Potatoes can be many things on the plate. They're undeniably comforting, especially when mashed up with frightening amounts of butter (and a wee bit of buttermilk or cream cheese for just a slight tangy note). They're a nice neutral element to round out a dinner, and, when fried up, make for a great hangover breakfast or latke. Basic, sure. And undeniably thrifty. But I wouldn't generally describe them as exciting. Or at least I wouldn't have, until I tried this tagine.

If you've never made a tagine before, you may be unfamiliar with the delicious mix of flavors in store. Tagine, or tajine, refers to a Morroccan conical-topped clay pot, as well as the traditional braised dishes made therein. But even if you don't have the baking dish (like me), you can easily prepare a tagine in any old heavy pot. Tagines are usually made with meat, although there are vegetarians versions featuring hard-boiled eggs, or these potatoes. The main elements are combined with the warm spices common to North African cooking, and sometimes a bit of dried fruit to boot. This sweet slow braise is then enlivined with bright fresh herbs, or tangy lemons and olives. The resulting dish has a complex layered flavor unlike any other cuisine.

Preserved lemons are the sole ingredient here that might give you a bit of pause. They're sold for ridiculously amounts of money at specialty stores, but can be easily made at home. Regular old lemons are allowed to sit with salt for several weeks, until the texture softens and the taste changes in a way that's difficult to describe. They maintain their citric bite, but the flavor rounds out, becoming almost piney in a way. Beyond that (and the optional North African harissa chili paste for serving), this is essentially a pantry meal. But a pantry meal like none other. Potatoes are cooked up with the usual olive oil, tomato, and onion, but then taken in a surprising direction with saffron, fresh herbs, olives and the preserved lemons. You'll never look at potatoes the same way again.


Potato Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives

This recipe also works wonderfully as an elegant make-ahead company dish. Simply transfer to an oven-proof casserole or serving dish at the end, set aside and get your kitchen and self company-ready, and then reheat in a 350 degree oven until hot (~20 minutes, depending on how long it's cooled). I recently made 3x this recipe for a Passover Seder for 18, and it turned out beautifully.

Adapted from Paula Wolfert's The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen: Recipes for the Passionate Cook. Why haven't you bought this book yet?

serves 4-6

2 lbs red potatoes
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, grated coarsely on a box grater and squeezed dry
1/3 cup tomato, grated coarsely on a box grater (I've also subbed slightly smaller amounts of canned tomatoes, or tomato sauce when I'm in a pinch)
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp paprika
pinch cumin
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 medium onion, sliced into thin half-moons
1 bay leaf
1/4 fresh lemon
2 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
2 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro
salt
1 pinch saffron threads, crumbled
2 dozen purple or tan olives (pitted makes eating easier, but unpitted is fine too as long as you warn your dining companions)
1/2 preserved lemon, flesh scraped off and cut in thin slices
harissa (or other chili pastes) for serving (optional but recommended)

Peel the potatoes, and cut into thick slices (~1/2"). Place in a bowl of cold water, and set aside.

In a heavy pot, heat the olives oil over a medium heat. Add the grated onion, and cook until it starts to melt, ~3-5 minutes. Add the tomato, ginger, paprika, cumin and garlic, and cook, stirring, for an additional couple of minutes.

Drain the potatoes, and add to the pot. Add the sliced onion, bay leave, fresh lemon quarter, cilantro and parsley, and saffron. Stir, gently, to mix the ingredients. Add 1 1/2 cups hot water, a hefty pinch of salt, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer, cover, and cook until the potatoes are tender, ~40 minutes. Turn very gently once or twice during cooking, being careful not to crush the potatoes.

When potatoes are tender, use a slotted spoon to transfer to a serving dish. Discard the lemon and bay leaf. Add the olives to the remaining cooking liquid, and simmer, uncovered, until the liquid is reduced to a thick sauce. Taste to correct seasonings, pour the sauce over the potatoes, and top with the preserved lemons. Serve with harissa.

Tom Kha (Thai Hot & Sour Coconut Milk Soup)

I'm generally something of a wuss when it comes to chili-spiced food. I like complex seasonings, sure. But too much heat, and I start to break a sweat and grab for the water glass (I've heard that dairy is a better foil for the volatile oils, but water's usually closer). I think there might be an actual physiological component to my wussiness, as my lips often redden and swell to pouty bee-stung proportions. Whatever the reason, I'm not one to prove my machismo when it comes to chili-eating. But there are some exceptions.

Well, maybe one exception: tom kha soup. This Thai recipe is a ridiculously herbal-fragrant hot-sour soup, with a coconut milk background. It's sour from lime juice, sweet and creamy from coconut milk, salty and pungent with fish sauce, and piquant with lemongrass, galanga root and lime leaves. And in addition to that, it's spicy. Breaking-a-sweat spicy, cutting-through-congestion spicy. Somehow, in this context, I can't get enough. (A big scoop of rice to balance this out doesn't hurt either.)

The chili heat I use in this soup is Nam Prik Pao, a sweet and spicy paste made with dried pods that are toasted, soaked, and blended with ingredients like garlic, shallots, and dried shrimp. It can be so intense that neighbors called the cops on a London Thai joint that was cooking up a batch, mistaking the chili fumes for a chemical attack. Seriously. But in Tom Kha, it's well balanced by the other ingredients. If you don't have Nam Prik Pao, you can substitute some red Thai curry paste, or other asian chili paste, to good effect. The most distinctive element of the soup's taste comes from the galanga root, an Asian rhizome with a difficult-to-describe lemon-ginger-piney flavor. You can substitute standard ginger, but this one's worth seeking out.

I realize that this recipe may seem somewhat daunting: the ingredients are unfamiliar to many cooks, and the amounts are very imprecise. But these obstacles can be easily overcome. The galanga root, lime leaves, and lemongrass can be easily found at most Asian markets, and can be stored in your freezer until you make the soup again (and you will want to make it again). As for the amounts called for, you're going to want to play around with these to your taste. Chili pastes vary in heat levels, just as individual palates vary in heat acceptance. Some love the funk of fish sauce (me!), while others might just want a salty whiff. As a general rule, I find that the final seasoning of lime juice/fish sauce/chili paste should be tinkered with delicately, tasting as you go. But as for the lime leaves, galanga, and lemongrass that form the basis of the broth? Those are pretty much impossible to overdo.

Tom Kha

adapted from a combination of several sources, including the Tom Kha Goong from The Asian Grandmother's Cookbook blog, the Tom Kha Gai from Chez Pim, and a recipe from a Minneapolis restaurant I learned many years ago at the Carleton College Tofu Festival

serves 6

4 cups stock (vegetable or shrimp)
1 large handful kaffir lime leaves
4" chunk galanga root, hacked into thick slices if possible
4 stalks lemongrass, peeled of tough outer layers, cut into chunks and whacked with knife to bruise
1 can coconut milk
juice of 2-3 limes
2-4 Tbsp fish sauce
1-4 Tbsp Thai roasted chili paste (Nam Prik Pao), or other Thai chili paste or red curry paste
1 pinch-1 Tbsp sugar
1/2 lb mushrooms, sliced in halves or quarters, depending upon size
1/2 head cauliflower, broken into florets
2 small broccoli crowns, broken into florets
3 shallots or 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
1/2 cup grape or cherry tomatoes, if it's the season
1 large handful mint leaves (optional, but nice)
1 lb shrimp, peeled
1/4 cup cilantro leaves, coarsley chopped

rice for serving (preferably sticky rice or jasmine rice)

In a large soup pot, combine the stock with the lime leaves, galanga root, and lemongrass. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat until it's just enough to maintain a simmer. Simmer for 30 minutes to infuse the broth with the flavorings.

After 30 minutes, pour in the can of coconut milk. Add the lime juice, fish sauce, chili paste, and sugar, starting with the smaller amounts and tasting until you like the balance of hot, sour, salty and sweet flavors. The soup will be served with rice, so you can go a little heavier with the heat than you might otherwise. Add the mushrooms, cauliflower, and broccoli, and simmer for a couple of minutes, until a little shy of tender-crisp. Add the shallots or red onion, tomatoes (if using), and mint leaves, simmering another minute or two until the vegetables are just shy of done. Add the shrimp, and cook another minute until pink (they'll continue to cook in the residual heat, so err on the side of underdone). Turn off the heat.

Taste again to finally adjust the seasonings, add more lime juice, fish sauce or chili paste if needed. The inedible lime leaves, galanga root and lemongrass can be fished out, or left in to further infuse (just make sure diners know to set them aside as they eat). Serve in bowls with rice, topped with the fresh cilantro.