Meyer Lemon Focaccia

I am a big fan of the barter system. I love those exchanges that surprise you (something that seldom happens with cash transactions—at least not in a good way). And I especially love those trades where each party feels that they ended up with the way better deal.

A few years ago I swapped a jar of still-warm plum-rosemary jam for a dress at a yard sale (after discovering I had forgotten my wallet but still had my present while biking out to a birthday party), and brought a container of limoncello to a chef at a local tapas restaurant in exchange for some hard-to-find choricero peppers. Last month, a neighbor passed along symphony tickets after he got too sick to attend, and I simmered up a batch of matzoh ball soup in thanks (he was hugely grateful, and I got to hear Itzhak Perlman, so it was win-win). And last week I traded a home-cooked meal for a 90-minute massage.

I had never had a massage of that length in my entire life. And it was amazing. She worked out the kinks in my achey back, and teased apart the muscles that seem to have shortened and stuck due to hours spent hunched over the computer. So when it came to dinner, I knew I had to bring it.

I made something of a dramatic feast—I'll tell you more details when I've got the time, but here's a quick rundown: there were bitter-and-sweet negronis, with big round ball-shaped ice cubes (thanks to a few small balloons I found tucked away in a drawer). I shaved raw asparagus into tangled ribbons, and dressed them with fresh mint, toasted hazelnuts, and slivers of truffled cheese. Seared scallops were set in a puddle of rich-yet-light oniony-fennel cream sauce, and an almond tart was topped with creme fraiche whipped cream and sweet-tart candied kumquats. But we started out with meyer lemon focaccia. 

I debated whether or not to even post this, first-off because it's a shamelessly barely-changed riff on my concord grape focaccia (topped instead with the last of the hand-picked lemons from my recent trip to California), and second because of the unappetizingly low-light pictures. But it is so very, very good. Meyer lemons are shaved whisper-thin, then used to top a crusty, airy, salty-sweet flatbread. The hot oven caramelizes the lemons into sweetness, though the rinds still give a bit of a bitter punch that plays nicely off of the coarse sugar. I was worried at first that it would be an unequal trade, that even such a lux meal couldn't make up for the amazing massage I had received. But the food delivered. "Oh my," she sighed, after the first bite of the still-warm focaccia. "I feel like I'm getting a massage right now."
 

Meyer Lemon Focaccia

yields two 9" focaccia, enough for appetizers for 6-10, depending on their level of hunger/restraint

note: this recipe is started the day (or two) before you bake it

1 cup water
1 tsp active yeast
1 Tbsp coarse salt, divided
3 Tbsp sugar, divided
1/4 cup olive oil, divided, plus additional for greasing the bowl and handling the dough
2 ¼ cups (10 ounces) bread flour 
1 large or two small meyer lemons, sliced as thinly as possible—if you have a mandoline, it would probably work great, but otherwise just take your sharpest knife and pay attention (if your lemon is super-ripe, you can throw it in the freezer for a couple hours to par-freeze, which makes slicing a bit easier)
2 tsp fresh rosemary needles

Combine the water and yeast in a bowl, and let sit for a minute or two to allow the yeast to soften and bloom. Add 1 teaspoon of the salt, 1 tablespoon of the sugar, 2 tablespoons of the oil, and the flour. Mix with a large spoon until fully blended, then cover and let sit for 5 minutes to fully hydrate. Mix for an additional minute or two, until the dough becomes smooth. Grease another bowl with a bit of oil, and, using a spatula, transfer the dough into the bowl. Cover and let rest for 10 minutes.

After the dough has rested, using wet or oiled hands, reach into the bowl under one end of the dough, and pull it gently to fold the dough in half. Repeat with the other three sides of the dough, then flip the whole doughball over. Let rest 10 minutes, then repeat 2-3 more times. After the last folding, cover the bowl, and refrigerate overnight, or up to three days. These folds may seem a bit fussy, but achieve the dual purpose of incorporating some air pockets into the dough, and firming it up without using additional flour.

About 1 1/2  - 2 hours before you’d like to bake (depending on how warm your kitchen is), take the dough out of the refrigerator, and allow to come to room temperature for ~45 minutes to take the chill off. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, or brush them heavily with olive oil. Gently divide the dough into two balls (they might be a bit more like blobs then balls), and place them on the prepared sheets. Let sit 10 minutes to relax, then, with oiled or wet hands, use your fingertips to sort of pat-and-push the dough out into 9” circles from the inside out, dimpling them without totally compressing them (if they resist, you can pat them out a little, let the dough rest ~5-10 minutes, then pat them out a little more and repeat as needed—it’s important you press the dough out to out least this diameter, otherwise it will be too thick to cook properly).  Let rise for ~30-45 minutes (depending upon the heat of your kitchen, and how warm/risen the dough was when you started working). While the dough is rising, preheat the oven to 500.

When the dough has risen, scatter the lemon slices over the top, and drizzle with the remaining 2 Tbsp olive oil, and scatter on the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar and 2 teaspoons coarse salt. (that's 1 Tbsp/tsp per focaccia). Place the trays in the oven, then turn down the heat to 450. Bake for ~20 minutes, until the focaccia has cooked to a golden brown (it may seem a little underdone in some parts, especially around the lemons, but as long as their are no large uncolored spots you'll be fine). Let cool slightly, then serve warm or at room temperature (ideally within a few hours for optimum deliciousness).

Chocolate Thai Curry Cupcakes

Hooray for birthdays! Recently I sung the praises of my own celebration (San Francisco Edition!), and this past week brought the stateside birthday of my dear friend. I always get a bit excited when someone wants to spend some of their special day with me (heck, I'm still excited that people this amazing want to hang out with me on normal weekdays), and after being treated to an amazing birthday of my own, I wanted to pay it forward a bit. And oh, it did not disappoint.

We spent much of the afternoon swooning over a ridiculously amazing lunch—watching Brussels sprouts being shaved to order, drawing bites of nettle dumplings through a creamy walnut-studded sauce, and spearing delicious forkfuls of seared sweet scallop and juicy mandarinquats. I will be dreaming of this for some time to come. We talked and laughed and dreamed of traveling to a place where leisurely meals of such simple elegance are the norm (a place, I believe, called "Europe"), and sipped our way through a few glasses of txakoli. Then we walked home, and while the birthday girl went down for a birthday nap, I baked up some cupcakes.

I got the idea for these cupcakes from this Food52 recipe (by Raspberry Eggplant), which practically dares you not to make it. Chocolate cake + Thai spices? Holycrap! But since we were heading to a bar later, cupcakes seemed to be a more user-friendly format. So I pulled together my favorite batter and frosting recipes (the ones I used for the chocolate version of my wedding cupcakes), and gave them a healthy helping of Thai flavor. And the results just about knocked me out.

I added a scoop of Thai curry paste to the moist chocolate cupcakes, which not only added the usual chilies-and-chocolate flavor, but a floral edge from the aromatics and just the slightest savory note from the long-cooked shallots. And for the frosting, I pulled out a crazy-involved buttercream I fell in love with during my wedding cupcake prep—not too sweet, not too buttery, never crusting or melting and just perfect all around (except for the fact that it's a piece of work). I scented it with a bit of the standard vanilla, but made things even more fun with finely-grated lemongrass, keffir lime zest, galanga root and Thai basil.

I tend to expect more out of birthdays (and, to be honest, most things in life) than is reasonable, and thus am often primed for an emotional disappointment on the big day. But these cupcakes are suited to making even the highest birthday hopes come true—at least when it comes to dessert. Birthdays should always be so sweet.

Chocolate Thai Curry Cupcakes

inspired by Food52, cupcakes adapted from Gourmet, frosting adapted from The Cake Bible
yields 18 cupcakes

Cupcakes:
1 1/2 ounces semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, chopped to bits
1 Tbsp Thai curry paste
3/4 cup hot coffee
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/3 cup flour
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 small eggs (or 1 1/2 large eggs)
1/4 cup + 2 Tbsp neutral oil, such as canola
3/4 cup buttermilk
1/2 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 300, and line 18 muffin cups with liners.

Place the chocolate and curry paste in a heatproof bowl, and pour the hot coffee over them. Let sit, stirring every now and then, until the chocolate melts.

In a large bowl, sift together the sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a stand mixer, beat the eggs until light-colored and thick, ~3-5 minutes. Add the oil, buttermilk, and vanilla, and then give the chocolate-coffee-curry mixture a good stir, and add that as well. Add the sifted dry ingredients, stirring until just combined (don't over-mix!), and quickly divide amongst the prepared muffin cups (they will be fairly full). Bake until a tester comes out clean (or with just a few damp crumbs), ~20-25 minutes. Let cool in pans (they're fairly delicate at first), and make sure they're fully cooled before frosting.

Frosting:

the use of subheadings and candy thermometers should alert you that this is a bit insane. That said, it's totally delicious, and rewards your fussing by being fairly indestructible in the end. But feel free to add the aromatics to your favorite frosting recipe instead. Also this frosting looks amazing when piped, but kinda fugly if you try to spread it. If you (like me) don't have a pastry bag, just transfer the frosting to to a plastic bag, cut a large opening in the bottom, and use it to pipe gorgeous swirls on top of your cupcakes.

Creme Anglaise:
1/2 cup sugar
5 large egg yolks
1/2 cup coconut milk (or milk)
1" galanga root, hacked into slices (substitute ginger if unavailable)
Meringue:
1/3 cup + 2 Tbsp sugar, divided
2 Tbsp water
2 large egg whites
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
To Finish:
3/4 lb butter, softened to room temperature (if not fully warmed, the mixture will curdle, so be patient)
1/2 cup coconut cream (you can buy this separately, or just take the solid stuff that rises to the top of a can of coconut milk)
1/2 tsp vanilla
zest of 2 kaffir limes (or regular limes)
2 stalks lemongrass, peeled to their tender inner bits and finely grated
1 bunch Thai basil, leaves separated out for garnish, stems finely grated (this worked fine on a microplane grater, but if it fails for you, just aim for a fine mince)
1/2 cup coconut curls, lightly toasted (beware: the line between 'toasted' and 'burnt' can be crossed quickly)

Ready? Okay! Start with the creme anglaise: Whisk together the egg yolks and sugar in a small bowl. Heat the coconut milk up with the galanga root until almost boiling, then whisk a few spoonfuls of it into the egg yolk mixture to temper. Gradually whisk in the remaining mix mixture, and pour back into your pan. Heat over a medium-low heat until it begins to steam and a thermometer reads 170, then immediately take off the heat and transfer to cool bowl. Set aside and allow to cool completely (you can speed this up in the fridge, or do it in advance). If it curdles at all during heating, pass through a strainer (but return the galanga to infuse while it cools).

Next up: meringue! Mix together the 1/3 cup sugar and the water in a saucepan, and simmer gently until it dissolves.

In the meanwhile, beat the eggs, gradually increasing the speed of the beaters, until foamy. Add the cream of tartar and remaining 2 Tbsp sugar, beating until soft peaks form.

When the meringue is ready, go back to your sugar syrup, and raise the heat. Boil until it reaches 248-250 degrees, then grab it off the stove, turn the beaters back on, and drizzle it into the meringue (I aim to have it hit the side of the bowl just before the surface of the egg whites, so that it can trickle down into the mixture without cooling too much or being spattered by the beaters). Beat for a few more minutes, until completely cool. Whew! Set aside.

Now the relatively easy part: Place the softened butter and coconut cream in the bowl of a stand mixer (or a large bowl if using a hand-held mixer). Beat until fluffy. Add the vanilla, lime zest, grated lemongrass, and grated Thai basil stems. Mmm. Now take out the cooled Creme Anglaise (toss the galanga), and beat that in until combined. Add the meringue, and beat until just combined. Taste and adjust seasonings as desired.

To finish the cupcakes: Transfer the frosting to a pastry bag (or plastic bag), and pipe gorgeous fat swirls onto your fully cooled cupcakes. Top each frosted cupcake with a sprinkle of coconut, and a basil leaf (these will sadly get a bit wilty as the night wears on, so do that at the last minute). Birthday candle optional.

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.

Vegan Chocolate Peanut Butter Cream Pie

If you spend time in certain circles (those of the vegan persuasion), at some point someone will try to get you to eat a foul-sounding "pie" made of melted chocolate chips and tofu. This friend will assure you that it is phenomenal, that it tastes just like a chocolate silk pie, and has none of that nasty soy aftertaste. This person will be wrong on all counts.

But there is a way to make a delicious vegan chocolate pie that tastes good. And I don't mean "good by vegan standards" -- I mean "good." Like this pie. Seriously, look at it. Don't you want a bite?

This pie follows the basic chocolate cream pie template, using the solid-at-room-temperature cocoa butter of chocolate to stabilize an airy whipped topping (I used a commercial vegan cream replacement that whips up like cream, but only because my dining companion balked at the delicious saturated fat of coconut cream -- you can substitute that instead for a slightly denser but perhaps more delicious result). I added a layer of smooth peanut butter-coconut cream filling as well (because isn't every chocolate dessert better with peanut butter?), and poured it into an almond meal crust (though you can easily use your favorite cookie crumb crust instead). And to gild the lily I topped everything with the salty-sweet snap of candied peanuts.

And if this isn't enough sweetness for you, you can check out my story on the almond-and-cream deliciousness of Swedish Shrove Tuesday semlor over at NPR. It's a lovely practice, but truth be told I think this vegan pie might be even more delicious. I know, who am I these days?

Vegan Chocolate Peanut Butter Cream Pie

serves ~8-10, depending on level of enthusiasm
Crust and chocolate filling inspired by BitterSweet, peanut butter filling freestyled, candied peanuts adapted from David Lebovitz

Candied Peanuts:
this yields slightly more than you'll need, but it's hard to stop eating them so that's probably for the best
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
1 cup dry-roasted peanuts
 hefty pinch coarse salt

Crust:
1 1/2 cups almond meal
3 Tbsp cocoa powder
2 Tbsp sugar
3 Tbsp melted margarine

Peanut Butter Layer:
1/2 cup smooth peanut butter
1/3 cup coconut cream (the thick solid layer on top of a can of coconut milk)
2 Tbsp maple syrup or corn syrup, or sugar to taste
splash vanilla
hefty pinch salt

Chocolate Layer:
12 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped to bits (or chocolate chips)
10 ounce package whippable vegan cream (I used this)
2 Tbsp corn syrup (optional, but gives it a nice gloss)

To make the candied peanuts: Have a cookie sheet at the ready. Mix the sugar and water in a medium skillet over a medium-high flame, until the sugar melts and dissolves. Add the peanuts and salt, and cook, stirring regularly, until the sugar mixture begins to darken (often the mixture turns sandy before it re-melts and darkens, which is totally normal but this last time I added a bit more water and it didn't - I gave the recipe here as I made it, but don't worry if the sandy stage happens to you -- it will remelt). Turn the peanuts constantly with a heat-proof spatula as this happens, until the sugar is darkly-colored but not burnt (caution: this is a narrow window). Turn the peanuts out onto the cookie sheet, breaking them up into clumps if you can (if they're too hot or the sugar is trailing into whisps as you try, just wait until they've cooled and hardened and you can do it then). Set aside.

To make the crust: Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Mix together the almond meal, cocoa powder, and sugar. Add the melted margarine, stirring to combine, and press the mixture into a 9" tart pan. The mixture will make a very thin layer -- this makes it a bit difficult to evenly distribute, but makes for a lovely end result. Bake ~10 minutes, until it colors very slightly. Set aside to cool.

To make the peanut butter filling: Whip together all of the filling ingredients until smooth. Taste and adjust as needed. Pour into your baked and cooled pie shell.

To make the chocolate filling and finish the pie: In a microwave or over a double-boiler, melt the chocolate (don't over-cook!), and allow to cool just slightly. Stir in the corn syrup.

Whip the 'cream' for 2-3 minutes, until light and fluffy and tripled in volume. Take a dollop of the whipped cream and stir it into the chocolate mixture to lighten, then gently fold the lightened chocolate into the cream. Gently spread the chocolate on top of the peanut butter filling. Chill the pie for several hours to set, then sprinkle with the candied peanuts and serve.

Pajeon (Korean Pancakes)

Sometimes you make something for dinner, and wonder why you are not making it almost every week. Like Korean pancakes.

What's not to love? They're easy, easy, easy. They involve one bowl and one pan (well, unless you want to make things quicker and get a few pans going), they have both vegetable and protein, and they're fairly cheap. And delicious. I'd tell you more, but I already did over at The Oregonian. Hello, weeknight inspiration! And if you want to follow your pajeon with a dessert pancake, you can also find the recipe for this swedish saffranspannkaka.

Also if you want a bit more cabbage than the paejon provides, check out my cabbagetastic spread from last week -- also at The Oregonian.

Sephardic Fish with Olives

My genetic roots may be in Eastern Europe, but my culinary heart belongs to North Africa -- I have yet to find a saffron-lemon-parsley dish that I don't like. These bright flavors are welcome any time, but especially during the rainy slog of winter. And so I present to you this Sephardic fish with olives.

I recently spent a lovely afternoon with a couple of Sephardic women from the Isle of Rhodes, learning about their traditional cuisine (and snacking on sweet biscochos de huevo and savory boyikos -- more on that sometime soon, I hope). I went home with a full stomach, and a craving for lemony tomato sauce, for saffron and garlic and olive oil. I pulled out a Sephardic Israeli cookbook I hadn't used in a while, and remembered a dish it had once inspired. And it was perfect.

This olivey fish is bright and sunny, with a short list of ingredients creating a surprisingly complex sauce. And, best of all, these exotic flavors come together in a one-pot easy recipe -- just add some couscous, rice or crusty bread to sop up the sauce (I also cooked up my favorite Moroccan carrot and chard salad, but that's entirely optional). You start with olive oil and garlic (of course), warmed up with a pinch of saffron and turmeric. This comes together into a sauce with a bit of tomato puree and water, then gets a briny hit of green olives. The fish simmers in this lovely mixture, absorbing the flavors of the sauce. Then the whole dish is finished with a bit of chopped cilantro and fresh lemon juice. The result is deep and savory, but also light and bright. I had to stop myself from licking the bowl.

Sephardic Fish with Olives

inspired by a chicken dish in Sheilah Kaufman's Sephardic Israeli Cuisine 
serves 3-4

2 Tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup tomato puree
1/2 tsp turmeric
big pinch saffron
1/2 cup water
handful green olives (olives with pits tend to soften into the sauce better, but feel free to go with pitted if you don't want the hassle)
1 lb white fish fillets or steaks (I used swai)
1/2 bunch cilantro, finely chopped
juice of 1/2 lemon
few dashes hot sauce
salt to taste

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over a medium heat, then add the garlic and sautee for a few minutes, until it just begins to brown. Add the tomato puree (careful of spatters!), turmeric, saffron, stir for a minute, and then add the water and olives. Bring the mixture up to a simmer, and simmer for a couple of minutes, until it comes together and thickens slightly. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then add the fish fillets/steaks, nestling them in the sauce. Cover, and simmer gently until the fish is almost done (the exact time will vary, depending upon the type and size of the fish). When it's a few minutes shy of done, add the cilantro, lemon juice, and hot sauce, stirring gently to combine. Taste and season as needed. Re-cover and cook until done. Serve with crusty bread or couscous.

Kumquat-Pink Peppercorn Spritzer

I've been having a lot of wintertime meals lately. Mushroom barley soup, root vegetable pancakes, piles of whole wheat pasta. Warm and hearty, and perfect for this dank and rainy season. But at the same time: a whole lot of brown.

And so, when I saw this bright bevy on TheKitchn, I was instantly smitten. Orange! And pink! All piquant flavors and bubbly brightness, perfect for cutting through the wintertime mud.

The simple pink peppercorn-infused syrup comes together in just a couple of minutes, and a handful of kumquats can be sliced up while it cools. Add seltzer, and that's it. Easy! I had a few spoonfuls of pink peppercorns left over from a recent Turkish dinner party, and picked up a handful of in-season kumquats from the store (if you haven't tried these tiny wintertime fruits, with their confusing sweet-peel/sour-fruit dynamic, I highly recommend you check them out).

I brought this drink to a neighborhood happy hour party, and it was a huge hit (both as a punchy mocktail on its own and combined with a hit of gin). It's sweet but not too sweet, and with a bright sour hit from the kumquats and an addictive spicy note from the pink peppercorns. It's the perfect tonic for the wintertime browns.

And, if you'd like another bit of wintertime color, I recently produced a radio story on a local fishing-shanty-inspired art festival in Minnesota. On a frozen lake. It took me several hours to regain feeling in my toes, but it was worth it. You can check it out over at NPR.

Kumquat-Pink Peppercorn Spritzer

adapted from The Kitchn
serves ~10

3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup water
scant Tbsp pink peppercorns, crushed (you can just do this with your fingers)
~24 kumquats
2 liters seltzers
ice

Place the sugar, water, and peppercorns in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil for one minute, then turn off the heat and let cool (you can move to the fridge when it's cool enough). This step can be done in advance.

While the syrup is cooling, thinly slice the kumquats, flicking/squeezing out the seeds (they're fairly edible, so no worries if you don't get them all, but in general people don't like seeds in their beverages). Place the sliced kumquats in a large pitcher (or divide between three quart jars). Pour a little of the cooled syrup over them, and muddle with a muddler (or the handle of a wooden spoon) to smush the kumquat slices and release their oils and juices.