Sesame-Ginger Rice Krispie Treats

When it comes to food allergies, there are some real rough ones out there. People so sensitive to cross-contamination that they can never eat at restaurants, or passengers who can scarcely breathe the air on planes serving in-flight peanuts. Compared to them, my sister has it pretty easy. All she has to avoid is sesame seeds. Beyond a proper tahini-laden falafel and the occasional bun or bagel, there's not much she misses. But these days, I feel a bit sorry for her. Because she can't eat these sesame-ginger rice krispie treats.

This recipe comes from the mad geniuses at Momofuku Milk Bar (via Gilt Taste), and for the most part follows the standard 1920s formula. You've got the usual sticky-sweet goo of melted marshmallows and a bit of butter, used to pull together a pile of rice cereal into something far more delicious than the sum of its parts. But here's the simple addition that takes it up several notches: toasted sesame seeds and fresh ginger juice. That's it, but it feels like so much more. The seeds give a nutty depth, and the ginger juice gives a shot of spicy-hot flavor. Together they cut through the sweetness a bit, keeping things from getting too cloying, but still keeping it firmly in the realm of a sweetly addictive dessert. It's comfort food gone elegant, and unless your allergy restrictions require otherwise, I strongly recommend giving it a go.

Sesame-Ginger Rice Krispie Treats

adapted, but hardly, from Helen Jo at Momofuku Milk Bar, via Gilt Taste
yields ~50 (the original recipe made twice this amount, which I think would lead to some very poor choices, so I halved it)

1 Tbsp white sesame seeds
1 Tbsp black sesame seeds (if you can't find them, feel free to use all white sesame seeds)
1 1/2 Tbsp butter
1/2 Tbsp ginger juice (I like to grate the ginger and then squeeze the juice out with a garlic press)
pinch salt
2 cups miniature marshmallows (I used vegan marshmallows, which took a while to melt but worked fine in the end)
3 cups Rice Krispies (or its hippie equivalent)

Butter an 8" square pan and set aside. Heat a large pot over a medium-low heat, and dry-toast the sesame seeds, moving them around so they toast evenly, until the white ones have darkened slightly (~4-5 minutes). Transfer to a small dish.

Add the butter, ginger juice, salt and marshmallows to the pot. Cook, stirring, until the marshmallows are totally melted. Remove from heat, then add the Rice Krispies and sesame seeds, stirring well until the mixture is well-combined. Turn the mixture out into the buttered pan, pressing firmly to compress it evenly. When it cools, turn it out and cut into bite-sized pieces (seriously, go for bite-sized -- these pack a wallop).

A Cavalcade of Fried: Chanukah Pakora, Zeppole and Chickpea

Last year I gave you latkes for Chanukah, both traditional and fancypants. And latkes will be on my holiday menu this week as well. But really, why stop there?

This December I decided to push Chanukah's greasy fried-food tradition a little further, and rustled up some recipes for cauliflower and onion Indian pakora fritters, smoky Iberian fried chickpeas, and, in what was nearly my downfall, some oh-my-goodness amazing Italian zeppole doughnuts filled with an orange-scented, chocolate-studded creamy mascarpone filling (I posted the picture on Facebook, and an eager friend showed up on my doorstep within 45 minutes and relieved me of the remainder, before I ended up with a delicious stomachache). You can get recipes for all of the above deliciousness over at The Oregonian.

And what better to wash this down with than a frosty mug of Hanukkah beer? What? You think beer is a bit too goyische for the Festival of Lights? Then click on over to NPR to hear about the surprisingly long history of Jews and booze. Happy Hanukkah!

Quinoa with Broccoli, Avocado and Feta

Last week I was working on an audio project, trying to cajole a two-year-old into singing "the wheels on the bus" into my microphone. My story is about public transit, and it would have made a fairly adorable little coda. But, as it turns out, two-year-olds don't always want to do what you want them to. Who knew?

As part of my assignment I snapped a few pictures of the willful little cherub, and as part of my song-taping tactic I scrolled through them to get him in good spirits. See look, it's you! Who is that? That's right! And what's that? In the middle of all this, I accidentally landed on these broccoli photos (the problem of scrolling through a food blogger's camera). Surprisingly, these turned out to be a highly amusing for the toddler set. I couldn't get this kid to sing the song in the end. But I did get lots of amusing tape of him saying bwoccoli, and then giggling at the absurdity of it all.

I can't say I share my subject's wide-eyed amusement with this dish. But I can say, without reservation, that this is a really really good dish, one of my happiest recent discoveries. It comes from 101 Cookbooks, and is a perfect trifecta of a recipe -- simple, healthy, and delicious all at once. And it's not just everyday delicious -- it's delicious in a really interesting way. 101 Cookbooks takes some basic ingredients, but uses them in an inventive (and wholly successful) combination. Broccoli is just barely cooked, and then you enjoy the delicious florets whole while blitzing the ho-hum stems into a garlicky pesto, which dresses up some quinoa. Then you toss in some buttery avocado and briny feta (and, if you follow the recommendations, some slivered almonds, but I ran out). It's my new favorite weeknight song.

Quinoa with Broccoli, Avocado and Feta

adapted, a bit liberally, from 101 Cookbooks
serves ~4, though we felt compelled to eat ridiculously large portions because it was so very good

If you want to make the broccoli pesto on its own (or have more control over the cooking time), you can boil the broccoli for a minute in salted water, then shock it to stop the cooking. But the lazyman's one-pot version seems to work quite well.

2 cups salted water
1 cup quinoa
1 large bunch broccoli, cut into small florets and stems (peel if needed), ~ 5 cups
1 clove garlic, pressed (pressing isn't necessary if your blender or food processor works well, but I always seem to be left with a surprising jolt of garlic chunk if I don't cut it up first)
1/2 cup sliced or slivered almonds, toasted
juice of 1/2 small lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
1 ripe avocado, cubed
1/4 cup crumbled feta

Bring the water to a boil in a large pot. Add the quinoa, cover, and lower the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cook for 15 minutes, then turn off the heat, and add the broccoli and stems, and re-cover and allow to steam for 5 minutes. The broccoli should turn bright green and become just barely tender.

When everything has cooked, scoop the broccoli stems into a food processor or blender, and tip the remaining broccoli and quinoa into a serving bowl (if you don't want to fuss picking out the stems from tops, you can just take half the broccoli and not worry about which is which, but I find that going for just stems in the pesto isn't too much of a bother). Add the garlic, half of the almonds, the lemon juice and the oil into the processor, and pulse until a fairly smooth pesto is formed. Add salt and pepper to taste -- if you're using feta, you won't need as much salt, but keep in mind that the pesto will be spread throughout the quinoa. Tip the pesto onto the quinoa, and toss to coat evenly. top with the avocado, feta, and remaining almonds, and serve.

(Partially Whole Wheat) Challah

A few years ago I heard a certain Minnesota public radio host say that, when it comes right down to it, the best pumpkin pie you ever had is really not all that different from the worst pumpkin pie you ever had. And I got to say that I'm pretty much with him. There are dishes where technique and ingredients make a huge impact, and different versions of the recipe are barely recognizable as the same species. And then there are dishes where, unless you flub things disastrously, the difference between takes is a bit more subtle. Like pumpkin pie. Or challah. Which is all to say that most challah that I've had (and I'm talking homemade, not the cottony grocery-store versions) have been good. I mean, if you've got an enriched, honey-sweet eggy bread, how can it not be? It's just that this version is a little bit better.

This recipe comes via the lovely blog Sassy Radish, and has a few masterful tweaks that raise it above the usual specimen (without require any additional culinary knowledge or fussing). First off, it's a well-hydrated dough, which means that it's softer and stickier than you may think it should be, but rewards you with a moist, well-textured loaf. And instead of the usual water and vegetable oil for the liquid, you use some orange juice and olive oil -- they're subtle enough that you might not be able to call them out if you didn't know, but they give the challah a more complex flavor and sweet-savory edge. It's light and airy (even given the whole wheat flour I always feel compelled to add), with a burnished golden crust, and a rich flavor. Yeah, sometimes things are only better by subtle degrees. But still -- why not go for better?

(Partially Whole Wheat) Challah

adapted (and whole wheat-ized, because that seems to be what I do) from Sassy Radish, from a recipe by the ever-amazing Melissa Clark)

yields one large loaf -- I recently halved the recipe for a dinner for four, where it was nearly demolished

1/2 cup orange juice
1/4 cup water
1 Tbsp. active yeast
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
1/3 cup olive oil
1/3 cup honey (this makes for a challah with a pronounced sweet edge - you can cut it down if you want something more neutral, but it's lovely as it is)
1 tsp coarse salt
2 cups whole wheat flour (if you're not a fan of whole-grain breads, you can use all white flour instead)
~2 cups bread flour
1 egg, lightly beaten with a splash of water (henceforth known as the egg wash)

Pour the orange juice and water in the bowl of a stand mixer, then sprinkle in the yeast. Let sit ~5 minutes, to allow the yeast to soften and bloom.

Add the egg, egg yolks, oil, honey and salt. Fit the mixer with a whisk attachment, and mix until the liquid is well-blended. Add the whole wheat flour, mixing until it forms a batter.

Remove the whisk attachment, and fit the mixer with a dough hook. Add the white flour, bit by bit, until a soft and sticky dough is formed that just clears the sides of the mixing bowl, but still sticks to the bottom. Continue kneading with the dough hook for a few more minutes, to form supple, sticky, and well-developed dough.

Lightly oil a large bowl, and turn the dough out into it. Swish it around, then flip it over, so that the top is oiled as well. Cover the bowl, and let rise until doubled, ~1-2 hours, depending upon the temperature of the room. When risen, punch it down to deflate (I like to flip it over at this point, but it's not necessary), and let rise another half hour to an hour, until it begins to rise again. The dough can be refrigerated overnight for either of these rises -- just remove it and give it an hour to come to room temperature before proceeding with the recipe.

After the dough has risen for the second time, line a baking sheet with parchment or dust it with cornmeal. Divide the dough into strands and weave it into a braid of your choosing -- you can do a standard three-strand braid, tucking the edges under, or search the internet for an ornate braiding method of your choosing (I'm currently obsessed with this foursquare braid). Brush the dough with the egg wash (a brush is best for this, but I've made do with my fingers at times), and let it rise until its increased at least by half, ~45 minutes to 1 1/2 hours, depending upon the room temperature.

While the dough is rising, preheat the oven to 375 degrees farenheit.

When the dough has completed its final rise, give it another brush with the egg wash (be delicate to avoid deflate all that nice rising that's just happened). Bake until the bread is burnished to a dark brown and smells done, ~30-45 minutes. Transfer to a rack, and allow to cool fully before slicing.

Corn Cookies

 

I like to think that my mental state is influenced by factors deeper than the weather. If, say, I am depressed, it's because the human condition is depressing, right? Not because of the cloud cover or ambient temperature. But that doesn't seem to be the case. As much as I like to think that I'm some rarified being walking around in a human suit, in truth I'm a pretty simple animal, and my inner life is affected by my outer surroundings. Give me a warm spring evening, with balmy air and ever-later sunset, and I'm suffused with a feeling of hope, that you know, things are really gonna be alright after all! And give me a spate of gray, rainy days, like we've been having lately? Sigh.....

So yeah, things have been feeling a little bleak lately. Rain has been pelting down with a near-biblical vengeance, so much so that salmon are actually crossing the street. It's hard not to take it a bit personally. I need a little sunshine to restore my faith in the rightness of the world. And, since the outside world isn't helping me out, I baked up a little sunshine of my own.

These corn cookies are just about as sunny as can be (in addition to having the ever-important fat and sugar required for happiness). The recipe comes from Christina Tosi, at Momofuku Milk Bar. Tosi packs a ridiculous amount of corn flavor into these cookies, thanks to corn flour and the freeze-dried kernels themselves. She also has a great technique where she whips the bejesus out of butter and sugar, going beyond creaming to a whole new level of texture. The resulting cookies are crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, and as much as I tend to favor wee bite-sized cookies, making them large maximizes this contrast of textures in a delicious way. I suppose that relying on baked goods for mental health may be a somewhat dangerous policy. But on these gray winter days, it really does make the world a little sweeter.

Corn Cookies

adapted from Momofuku Milk Bar, as printed in Lucky Peach

yields ~18 cookies

Dehydrated corn can be found in the natural-food or snack section of larger supermarkets. If you can't find it, and decide that rather than try another store you'll just get the bag of mixed dehydrated vegetables and pick out the corn kernels, there's a strong likelihood that your finished cookies will end up tasting a bit like dehydrated peppers and tomatoes, and you'll have to scrap the batch and start again. I'm just sayin'.

2 sticks (225 grams) butter, warmed to room temperature (Tosi favors high-fat butter like Plugra)

1 1/2 cups (300 grams) sugar

1 egg

1 1/3 cups (225 grams) flour

1/4 cup (45 grams) corn flour (this is ground to a flour-like consistency, unlike the coarser cornmeal, and can be found in gluten-free sections of your supermarket -- in a pinch, you could probably try to blitz cornmeal in a blender and substitute that)

2/3 cup (65 grams) freeze-dried corn powder (freeze-dried corn is available at Whole Foods or other natural food stores, and easily grinds to a powder in your blender)

3/4 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp baking soda

1 1/2 tsp coarse salt

Place the butter and sugar in a mixer (ideally fitted with a paddle attachment), and cream on medium-high until light and fluffy, 2-3 minutes. Scrape down the sides with a spatula, then begin blending on a medium-low speed and add the egg. Increase speed back to medium-high, and blend for a full 8 minutes. During this time, the sugar dissolves and the whole mixture becomes pale and nearly doubles in volume.

While the mixture is blending, sift together the flour, corn flour, corn powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

After the uber-blend has finished, reduce the heat to low and add the dry ingredients, mixing until it just comes together (as ever, tis better to under-mix than to over-mix).  Line a sheet pan with parchment, and scoop out 1/4 cup-sized cookies. Cover the pan with plastic wrap or a plastic bag,a nd refrigerate for at least an hour (or up to a week). If you don't have the fridge space for a sheet pan, you can use plates, and then transfer to a sheet tray before baking. This chilling step is critical for keeping the butter-heavy cookies from greasing all over the place, so don't skip it.

When your doughballs have chilled, preheat the oven to 350 degrees farenheit. Make sure the cookeis are at least 3 inches apart on their parchment-lined sheets (I tend to pack them onto one tray for chilling in my space-challenged fridge, then spread them out on multiple sheets for baking). Bake ~18 minutes, until very faintly browned on the edges, but still bright yellow in the center.

Let cool completely on the baking sheet, then transfer to a plate for serving or airtight container for storage. Corn cookies keep ~5 days, or in the freezer for a month.

Txipirones en su Tinta (Squid in Ink Sauce)

According to every American website and magazine, I should be spending these days thinking about pies and cranberry relish, about on-sale luxury gifts for my holiday lists. But I'm not. I'm still thinking about sweet and briny shrimp the size of your thumbnail,

horses sunning themselves on wind-swept mountains,

and bucolic towns in rolling hills (which also have Michelin-starred restaurants).

And squid.

Okay, I realize that many out there are not fans of squid (and I also realize that my somewhat turd-like picture probably doesn't help the cause). Squid are, for lack of a better word, kind of oogy. It's hard to see those tentacles without imagining them wrapping wetly around your ankles (or is that just me?), and jet-black is not generally an appetizing color when it comes to sauces (or, really, any food item beyond olives and caviar). But despite its aesthetic handicaps, this is one heck of a dish.

I've heard it said that squid should be cooked either two minutes or two hours. There's some truth to this -- a quick turn in the pan leaves squid tender, but cook them for more than a few minutes and they toughen up to an unappetizingly rubbery consistency. If you want to return them back to a chewable delicacy, you've got to stew them for a good long time until they soften again. This traditional recipe takes the long view, which not only softens the squid, but deepens the flavor of the dark, briny sauce. And while the squid picture lacks the majesty of my other shots of the Basque Country, it captures the same spirit: a simple, un-fussy approach to some of the best ingredients in life.

Txipirones en su Tinta (Squid in Ink Sauce)

traditional, as interpreted by Iñaki Guridi
serves 4

1 1/2 lbs squid, cleaned
1/4 cup olive oil, divided
2 red onions, diced
1 green pepper, diced
2 packets squid ink
1/4 cup red wine
1 cup water or fish/seafood broth, plus additional as needed
2 slices baguette, cubed
bread or rice for serving

Take the tentacles of the squid, and stuff them inside of the tubes (squid in the Basque Country are conveniently sold this way, but if yours come separately this step won't take much time). Don't worry about closing the tubes around their contents -- as the squid cook both the tubes and tentacles will swell, sealing them into neat little packets.

Heat half of the olive oil in a soup pot or large skillet over a medium-high heat. Add the squid in a single layer (you may need to do this in batches), sauteing until they brown lightly, ~3-4 minutes per side. Remove and set aside.

Add the remaining oil, lower the heat to medium-low, and add the onion and pepper. Saute, stirring occasionally, until totally softened but not browned, ~30 minutes.

While the onion and pepper are cooking, carefully open the ink packets (unsurprisingly, this stuff kinda stains), and squeeze into a small glass. Add the wine and the water/broth, stirring well to blend.

When the onions and pepper are soft, add the ink-wine mixture, and saute for a few more minutes. Add the cubed bread, and cook another 5 minutes. Transfer to a blender (or use an immersion blender), and blend until the mixture is smooth. Add additional water/broth if needed, to create a gravy-like consistency.

Return the squid to the pan, along with the ink sauce. Bring the mixture to a simmer, then cover and lower the heat until it just barely maintains its simmer. Cook for an hour. Serve with bread or rice to sop up the sauce.

Kale and Rye Bread Panade

I've just left the Basque Country and headed back toward the Pacific Northwest, embarking on a truly epic amount of travel time. And mourning. Back to work and daily life, where it only takes one 'k' instead of three to say thanks. No more freshly-caught hake, home-infused sloe liqueur, or hand-made European cheese (with the exception of a chunk stowed in my luggage, courtesy of a visit to an overly-friendly convent in Idiazabal). And, worst of all, no more of my dear friends, to have a drink with while hanging out on cobblestone streets on balmy Autumn evenings, or to teach me the livestock-specific call for every farm animal we passed on our many walks. I've still got a few meals to log from my trip, and a handful of recipes to try at home. But for now, I need some comfort food.

I had the good fortune of encountering this recipe from Portland's Fressen Bakery a few weeks ago for my story on rye, and it manages to combine two of my favorite things: rye bread, and leftover-repurposing thrift. If you haven't yet met the panade, I heartily encourage you to become acquainted. Cubes of stale bread (and really, it can be any crusty loaf, not just rye) are enriched with aromatics and other additions (in this case, caramelized onions, fennel seeds, a bit of vinegar and wine and a whole lot of kale), then tossed with cheese. Then the whole mess is given a good drink of flavorful broth, and baked until bubbly. The result is heavenly. It's like the best part of stuffing, but made softer, saucier, and a bit healthier (especially if you, like me, use an overly-hefty helping of kale).

I love the balance of flavors in this version, and the way that the sour vinegar and wine offset the heftier bread and cheese, but really you can freestyle a panade with any combination of breads, cheeses, herbs and vegetables that are knocking around your pantry. I was going to write that it's enough to soften the blow of returning back to my normal stateside life, with its presence of workdays and absence of red-tiled roofs. To be fair, that might be too tall an order. But this is really delicious, a bit of a culinary blanket to curl up with and make the rainy Northwest days a little warmer. You can find the recipe here, courtesy of The Oregonian.