THE MASHED POTATOES: I learned that you cannot prepare mashed potatoes ahead of time, not even an hour. For FLUFFY potatoes—and isn’t that the point?—the potatoes should be steamed rather than boiled (not water-logged this way), put through the food mill or ricer hot, blended with melted sweet butter and hot half-and-half (proportions are easy: ½ stick butter and ½ cup half-and-half per pound of russets, which serves 2 to 3) salted and white-peppered, turned into a warm bowl, sent straight to the buffet. Hard to do when there’s so much else going on at the last minute, but worth it...
SUMMER TRUFFLES: At the market I saw a little jar with four small black balls labeled “Summer Truffles,” temptingly priced, I was thrilled—I’d add them to the mashed potatoes. Yesterday morning I opened the jar, cut the first into slivers and tasted a piece, quivering with anticipation. Wow. I looked down at the bits. Really? Is it possible? I tasted another. It was possible. Zero flavor. Zip. None. Today I Googled the term and read, “Summer truffles do not have as strong an aroma or taste as winter truffles do.” Understatement of the year.
THE CANDIED SWEET POTATOES: I’m done using canned sweets. Not worth saving time and energy…many pieces are mushy, but more importantly, their flavor has no depth. And I’m not sure that pouring maple syrup over the slices in a gratin dish is the answer…I added orange zest and melted sweet butter, but they were blah. The best candied sweets are cooked pieces finished in a skillet with brown sugar and butter, yes? Besides, having just one oven, the fewer dishes I have to bake after the turkey comes out, the better.
THE GIBLET GRAVY: Two days’ cooking is not too long for memorable gravy. I simmered the turkey giblets with buckets of chicken hearts and gizzards in low-sodium beef broth on Tuesday, let them chill, then first thing I did yesterday morning was chop them coarsely and set them again to simmering. At some point, I decided to finish the gravy as much as I could, adding Madeira, Kitchen Bouquet (my grandmother’s favorite seasoning, and how a slosh of this deep brown coloring made of caramel and vegetables transforms gravy from lackluster to rich), and Wondra flour (blessings on it for not making lumps). Simmered simmered simmered. When the turkey was done around 2:00 o’clock, I turned everything in the bottom of the roasting pan (yes, even the bit of melted fat), and boy oh boy, THAT DID IT! I’ve never ever made such a gravy.
STUFFING BAKED IN THE TURKEY: Not going to do it again. First of all, the powers that be make a big thing about the stuffing reaching 165 degrees before you can safely serve it…and maybe it will reach that temp and maybe it won’t. Second of all, when my son carved the turkey, I was too busy to remember to ask him to spoon the stuffing into a bowl, in slicing, he did not notice it, and last night when I was putting food away, I found soft stuffing mooshed all around the turkey platter. Ah. The stuffing I had baked (bread cubes, cooked chestnuts, dried cranberries) was the perfect texture. From now on, my turkey will roast empty.
THE DRY BRINED TURKEY: Yes, I did it, began Monday morning. And yes it was easy. Yes the bird roasted to an amazing bronze, the meat was juicy, and not salty. Great success. Except its 15 pounds 12 ounces reached 165 degrees IN TWO HOURS! Yoiks. I’d counted on close to three. I put the turkey back in the oven at 200 degrees and let it think about things while I gathered my wits…no harm done. Next year I’ll know better.
THE CREAMED ONIONS: I saw the bags of frozen pearl onions, they looked darling. They were darling and my cream sauce was super (if I do say so myself—I flicked in a hint of Parmigiano-Reggiano, imperceptible but added depth). However, the onions were too dainty—again, I regretted trying to save time and energy. Next year, back to fresh boiling onions…meatier, more flavor.
THE GINGER PUMPKIN MICE (lame joke…plural of mousses): I saw an appealing recipe in “The Silver Palate Cookbook” that could be a dessert for people who don’t want pie. Typical me, it wasn’t until I was ready to assemble the recipe—the oven was heated to custard’s 325 degrees, all my little ramekins were prettily lined up—that I realized it was made with gelatin, and uncooked. THE EGGS WERE RAW! Oh my. Considering what a fuss is made about the potential danger of eating raw eggs, I was interested—and reassured —that this recipe had held its place in an edition published in 2007. I decided to make the dessert and tell everybody, and if they were nervous, they could pass. No one passed, and the smooth pumpkin cream with chopped candied ginger on top was delectable. Somehow it was comforting, preparing a dish from another era when danger did not lurk behind every raw egg...
THE PEOPLE: Yep, you guessed it. My family and friends around our Thanksgiving table are what made the dinner marvelous. Good food is nice but good people are what one is thankful for…
THE AVOIRDUPOIS: Now I have to do a heck of a lot more walking…and less eating…to drop the two pounds I gained in the feast. I don’t mind. The thinking, the cooking, the eating, the camaraderie, made it a wonderful wonderful Thanksgiving.
And it’s always good to keep learning.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
French Truffle-Flavored Chicken Liver Terrine (for a Crowd)
I’m still cooking for the family party we’re having Sunday afternoon…looks to be 75 to 80 friends stopping by. I wanted to make a creamy pate to spread on crackers and toasts rather than the sort of sturdy composition of meats (also called pate) one bakes, slices, and serves on a plate with a fork.
I went straight to the young Jacques Pepin’s, “A French Chef Cooks At Home” for his Terrine de Foies de Volaille. In my years of giving big parties, it was my mainstay—always the best I ever ate. (I confess I did gild Pepin’s lily by adding a sweet apple, a trick I learned from a great cook, high school friend of my mother’s, the artist Robert Tyler Lee.)
Today I decided to make a lighter version, use less butter and omit Pepin’s finish of whipped cream. Instead my enrichment was an ingredient I’d never heard of in the 70’s: truffle oil. Truffle oil is costly but an enormous value for the money—a thread, a spoonful, makes an amazing impact in a dish, and a small bottle can last months in the fridge.
Should you, too, be entertaining the masses, here's a recipe for a delectable pate easily made that can be prepared in advance. It serves 40 at least, but of course you can reduce the proportions (or indulge yourself...).
Generous 5 pounds fresh chicken livers
6 cups water
4 leafy stalks celery, cut up to fit the pot
2¼ pounds unsalted butter, softened
4 small Gala or Golden Delicious apples, peeled, cored, chopped small
3 very large shallots or 2 small onions, peeled and chopped small
5 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
¼ cup good brandy
1 rounded teaspoon nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
½ teaspoon ground cloves
4 shakes (1/8 teaspoon) cayenne pepper
3 tablespoons truffle oil
About ½ tablespoon kosher salt
Freshly ground white pepper
While using scissors to snip out the fatty connective tissue of the livers, place the water and celery in a large (at least 4½ quarts) saucepan, bring to a boil, and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the livers, return to a simmer, then reduce the heat, cover, and cook without letting the water boil for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let set 10 more minutes; the centers of the livers should still be slightly pink. Drain in a colander.
Meantime, melt a cube of the butter in a sauté pan and cook the apples, shallots, and garlic over medium-low heat until golden and thoroughly soft.
In batches in a food processor, puree the livers with the butter and apple mixture until smooth smooth smooth. Turn into a large bowl as you go and stir to blend in each batch. Finally, blend in the brandy, nutmeg, cloves, cayenne, then the truffle oil. Add salt and white pepper to taste.
Smooth into serving bowls, cover airtight with plastic film, and refrigerate up to 1 week before serving with French bread, crackers, or toasts.
Cornichon pickles on the side are a nice touch.
I went straight to the young Jacques Pepin’s, “A French Chef Cooks At Home” for his Terrine de Foies de Volaille. In my years of giving big parties, it was my mainstay—always the best I ever ate. (I confess I did gild Pepin’s lily by adding a sweet apple, a trick I learned from a great cook, high school friend of my mother’s, the artist Robert Tyler Lee.)
Today I decided to make a lighter version, use less butter and omit Pepin’s finish of whipped cream. Instead my enrichment was an ingredient I’d never heard of in the 70’s: truffle oil. Truffle oil is costly but an enormous value for the money—a thread, a spoonful, makes an amazing impact in a dish, and a small bottle can last months in the fridge.
Should you, too, be entertaining the masses, here's a recipe for a delectable pate easily made that can be prepared in advance. It serves 40 at least, but of course you can reduce the proportions (or indulge yourself...).
Generous 5 pounds fresh chicken livers
6 cups water
4 leafy stalks celery, cut up to fit the pot
2¼ pounds unsalted butter, softened
4 small Gala or Golden Delicious apples, peeled, cored, chopped small
3 very large shallots or 2 small onions, peeled and chopped small
5 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
¼ cup good brandy
1 rounded teaspoon nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
½ teaspoon ground cloves
4 shakes (1/8 teaspoon) cayenne pepper
3 tablespoons truffle oil
About ½ tablespoon kosher salt
Freshly ground white pepper
While using scissors to snip out the fatty connective tissue of the livers, place the water and celery in a large (at least 4½ quarts) saucepan, bring to a boil, and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the livers, return to a simmer, then reduce the heat, cover, and cook without letting the water boil for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let set 10 more minutes; the centers of the livers should still be slightly pink. Drain in a colander.
Meantime, melt a cube of the butter in a sauté pan and cook the apples, shallots, and garlic over medium-low heat until golden and thoroughly soft.
In batches in a food processor, puree the livers with the butter and apple mixture until smooth smooth smooth. Turn into a large bowl as you go and stir to blend in each batch. Finally, blend in the brandy, nutmeg, cloves, cayenne, then the truffle oil. Add salt and white pepper to taste.
Smooth into serving bowls, cover airtight with plastic film, and refrigerate up to 1 week before serving with French bread, crackers, or toasts.
Cornichon pickles on the side are a nice touch.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Ajvar!
In one of my former lifetimes, I was asked to do an article on Serbian cuisine for a magazine. Truth to tell, I wasn’t sure where Serbia was—had to look it up on the map (yes, it was that long ago). I loved the food I learned about in my research—I’ve always been crazy about earthy Central European cooking. One of my favorite discoveries was Kaymak with Ajvar…bread spread with creamy fresh cheese topped with a piquant puree of roasted sweet peppers and eggplants.
Years passed, I forgot about it, then one day at Trader Joe’s I found imported jars of orangy-red ajvar on the shelf with the tapenades. Oh joy! Richly flavored and super-low in calories*, I went through a jar or two a week, smoothing ajvar (AY-var) on morning toast, lunchtime bread, nibbletime crackers. Then TJ’s dropped it. Oh no!
This weekend there’s a big reception in the family and I volunteered to do the food. I’ll make ajvar, says I to myself. I found luscious peppers and huge eggplants at Costco, and I prepared them last night watching “Masterpiece Contemporary” (excellent episode). It took me the full two hours, I’m afraid. One must peel the peppers—the skins are bitter. Peeling roasted peppers is a meditative act as are many tasks in cooking, and if one chooses to do it, there’s nothing for it but to do it with mindfulness—and the BBC.
This recipe is large but ajvar keeps at least a week in the fridge, and it would be simple to prepare a fraction of the amounts. If you want to be traditional, serve it with fresh creamy cheese. Alan Davidson’s “The Oxford Companion to Food” says kaymak is made with cow’s milk in Europe and the texture is comparable to clotted cream. The Serbian cook who gave me material for that article so long ago said it was fresh goat’s cheese. Doesn’t matter. It’s the play of mild-tasting creamy white against richly flavored creamy orange-red that’s splendid.
I will add this: last night after I finished, I was disappointed. The ajvar wasn’t as flavorful as when I dipped a spoon in this afternoon. So let it ripen before serving.
Something else. To my surprise, I seem to have stumbled on the perfect proportions because I can taste every element in the blend. Doesn’t happen often.
Serbian Spread of Roasted Sweet Red Peppers and Eggplants
(About 50 2-tablespoon servings)
1 cup flavorful olive oil
12 large fleshy sweet red peppers
2 very large or 3 medium eggplants
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon lemon juice
About ½ tablespoon salt
At least 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Set one oven rack in the middle with a baking stone if you have one, set a second rack just above it. Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Brush 1 very large or 2 smaller baking sheets with 2 tablespoons of the oil. Slice peppers in half lengthwise, remove caps and seeds, fit halves cut sides down on the sheets. Slide sheets onto the middle rack. Pierce eggplants with a knife in several places and set whole on the top rack. Roast peppers until soft and edges are blackened, up to an hour. Stack pieces in a bowl, cover with plastic film, and let steam 15 minutes. Scrape off skins, setting pieces in a colander (juices would thin the spread). Continue roasting eggplants till collapsed—large fruits might take another half-hour. Cut open and scoop flesh into colander to drain.
Puree peppers in a food processor and measure. Puree eggplants and measure. My amounts were 4 cups pepper puree, 2½ cups eggplants… adjust your amounts of garlic, lemon juice, salt and pepper proportionately. In the food processor, blend the purees with seasonings, then with the motor running, drizzle in olive oil (I used 14 tablespoons). Not too much oil and not too much processing--consistency should be nice and thick.
Refrigerate and let ripen at least 12 hours before serving.
*This ajvar is about 18 calories per tablespoonful…
Years passed, I forgot about it, then one day at Trader Joe’s I found imported jars of orangy-red ajvar on the shelf with the tapenades. Oh joy! Richly flavored and super-low in calories*, I went through a jar or two a week, smoothing ajvar (AY-var) on morning toast, lunchtime bread, nibbletime crackers. Then TJ’s dropped it. Oh no!
This weekend there’s a big reception in the family and I volunteered to do the food. I’ll make ajvar, says I to myself. I found luscious peppers and huge eggplants at Costco, and I prepared them last night watching “Masterpiece Contemporary” (excellent episode). It took me the full two hours, I’m afraid. One must peel the peppers—the skins are bitter. Peeling roasted peppers is a meditative act as are many tasks in cooking, and if one chooses to do it, there’s nothing for it but to do it with mindfulness—and the BBC.
This recipe is large but ajvar keeps at least a week in the fridge, and it would be simple to prepare a fraction of the amounts. If you want to be traditional, serve it with fresh creamy cheese. Alan Davidson’s “The Oxford Companion to Food” says kaymak is made with cow’s milk in Europe and the texture is comparable to clotted cream. The Serbian cook who gave me material for that article so long ago said it was fresh goat’s cheese. Doesn’t matter. It’s the play of mild-tasting creamy white against richly flavored creamy orange-red that’s splendid.
I will add this: last night after I finished, I was disappointed. The ajvar wasn’t as flavorful as when I dipped a spoon in this afternoon. So let it ripen before serving.
Something else. To my surprise, I seem to have stumbled on the perfect proportions because I can taste every element in the blend. Doesn’t happen often.
Serbian Spread of Roasted Sweet Red Peppers and Eggplants
(About 50 2-tablespoon servings)
1 cup flavorful olive oil
12 large fleshy sweet red peppers
2 very large or 3 medium eggplants
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon lemon juice
About ½ tablespoon salt
At least 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Set one oven rack in the middle with a baking stone if you have one, set a second rack just above it. Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Brush 1 very large or 2 smaller baking sheets with 2 tablespoons of the oil. Slice peppers in half lengthwise, remove caps and seeds, fit halves cut sides down on the sheets. Slide sheets onto the middle rack. Pierce eggplants with a knife in several places and set whole on the top rack. Roast peppers until soft and edges are blackened, up to an hour. Stack pieces in a bowl, cover with plastic film, and let steam 15 minutes. Scrape off skins, setting pieces in a colander (juices would thin the spread). Continue roasting eggplants till collapsed—large fruits might take another half-hour. Cut open and scoop flesh into colander to drain.
Puree peppers in a food processor and measure. Puree eggplants and measure. My amounts were 4 cups pepper puree, 2½ cups eggplants… adjust your amounts of garlic, lemon juice, salt and pepper proportionately. In the food processor, blend the purees with seasonings, then with the motor running, drizzle in olive oil (I used 14 tablespoons). Not too much oil and not too much processing--consistency should be nice and thick.
Refrigerate and let ripen at least 12 hours before serving.
*This ajvar is about 18 calories per tablespoonful…
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