So there I was, having offered to make supper for my mother and two gentlemen friends on a night when I'd be gone all day. I thought of Jacques Pepin's* oven-baked salmon--ohmygosh, you bake salmon on a platter in a 200 degree oven then serve it at room temperature, succulent as can be. Then I remembered Anna Thomas's** salad combination of roasted asparagus with red and golden beets...as I was thinking about this, my eye fell on the sack of blue, red, and golden baby potatoes on the counter--I'll add those, too.
For hors d'oeuvres, I decided to go to Bay Cities Deli for their relish of mixed olives with pimentos and artichoke hearts, three cheeses (one goat's, one sheep's, one cow's), crackers, and mixed nuts. For dessert (Bay Cities is a treasure), I was looking at cookies when I saw the baklava! Unexpected. I picked a Venetian Pinot Grigio for the wine. Yum.
Well, I've made these gents many dinners and they've raved about all of them, but both said this was the absolute best ever. As important, by me, was the fact that I prepared EVERYTHING except the asparagus the night before and stuck it in the fridge. You can't beat that for an easy dinner party dinner...especially in hot weather.
Looking over all this language, the menu might not seem easy. But I assure you, it was. One fish...two simple (and fun) sauces...four vegetables...and it's an interesting meal to put together...the colors are so appealing.
Now my amounts are loose because, frankly, I didn't measure. So feel free to improvise.
COOL OVEN-BAKED SALMON FILLETS
Allow 4 to 6 ounces wild-caught salmon fillet per person...leave the skin on and keep pieces intact. Heat the oven to 200. Brush a platter with canola or peanut oil and arrange fillets skin down. Using about 1 cup fresh breadcrumbs (Pepin calls for 3/4 cup crumbs mixed with 1/4 cup ground hazelnuts, even better), sprinkle evenly over the top as a moisture barrier (brilliant). Bake until an instant-read thermometer in the center of each piece registers 120 degrees, 40 to 60 minutes, depending on thickness. Remove from the oven, cool, then wrap the platter tightly with plastic film and refrigerate. An hour before serving, remove the skin and bring fillets to room temperature (cold salmon is firm rather than moist). Cut into serving size pieces and arrange on a platter, garnish with
ASPARAGUS SPEARS
Up to 3 to 4 hours before dinner, snap off the inedible ends of about 1/4 pound skinny asparagus spears per person and steam or simmer until tender-crisp--do not overcook! (Of course you can roast them if you prefer--425 degrees 15 to 20 minutes--but it'll heat up the kitchen.) Pat dry on a towel, pour over the reserved dill vinaigrette and turn so each spear is covered. Cover lightly and keep at room temperature.
TANGY CREAMY HERB SAUCE
For each person, scoop a generous 1/4 cup good mayonnaise (in which the second ingredient isn't water!) into a mixing bowl. Season with 1 to 2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard, and a scant 1/4 teaspoon minced garlic. Blend in as many chopped bits and very thin short ribbons of fresh herb leaves as possible--I used sweet basil, Italian parsley, dill, thyme, baby spinach, and blanched beet leaves...the sauce should be thick with greens. Cover tightly and refrigerate, then bring to room temperature to serve, tasting first for salt and freshly ground white pepper.
COMPOSED SALAD OF GOLDEN BEETS, RED BEETS, PURPLE AND RED AND GOLDEN BABY POTATOES
Allow 3 small or 1 medium beet of each color and 3 small potatoes per person. Scrub beets, trim stems to 1 inch, roast in an uncovered pan at 400 degrees until easily pierced with a cooking fork, 1/2 to 1 hour, depending on size--or steam the beets, about 20 to 40 minutes (cooler on a hot day). Keep the colors separate so the golds don't absorb any red. Take care not to overcook or they'll be rubbery! When cool enough to handle, slip off the skins. Cut beets into halves, quarters, or even eighths--large bite-size pieces. Steam the potatoes in their jackets until easily pierced with a cooking fork, 20 to 25 minutes--do not overcook! Cut into pieces resembling the beets' sizes. Turn golden beets, red beets, and mixed potatoes into three separate bowls and douse with:
DILL VINAIGRETTE DRESSING
For each person, prepare about 1/2 cup dressing (generous, but the extra a the bottom of the bowls can be drained into a jar and used later):
In a small bowl, whisk 2 tablespoons white wine vinegar, 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, scant 1/4 teaspoon minced garlic, and 1/8 teaspoon salt until the mustard and garlic are thoroughly dispersed. Whisk in 6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil. Snip in about 2 tablespoons minced fresh dill, or maybe more (you can't use too much), and blend. Grind in pepper (white, black, mignonette, or any blend you please) to taste.
Reserve about 1/4 this dressing for the asparagus, then divide the rest among the golden beets, the red beets, and the potatoes. Working with the red beets last, use your hands to turn over each piece in the bowl so all are moistened. Cover tightly and refrigerate. When you think of it during the next day, when you can, at last shake the bowl to re-distribute the dressing.
To serve, line a large shallow bowl or platter with lengthwise slices of endive (1 head per person). Tossing the vegetables one last time, arrange them--separately!--on the platter. Garnish with nasturtium flowers if you have them, or sprigs of fresh dill.
Serve the salmon, asparagus, golden beets, red beets, and blue/red/gold potatoes, and pass the herb sauce.
Wow.
*"Fast Food My Way"
**"The New Vegetarian Epicure"--Anna also roasts heads of garlic with these vegetables, but I omitted it...a bit much with delicate salmon, I think. Instead, I slipped garlic into the green sauce.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Honeyed Greek Yogurt Panna Cotta, Creamy but Skinny!*
Crazy about this…it’s not just delicious, it’s fabulously lean. Traditional panna cotta, three parts heavy cream to one part whole milk, has nearly as much fat per serving as ½ cup butter! while this recipe has close to ½ teaspoon butter. You don’t miss the fat because Greek-style yogurt is so creamy. And it's a breeze to make. Also, for guests, it’s prepared ahead of time. Usually panna cotta is unmolded, but I like to eat it out of a bowl or goblet smothered with fruit. If you serve it within a few hours of chilling—to the point where the gelatin has thickened but not quite gelled—it’s creamiest.
I love this for lunch sprinkled with blueberries or raspberries, just leaning against the garden door watching the birds at the feeder squabbling over their black sunflower seeds. And of course it’s a classic dessert…
That this is healthy should be kept a secret…
Most recipes say this quantity serves 8. Stingy. My sleek little custard cups are broad, shallow, and hold 6 ounces…filling them almost full makes this serve 5…an odd yield, but one can’t stop eating this cream, and I’d be annoyed if I got less…
Place 1 cup of 1% or 2% milk in a quart-size microwave-proof pitcher. Sprinkle over 2 slightly rounded teaspoons plain gelatin (actually 2-1/16 teaspoons, less than 1 envelope). Stir to blend, then ignore for 10 minutes while the milk absorbs the gelatin.
Stir again, cover the pitcher tightly with plastic film, and microwave on full power for 1 minute (about 135 degrees on the instant read thermometer) to dissolve the gelatin. Stir in 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract—or cut a 2-inch piece of vanilla bean and slit it down the side, scrape in the seeds, stir to blend thoroughly, breaking up any knots of seeds with a spoon against the side of the bowl. I must say the teeny specks call out, “Real vanilla here! Yum!”
Bit by bit, whisk in 2 cups (16 ounces) plain non-fat or low-fat Greek-style yogurt, then ¼ cup honey (the stronger the flavor, the better).
Divide the cream among 5 or 6—or 8!—dishes or goblets, leaving at least ¼-inch headroom. Cover each tightly with film, not touching the pristine surface, and chill.
This is ready to serve after 3 hours…can be unmolded after 4 hours…and will still be tender the next day.
Serve in the dishes or goblets topped with fresh fruit—about 3 to 4 cups berries or chunks of peaches, apricots, plums, or a mixture, and so forth. If you’re deft, you can unmold each dish** onto a pool of coulis (aka sweetened pureed fruit) and top with more fruit.
Once when I had one dish left in the fridge and nary a berry or piece of fresh fruit in the house (oh well, I had a banana, but I hate bananas and only buy them because I’m supposed to, they always turn brown, I always think, “I’ll make banana bread for my mother,” but I never do, I throw them over the fence into the meadow and hope some creature will enjoy very soft banana), I brought out a jar of Mixed Berry Jam from the farmers’ market, spooned over its purpliness. Oh boy. Winter’s panna cotta will be delish…
*Inspired by the recipe in a “Nutrition Action Healthletter."
**Google "unmolding panna cotta"…
I love this for lunch sprinkled with blueberries or raspberries, just leaning against the garden door watching the birds at the feeder squabbling over their black sunflower seeds. And of course it’s a classic dessert…
That this is healthy should be kept a secret…
Most recipes say this quantity serves 8. Stingy. My sleek little custard cups are broad, shallow, and hold 6 ounces…filling them almost full makes this serve 5…an odd yield, but one can’t stop eating this cream, and I’d be annoyed if I got less…
Place 1 cup of 1% or 2% milk in a quart-size microwave-proof pitcher. Sprinkle over 2 slightly rounded teaspoons plain gelatin (actually 2-1/16 teaspoons, less than 1 envelope). Stir to blend, then ignore for 10 minutes while the milk absorbs the gelatin.
Stir again, cover the pitcher tightly with plastic film, and microwave on full power for 1 minute (about 135 degrees on the instant read thermometer) to dissolve the gelatin. Stir in 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract—or cut a 2-inch piece of vanilla bean and slit it down the side, scrape in the seeds, stir to blend thoroughly, breaking up any knots of seeds with a spoon against the side of the bowl. I must say the teeny specks call out, “Real vanilla here! Yum!”
Bit by bit, whisk in 2 cups (16 ounces) plain non-fat or low-fat Greek-style yogurt, then ¼ cup honey (the stronger the flavor, the better).
Divide the cream among 5 or 6—or 8!—dishes or goblets, leaving at least ¼-inch headroom. Cover each tightly with film, not touching the pristine surface, and chill.
This is ready to serve after 3 hours…can be unmolded after 4 hours…and will still be tender the next day.
Serve in the dishes or goblets topped with fresh fruit—about 3 to 4 cups berries or chunks of peaches, apricots, plums, or a mixture, and so forth. If you’re deft, you can unmold each dish** onto a pool of coulis (aka sweetened pureed fruit) and top with more fruit.
Once when I had one dish left in the fridge and nary a berry or piece of fresh fruit in the house (oh well, I had a banana, but I hate bananas and only buy them because I’m supposed to, they always turn brown, I always think, “I’ll make banana bread for my mother,” but I never do, I throw them over the fence into the meadow and hope some creature will enjoy very soft banana), I brought out a jar of Mixed Berry Jam from the farmers’ market, spooned over its purpliness. Oh boy. Winter’s panna cotta will be delish…
*Inspired by the recipe in a “Nutrition Action Healthletter."
**Google "unmolding panna cotta"…
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Birthday Cakes
Eep. I apologize (should you have noticed) that I've let this spot go for a while. But it's been a time-and-a-half. Recently, my mother turned 100. Extraordinary. Her eyes, ears, taste buds, lungs, and knees may show evidence of being 100 years old, but her mind is still bright and bonny.
I was thinking I'd like to tell you about my mother's birthday cake. Ma has looked forward to her coconut birthday cake as long as I can remember--her mother always made a coconut cake for her daughter's birthday, so when my grandmother went on to her next incarnation, I took up the charge. Now I've been a baker since I was eight...lots of time to perfect my baking. It was super when I had the opportunity to create a collection for Chronicle Books some years ago for "The Birthday Cake Book." It gave me the luxury of time to figure out how to make great cake...
The white cake that evolved for my mother's coconut cake isn't labor intensive, although it is a handmade--vs a whiz-whiz package--cake. It is light as a feather and keeps and keeps. Actually, when Ma turned 90 and friends gave her a party at a restaurant, I brought along the birthday cake, having increased the recipe to serve 50, and it was marvelous.
I usually bake the layers the day before (but I do not refrigerate them...just wrap the layers in foil and keep them in a cool place).
The frosting, made at the last minute, is the classic billowy seven minute stuff and that's not as easy as opening a can, but it is essential, I feel.
This recipe is born of the Formal Wedding Cake in "Farm Journal's Country Cookbook."
QUINTESSENTIAL THREE LAYER WHITE CAKE
Have all ingredients at room temperature (important). Warm eggs from the fridge in a bowl of warm water before separating.
1. Grease the bottoms of three 8-inch cake pans with shortening, line each bottom with a round of waxed paper, grease the waxed paper (do not grease the sides of the pans so the batter can cling to the sides as it rises). Sprinkle the waxed paper with flour, then dump out excess flour.
2. Set the oven rack in the center of the oven, or if the three pans require two racks, place the two evenly in the oven. Set the temperature to 350 degrees.
3. Sift enough cake flour to make 3 cups. Sift the 3 cups cake flour with 4 teaspoons baking powder and 1/2 tablespoon salt. Sift together again.
4. Beat 2/3 cup vegetable shortening until fluffy. One tablespoon at a time, beat in 1-2/3 cups granulated sugar. Add 1/2 tablespoon vanilla extract and 1/4 teaspoon lemon or almond extract. Beat until light and fluffy. Set aside.
5. In another bowl, beat 5 large egg whites with a pinch of salt until foamy. One tablespoon at a time, beat in 8 tablespoons sugar. Beat until the whites stand in soft peaks when you lift the beaters.
6. To the shortening mixture, add the flour mixture in 4 parts--sprinkling it over the surface of the bowl--alternately with 1-1/3 cups milk in 3 parts. Beat until blended after each addition, about 1 minute.
7. Divide the batter evenly among the pans, smoothing the center and pushing the batter up against the sides of the pan (cakes tend to rise in the center).
8. Bake until the cakes have the fragrance of baked cake...the sides BEGIN to pull away from the edges...the top springs back when lightly tapped with a forefinger...a straw or thin cake tester comes out clean from the center...check after about 25 minutes.
9. Cool layers in their pans on racks 10 minutes, then run a knife around the edges, turn out the cake, pull off the paper, turn right side up, and gently place the layers on racks to finish cooling.
TO MAKE A COCONUT CAKE
If you buy 2 small bags of coconut flakes or shreds, you may have too much, but...
Because the frosting is billowy and layers can start slipping, assemble the cake as close to serving time as possible (a couple of hours max).
10. Just before using, prepare 6 cups of classic Seven Minute Frosting (the recipe in "Joy of Cooking," for example).
11. Set the thickest layer (should there be one) bottom side up on a platter (on a paper doily). Smooth over 1 cup of the frosting. You can sprinkle with coconut or not, as you wish. Set on the second layer, top side up. Repeat with the frosting (and coconut). Set the third layer on top.
12. Use the remaining frosting to cover the tops and sides. Immediately press as much coconut into the frosting all over as will hold. Set the cake in a cool place. Serve as soon as possible.
Ah. I said 'Birthday Cakes' plural. That's because I want to tell you about my Marbled Chocolate and Lemon Cake with Chocolate-Spattered Lemon Frosting. But it's late, it's been a long day, so I will hope to do that tomorrow...
I was thinking I'd like to tell you about my mother's birthday cake. Ma has looked forward to her coconut birthday cake as long as I can remember--her mother always made a coconut cake for her daughter's birthday, so when my grandmother went on to her next incarnation, I took up the charge. Now I've been a baker since I was eight...lots of time to perfect my baking. It was super when I had the opportunity to create a collection for Chronicle Books some years ago for "The Birthday Cake Book." It gave me the luxury of time to figure out how to make great cake...
The white cake that evolved for my mother's coconut cake isn't labor intensive, although it is a handmade--vs a whiz-whiz package--cake. It is light as a feather and keeps and keeps. Actually, when Ma turned 90 and friends gave her a party at a restaurant, I brought along the birthday cake, having increased the recipe to serve 50, and it was marvelous.
I usually bake the layers the day before (but I do not refrigerate them...just wrap the layers in foil and keep them in a cool place).
The frosting, made at the last minute, is the classic billowy seven minute stuff and that's not as easy as opening a can, but it is essential, I feel.
This recipe is born of the Formal Wedding Cake in "Farm Journal's Country Cookbook."
QUINTESSENTIAL THREE LAYER WHITE CAKE
Have all ingredients at room temperature (important). Warm eggs from the fridge in a bowl of warm water before separating.
1. Grease the bottoms of three 8-inch cake pans with shortening, line each bottom with a round of waxed paper, grease the waxed paper (do not grease the sides of the pans so the batter can cling to the sides as it rises). Sprinkle the waxed paper with flour, then dump out excess flour.
2. Set the oven rack in the center of the oven, or if the three pans require two racks, place the two evenly in the oven. Set the temperature to 350 degrees.
3. Sift enough cake flour to make 3 cups. Sift the 3 cups cake flour with 4 teaspoons baking powder and 1/2 tablespoon salt. Sift together again.
4. Beat 2/3 cup vegetable shortening until fluffy. One tablespoon at a time, beat in 1-2/3 cups granulated sugar. Add 1/2 tablespoon vanilla extract and 1/4 teaspoon lemon or almond extract. Beat until light and fluffy. Set aside.
5. In another bowl, beat 5 large egg whites with a pinch of salt until foamy. One tablespoon at a time, beat in 8 tablespoons sugar. Beat until the whites stand in soft peaks when you lift the beaters.
6. To the shortening mixture, add the flour mixture in 4 parts--sprinkling it over the surface of the bowl--alternately with 1-1/3 cups milk in 3 parts. Beat until blended after each addition, about 1 minute.
7. Divide the batter evenly among the pans, smoothing the center and pushing the batter up against the sides of the pan (cakes tend to rise in the center).
8. Bake until the cakes have the fragrance of baked cake...the sides BEGIN to pull away from the edges...the top springs back when lightly tapped with a forefinger...a straw or thin cake tester comes out clean from the center...check after about 25 minutes.
9. Cool layers in their pans on racks 10 minutes, then run a knife around the edges, turn out the cake, pull off the paper, turn right side up, and gently place the layers on racks to finish cooling.
TO MAKE A COCONUT CAKE
If you buy 2 small bags of coconut flakes or shreds, you may have too much, but...
Because the frosting is billowy and layers can start slipping, assemble the cake as close to serving time as possible (a couple of hours max).
10. Just before using, prepare 6 cups of classic Seven Minute Frosting (the recipe in "Joy of Cooking," for example).
11. Set the thickest layer (should there be one) bottom side up on a platter (on a paper doily). Smooth over 1 cup of the frosting. You can sprinkle with coconut or not, as you wish. Set on the second layer, top side up. Repeat with the frosting (and coconut). Set the third layer on top.
12. Use the remaining frosting to cover the tops and sides. Immediately press as much coconut into the frosting all over as will hold. Set the cake in a cool place. Serve as soon as possible.
Ah. I said 'Birthday Cakes' plural. That's because I want to tell you about my Marbled Chocolate and Lemon Cake with Chocolate-Spattered Lemon Frosting. But it's late, it's been a long day, so I will hope to do that tomorrow...
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
A loud and brave little dog
I was in the laundry folding towels (the laundry is on the other side of my garden wall so that the steamy whooshings from the dryer vent moisten the air around my orchids) when I heard Cakes barking barking BARKING BARKING. Cakes barks at other dogs and bicycles when we're on a walk, but she's well-behaved at home and is silent when I leave her. So I couldn't imagine what all this noise was about--surely not my having left her alone in the garden for three minutes.
Finally, her barking was so LOUD AND URGENT--full-throated, insistent--that I left the laundry (I later discovered a bath towel half-folded in my hands) and went around to my garden gate.
"What on earth, Cakes?" I said to her as I opened the gate. She was looking up to the top of the garden wall--the wall facing the meadow with the walnut trees--barking barking BARKING! I followed the line of her nose and it landed on AN ENORMOUS DARK-FEATHERED BIRD... ENORMOUS! Small head, huge body, lonnng tail.
OHMYGOSHESANDGOLLIES it was a TURKEY! At least, I thought it was a turkey, having only seen a handful of wild turkeys along the road in New England.
The bird stood on the top of the wall almost motionless, without a care in the world (also without much of a brain, I'm told). Cakes kept barking so hard I was amazed--the bird was much bigger than she was. Then it struck me that I wasn't SURE it was a turkey, it could have been a bird of prey, so I picked up the frantic little dog and brought her indoors. Poor child was shaking like a leaf, coughing and trembling...
I gave Cakes great praise, a hug and a cookie, then ran for my bird book, and sure enough, there it was, a female wild turkey. When I went back outside, she was gone.
And at that moment, the Lakers won!
Such is life doing laundry in Ojai...
Finally, her barking was so LOUD AND URGENT--full-throated, insistent--that I left the laundry (I later discovered a bath towel half-folded in my hands) and went around to my garden gate.
"What on earth, Cakes?" I said to her as I opened the gate. She was looking up to the top of the garden wall--the wall facing the meadow with the walnut trees--barking barking BARKING! I followed the line of her nose and it landed on AN ENORMOUS DARK-FEATHERED BIRD... ENORMOUS! Small head, huge body, lonnng tail.
OHMYGOSHESANDGOLLIES it was a TURKEY! At least, I thought it was a turkey, having only seen a handful of wild turkeys along the road in New England.
The bird stood on the top of the wall almost motionless, without a care in the world (also without much of a brain, I'm told). Cakes kept barking so hard I was amazed--the bird was much bigger than she was. Then it struck me that I wasn't SURE it was a turkey, it could have been a bird of prey, so I picked up the frantic little dog and brought her indoors. Poor child was shaking like a leaf, coughing and trembling...
I gave Cakes great praise, a hug and a cookie, then ran for my bird book, and sure enough, there it was, a female wild turkey. When I went back outside, she was gone.
And at that moment, the Lakers won!
Such is life doing laundry in Ojai...
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Professor's 4-Ingredient Supper
My cherished brilliant gifted beguiling young friend, Christopher Baswell (Professor of English and Comparative Literature, Columbia University and Anne Whitney Olin Professor of English, Barnard College), is in process of restoring a venerable two-story house up the Hudson which he calls Big Brick. A dazzling cook, Chris just read my entry about dodging about in my kitchen and emailed the following (which I quote with his permission):
"My own version of cook-simple-for-me-alone was this weekend. I got to the house very late (I love driving up late at night when the traffic has thinned) and without going to the grocery. The one thing my immediate area lacks is a decent grocery. It's either something called Price Chopper or a 40-minute drive.
"Anyway, next afternoon I faced a fridge with (among other leftovers of the family visit) a pint container of crumbled Feta cheese and two large aging portobello mushrooms. Oh and a big sweet onion and some whole wheat tube pasta in the pantry. So chopped a quarter of the onion, softened in olive oil while I chopped the aging mushrooms; softened them in same little frying pan, covered mostly so their liquid would be there to finish the pasta. Branch of thyme from the pot garden outside and a grind of pepper. Pasta cooked barely al dente, with a dip of its liquid in the sauce, then drained and dumped back into its pot to finish with the sauce liquid. Off the heat and tossed with a generous handful of the feta. NO SALT since the feta so salty on its own. It came together beautifully & I will repeat for guests. Takes no time at all. Do you know that 3 ingredients cook book? I was trying to emulate that. I guess my dish had 4."
I'd add a salutary word or two but it's suppertime and the temperature has gone down from the high 80s to the 70s and Cakes and I are off to the market to fetch portobello mushrooms, feta, and some whole wheat pasta, yummmmm...
"My own version of cook-simple-for-me-alone was this weekend. I got to the house very late (I love driving up late at night when the traffic has thinned) and without going to the grocery. The one thing my immediate area lacks is a decent grocery. It's either something called Price Chopper or a 40-minute drive.
"Anyway, next afternoon I faced a fridge with (among other leftovers of the family visit) a pint container of crumbled Feta cheese and two large aging portobello mushrooms. Oh and a big sweet onion and some whole wheat tube pasta in the pantry. So chopped a quarter of the onion, softened in olive oil while I chopped the aging mushrooms; softened them in same little frying pan, covered mostly so their liquid would be there to finish the pasta. Branch of thyme from the pot garden outside and a grind of pepper. Pasta cooked barely al dente, with a dip of its liquid in the sauce, then drained and dumped back into its pot to finish with the sauce liquid. Off the heat and tossed with a generous handful of the feta. NO SALT since the feta so salty on its own. It came together beautifully & I will repeat for guests. Takes no time at all. Do you know that 3 ingredients cook book? I was trying to emulate that. I guess my dish had 4."
I'd add a salutary word or two but it's suppertime and the temperature has gone down from the high 80s to the 70s and Cakes and I are off to the market to fetch portobello mushrooms, feta, and some whole wheat pasta, yummmmm...
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
What I Learned In My Apartment When I Moved Out of It
Gosh, it's June already. My friend Susan has already made batches of strawberry jam. And here I haven't had a thing to say since April.
Well, I've had stuff to say, but it's largely been mutterings to myself while I've been in process of sorting...packing...schlepping...unpacking... positioning...giving away...you know the moving drill.
I've finally completed the move from my wonderful New-York-style apartment in Los Angeles to an extraordinary casita up the coast. Me and Cakes.
Yesterday was our last day in the apartment. I'd been there four years, and my last few days I made some discoveries that charmed me. You might as well find things that charm you when you work for three days (the cleaning lady twice failed to show) in hopes of getting your hefty security deposit back.
First discovery was when cleaning the stove top, I couldn't figure out how to get under the top...then with a little tug, the whole damn thing lifted up and I could clean under the burners! Amazing.
Next I discovered that if you spray oven cleaner on 4-year-old muck and leave it for two days, the muck wipes right off. Also amazing.
Then I learned (from the manager) that you're supposed to keep dog fur and city grit off the tops of the baseboard molding. Never ever noticed, never ever cleaned there. Big shock. Also a shock to find baseboard molding in places I never saw (behind the day bed, behind the magazine rack).
Speaking of magazines, though, when I was recycling two years of "New Yorkers," as I heaped the last bunch into the bin, I heard a little clink. I looked down and there was the little gold Celtic ring my husband bought me in Edinburgh castle. I'd been missing it for months, hadn't a clue where it had got to. It was nestled in the "New Yorkers." So that was a happy beginning to one of the cleaning days.
Next I discovered something called Magic Eraser. My granddaughter who was helping that afternoon said she already knew about it. She picked up a ballpoint pen and drew a squiggle on a kitchen drawer--I gasped--then with a sweep of her arm she wiped it off with the spongy white pad. Where on earth has that invention been all my life? Maybe it's new.
Next I learned about 409. In the cleaning aisle at Ralph's, I couldn't decide which cleaner to buy--alas, I already knew that if it said, "Natural" in the title, it didn't work. Wowzer. 409 is as amazing as Magic Erasers.
Oh, and at the cleaning aisle I unearthed a tool that looks as though it should be sold on late night television: it's still in the car (haven't had the strength to unload the last boxes) and I forget its name, but its a battery-driven brush (it says "sonic" in the name but I doubt it's sonic--it's just strong) with various brush-heads you can twist in or out of the base, and it cleans like a son of a gun. Some gummy orange deposit at the bottom of the fridge--stuck stuck stuck hard hard hard--with a spritz of 409 and a concerted whirling of the cleaning brush--came off beautifully. One of the brush heads is tapered to a point so you can whiz out the icky years-old (in my case, surely not in yours) deposit around the base of faucets. Or in the crevices of the panel of the dishwasher (why do designers add so many nooks and crannies that have no function but you've got to get the gunk out of them? most annoying). As I say, the brush is typical of the gizmos demonstrated in the middle of the night on television, but this is the real deal.
Next I was amazed to find loose change all over the place...a penny here (some were heads up, good luck), a quarter or two there (probably fell out of my pocket on the way to the laundry room), a few errant dimes and nickles. Why was there so much money slopped around?
What else did I learn? Well, for the past year the paper guest towels in the bathroom had the cartoonish drawing of a woman in a 40's outfit--high heels, fluffy white apron, bright red lipstick--leaning over a tub with a rag and the logo said, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life."
My apartment is clean now. But I'm no longer in it. As I say, I was gratified discovering magic erasers and powerful solutions and ingenious tools and how my apartment should have looked the past four years.
But I'm glad I didn't waste more than a few days of my life in the process...
Well, I've had stuff to say, but it's largely been mutterings to myself while I've been in process of sorting...packing...schlepping...unpacking... positioning...giving away...you know the moving drill.
I've finally completed the move from my wonderful New-York-style apartment in Los Angeles to an extraordinary casita up the coast. Me and Cakes.
Yesterday was our last day in the apartment. I'd been there four years, and my last few days I made some discoveries that charmed me. You might as well find things that charm you when you work for three days (the cleaning lady twice failed to show) in hopes of getting your hefty security deposit back.
First discovery was when cleaning the stove top, I couldn't figure out how to get under the top...then with a little tug, the whole damn thing lifted up and I could clean under the burners! Amazing.
Next I discovered that if you spray oven cleaner on 4-year-old muck and leave it for two days, the muck wipes right off. Also amazing.
Then I learned (from the manager) that you're supposed to keep dog fur and city grit off the tops of the baseboard molding. Never ever noticed, never ever cleaned there. Big shock. Also a shock to find baseboard molding in places I never saw (behind the day bed, behind the magazine rack).
Speaking of magazines, though, when I was recycling two years of "New Yorkers," as I heaped the last bunch into the bin, I heard a little clink. I looked down and there was the little gold Celtic ring my husband bought me in Edinburgh castle. I'd been missing it for months, hadn't a clue where it had got to. It was nestled in the "New Yorkers." So that was a happy beginning to one of the cleaning days.
Next I discovered something called Magic Eraser. My granddaughter who was helping that afternoon said she already knew about it. She picked up a ballpoint pen and drew a squiggle on a kitchen drawer--I gasped--then with a sweep of her arm she wiped it off with the spongy white pad. Where on earth has that invention been all my life? Maybe it's new.
Next I learned about 409. In the cleaning aisle at Ralph's, I couldn't decide which cleaner to buy--alas, I already knew that if it said, "Natural" in the title, it didn't work. Wowzer. 409 is as amazing as Magic Erasers.
Oh, and at the cleaning aisle I unearthed a tool that looks as though it should be sold on late night television: it's still in the car (haven't had the strength to unload the last boxes) and I forget its name, but its a battery-driven brush (it says "sonic" in the name but I doubt it's sonic--it's just strong) with various brush-heads you can twist in or out of the base, and it cleans like a son of a gun. Some gummy orange deposit at the bottom of the fridge--stuck stuck stuck hard hard hard--with a spritz of 409 and a concerted whirling of the cleaning brush--came off beautifully. One of the brush heads is tapered to a point so you can whiz out the icky years-old (in my case, surely not in yours) deposit around the base of faucets. Or in the crevices of the panel of the dishwasher (why do designers add so many nooks and crannies that have no function but you've got to get the gunk out of them? most annoying). As I say, the brush is typical of the gizmos demonstrated in the middle of the night on television, but this is the real deal.
Next I was amazed to find loose change all over the place...a penny here (some were heads up, good luck), a quarter or two there (probably fell out of my pocket on the way to the laundry room), a few errant dimes and nickles. Why was there so much money slopped around?
What else did I learn? Well, for the past year the paper guest towels in the bathroom had the cartoonish drawing of a woman in a 40's outfit--high heels, fluffy white apron, bright red lipstick--leaning over a tub with a rag and the logo said, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life."
My apartment is clean now. But I'm no longer in it. As I say, I was gratified discovering magic erasers and powerful solutions and ingenious tools and how my apartment should have looked the past four years.
But I'm glad I didn't waste more than a few days of my life in the process...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Blueberried Polenta Pound Cake After Deborah Madison's
Bliss.
I've had a box of blueberries in my little fridge for a week, kept forgetting about them. "I'll make blueberry pancakes on Sunday morning," says I.
But I've been hankering for cake. Finally this morning I looked in Deborah Madison's "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" for a cake recipe and came across her "Polenta Pound Cake." Now perhaps you know about me and polenta...
I took the cake out of the oven 15 minutes ago and have eaten a quarter of it for my supper.
Bliss.
Because I'm still in process of moving my big kitchen to this 5x5 galley kitchen, I put the cake together with a couple of substitutes. One was the sugar (I only had Trader Joe's Turbinado Raw Cane Sugar, not your basic granulated white...it hasn't a strong brown sugar flavor, it's just that the crystals are coarser) and the other was the mixer (for creaming, I used the Cuisinart wand thing designed for pureeing...it worked fine with a little coaxing). Oh, and I didn't grate the lemon zest--lemon zest is CRUCIAL to the delectable flavor of this cake--I used a vegetable peeler to remove the rind from an, ahem, past its prime Meyer lemon, then I cut the zest into slivers...probably even better than grating because the pieces are slightly larger.
I baked the cake in my toaster oven (default oven from now on). Excellent.
This is a sublime cake and it hasn't even cooled yet...actually, why not serve it warm with ice cream?
Here goes:
4 ounces unsalted butter, soft (plus 1-2 tablespoons for the pan)
1 cup sugar (turbinado or granulated)
Zest of 1 lemon, in fine julienne
3 large eggs, at room temperature
Overflowing 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup sour cream or yogurt (I happened to have sour cream on hand)
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons polenta meal or yellow cornmeal
1 cup unbleached flour (plus 1 tablespoon for the pan)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
Heaping 1 cup (6-ounce box) fresh blueberries, although I suppose you could use good quality thawed frozen
Powdered sugar, optional
Butter a 5- by 8-inch loaf pan and dredge with flour. Set the oven to 350 degrees.
In a medium-size bowl, cream the butter and sugar with the lemon zest until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating until thoroughly blended after each. Beat in the vanilla and then the sour cream.
Stir in the polenta (the mixture will be thin). On waxed paper, use a fork to mix the flour, baking powder, and salt, then pour into the bowl and use a rubber scraper to blend until smooth. Stir in the berries.
Smooth the batter into the pan. Rap the pan on a surface to force out any bubbles, then set in the middle of the oven.
Bake until you can smell the lemon, the top is beautifully browned, and the cake has begun to come away from the sides of the pan, about 1 hour.
Cool 10 minutes, then turn onto a rack to finish cooling--or, like me, slice and serve.
Shake powdered sugar through a sieve over the top, if desired.
Deborah says it makes 8 to 10 servings. Hah.
NOTE FROM THE MORNING AFTER: Woke up this Sunday morning, couldn't wait for a slice...it's still yummy, but I quickly realized this is a cake that is at its best warm. So I toasted it in the toaster oven, smeared it with sweet butter. Bliss.
I've had a box of blueberries in my little fridge for a week, kept forgetting about them. "I'll make blueberry pancakes on Sunday morning," says I.
But I've been hankering for cake. Finally this morning I looked in Deborah Madison's "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" for a cake recipe and came across her "Polenta Pound Cake." Now perhaps you know about me and polenta...
I took the cake out of the oven 15 minutes ago and have eaten a quarter of it for my supper.
Bliss.
Because I'm still in process of moving my big kitchen to this 5x5 galley kitchen, I put the cake together with a couple of substitutes. One was the sugar (I only had Trader Joe's Turbinado Raw Cane Sugar, not your basic granulated white...it hasn't a strong brown sugar flavor, it's just that the crystals are coarser) and the other was the mixer (for creaming, I used the Cuisinart wand thing designed for pureeing...it worked fine with a little coaxing). Oh, and I didn't grate the lemon zest--lemon zest is CRUCIAL to the delectable flavor of this cake--I used a vegetable peeler to remove the rind from an, ahem, past its prime Meyer lemon, then I cut the zest into slivers...probably even better than grating because the pieces are slightly larger.
I baked the cake in my toaster oven (default oven from now on). Excellent.
This is a sublime cake and it hasn't even cooled yet...actually, why not serve it warm with ice cream?
Here goes:
4 ounces unsalted butter, soft (plus 1-2 tablespoons for the pan)
1 cup sugar (turbinado or granulated)
Zest of 1 lemon, in fine julienne
3 large eggs, at room temperature
Overflowing 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup sour cream or yogurt (I happened to have sour cream on hand)
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons polenta meal or yellow cornmeal
1 cup unbleached flour (plus 1 tablespoon for the pan)
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
Heaping 1 cup (6-ounce box) fresh blueberries, although I suppose you could use good quality thawed frozen
Powdered sugar, optional
Butter a 5- by 8-inch loaf pan and dredge with flour. Set the oven to 350 degrees.
In a medium-size bowl, cream the butter and sugar with the lemon zest until fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating until thoroughly blended after each. Beat in the vanilla and then the sour cream.
Stir in the polenta (the mixture will be thin). On waxed paper, use a fork to mix the flour, baking powder, and salt, then pour into the bowl and use a rubber scraper to blend until smooth. Stir in the berries.
Smooth the batter into the pan. Rap the pan on a surface to force out any bubbles, then set in the middle of the oven.
Bake until you can smell the lemon, the top is beautifully browned, and the cake has begun to come away from the sides of the pan, about 1 hour.
Cool 10 minutes, then turn onto a rack to finish cooling--or, like me, slice and serve.
Shake powdered sugar through a sieve over the top, if desired.
Deborah says it makes 8 to 10 servings. Hah.
NOTE FROM THE MORNING AFTER: Woke up this Sunday morning, couldn't wait for a slice...it's still yummy, but I quickly realized this is a cake that is at its best warm. So I toasted it in the toaster oven, smeared it with sweet butter. Bliss.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Further Adventures from Sylvia's 5x5 Kitchen...
When I met Himself, Eugene Allen Thompson, he was a 30 year-old graduate student living in a tiny down-the-outside-staircase apartment in Berkeley. His kitchen was a passageway two steps up from the bedroom/study leading to the bathroom...small fridge on one side, one-burner hotplate opposite. Waterwise, the bathroom was the rest of the kitchen.
Gene asked me to marry him on our third date, and on our fourth date, I decided I would dazzle my new husband-to-be with my spaghetti--let him know what a great cook he'd caught. In my euphoria, I gave no thought to HOW, exactly, I would cook everything, so we went to the Co-op and bought the makings, came back to his apartment, and I set to it. I chopped the sauce vegetables (onions, carrots, celery, garlic, parsley) on a cutting board on the bed, then softened them in olive oil in a skillet on the hotplate. Stirred in crushed canned tomatoes (it was February), simmered, and when the sauce was ready, set the covered pan on the top of the warm gas heater. I heated the spaghetti water in its pot on the hotplate, boiled the pasta, then drained it and kept it warm on a low setting on the hotplate. Oh no! I forgot the mushrooms! There was no room on the gas heater for the spaghetti pot, so I wrapped it in a thick towel and sunk it in the bathtub, covered it with a pillow. Sauteed the mushrooms on the hotplate--meanwhile asking Gene to stir the sauce on the heater, shake the pot of pasta in the bathtub so the pieces wouldn't stick. Mushrooms ready, I put it all together, sprinkled the top with boxed grated Parmesan (no, I didn't know about Parmagiano-Reggiano when I was 19), and we feasted, our plates on our laps, sitting on his twin bed. I can't think when spaghetti was more delectable.
Turns out that now, 55 years later, I'm back to cooking the way I cooked in those early days for my true love...only it's just for me now, alas. In my 5 x 5 galley kitchen (no stove), I do a lot of resourceful shuffling to get things done that in my other kitchen--the one with a stove--I don't have to think about. But I'm finding that after all these years of, effectively, cooking by rote, it's kind of fun to have to rethink operations...
For example, tonight--taking a break from finishing up my mother's taxes--I put together a dish of pasta for myself in about 15 minutes. It's very unlikely you will have to take the same steps because you probably have a standard kitchen, but it does no harm to break out of the old patterns once in awhile, eh?
I heated water in my electric kettle while the tall narrow pasta cooker heated on the smaller burner of my two-burner hotplate (a slosh of water in the bottom of the pot so it wouldn't burn). Set my skillet with a drizzle of olive oil on the larger of the hotplates on high while I cut up half an onion, doused it with olive oil, covered it with plastic film, softened the onions in my miraculous new microwave for 4 minutes. By now the water in the electric kettle was boiling and I added it to the pasta pot, sprinkled in salt, covered it to come to a full boil. Sliced half a sweet red pepper into the onion, mixed the pieces together, covered them with film, nuked another 2 minutes. Quartered most of a box of brown mushrooms into the hot skillet, shook it to stir, let the pieces saute over high heat. Now the pasta water was boiling so I dropped in about 2/3 cup of frozen little cheese tortellini, set the timer for 8 minutes. Turned the onion/pepper mixture into a deep dish and cut up the pieces to be not much bigger than the tortellini. Stirred the mushrooms, stirred the pasta, dropped two big handfuls of fresh spinach leaves with their rinse water into the empty onion/pepper dish (perhaps my favorite vessel in the kitchen nowadays, a deep and ruffled caramel-colored ceramic pie dish from Burgundy), covered the spinach with a Nordic Ware plastic lid, nuked the spinach for 2 minutes. The tortellini were al dente, drained them, mixed them with the onions/peppers, the spinach was ready (leaves were intensely green, nicely tender), turned everything into the mushrooms in the skillet (why put the finished dish together in the skillet and not the more presentable Burgundian pie dish? because the skillet was still hot)...THEN! stirred in a heaping spoonful of pesto. I ground over black pepper, sprinkled over a tad of salt, stirred well with a wooden spoon. I brought the skillet--beautiful colors and shapes, rich green rags of leaves, scarlet flashes of peppers, creamy curlicues of pasta, brown nubbins of mushrooms, translucent tags of onions--to my desk and, reviving, returned to Ma's taxes.
When I first explored Gene's apartment, I found a lone cookbook: "One-dish Meals for the Busy Gourmet." That charmed me. Tonight I'm there again.
Gene asked me to marry him on our third date, and on our fourth date, I decided I would dazzle my new husband-to-be with my spaghetti--let him know what a great cook he'd caught. In my euphoria, I gave no thought to HOW, exactly, I would cook everything, so we went to the Co-op and bought the makings, came back to his apartment, and I set to it. I chopped the sauce vegetables (onions, carrots, celery, garlic, parsley) on a cutting board on the bed, then softened them in olive oil in a skillet on the hotplate. Stirred in crushed canned tomatoes (it was February), simmered, and when the sauce was ready, set the covered pan on the top of the warm gas heater. I heated the spaghetti water in its pot on the hotplate, boiled the pasta, then drained it and kept it warm on a low setting on the hotplate. Oh no! I forgot the mushrooms! There was no room on the gas heater for the spaghetti pot, so I wrapped it in a thick towel and sunk it in the bathtub, covered it with a pillow. Sauteed the mushrooms on the hotplate--meanwhile asking Gene to stir the sauce on the heater, shake the pot of pasta in the bathtub so the pieces wouldn't stick. Mushrooms ready, I put it all together, sprinkled the top with boxed grated Parmesan (no, I didn't know about Parmagiano-Reggiano when I was 19), and we feasted, our plates on our laps, sitting on his twin bed. I can't think when spaghetti was more delectable.
Turns out that now, 55 years later, I'm back to cooking the way I cooked in those early days for my true love...only it's just for me now, alas. In my 5 x 5 galley kitchen (no stove), I do a lot of resourceful shuffling to get things done that in my other kitchen--the one with a stove--I don't have to think about. But I'm finding that after all these years of, effectively, cooking by rote, it's kind of fun to have to rethink operations...
For example, tonight--taking a break from finishing up my mother's taxes--I put together a dish of pasta for myself in about 15 minutes. It's very unlikely you will have to take the same steps because you probably have a standard kitchen, but it does no harm to break out of the old patterns once in awhile, eh?
I heated water in my electric kettle while the tall narrow pasta cooker heated on the smaller burner of my two-burner hotplate (a slosh of water in the bottom of the pot so it wouldn't burn). Set my skillet with a drizzle of olive oil on the larger of the hotplates on high while I cut up half an onion, doused it with olive oil, covered it with plastic film, softened the onions in my miraculous new microwave for 4 minutes. By now the water in the electric kettle was boiling and I added it to the pasta pot, sprinkled in salt, covered it to come to a full boil. Sliced half a sweet red pepper into the onion, mixed the pieces together, covered them with film, nuked another 2 minutes. Quartered most of a box of brown mushrooms into the hot skillet, shook it to stir, let the pieces saute over high heat. Now the pasta water was boiling so I dropped in about 2/3 cup of frozen little cheese tortellini, set the timer for 8 minutes. Turned the onion/pepper mixture into a deep dish and cut up the pieces to be not much bigger than the tortellini. Stirred the mushrooms, stirred the pasta, dropped two big handfuls of fresh spinach leaves with their rinse water into the empty onion/pepper dish (perhaps my favorite vessel in the kitchen nowadays, a deep and ruffled caramel-colored ceramic pie dish from Burgundy), covered the spinach with a Nordic Ware plastic lid, nuked the spinach for 2 minutes. The tortellini were al dente, drained them, mixed them with the onions/peppers, the spinach was ready (leaves were intensely green, nicely tender), turned everything into the mushrooms in the skillet (why put the finished dish together in the skillet and not the more presentable Burgundian pie dish? because the skillet was still hot)...THEN! stirred in a heaping spoonful of pesto. I ground over black pepper, sprinkled over a tad of salt, stirred well with a wooden spoon. I brought the skillet--beautiful colors and shapes, rich green rags of leaves, scarlet flashes of peppers, creamy curlicues of pasta, brown nubbins of mushrooms, translucent tags of onions--to my desk and, reviving, returned to Ma's taxes.
When I first explored Gene's apartment, I found a lone cookbook: "One-dish Meals for the Busy Gourmet." That charmed me. Tonight I'm there again.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Springtime Vegetable Soup from the Microwave
Gosh, I see it's been a month since my last entry. That's because my life has taken a sudden right turn...I stumbled upon a beautiful tranquil (the rooster next door is crowing as I write this) spot in the country, under magnificent old oaks. It is modest but a perfect hideaway for me. For cooking, I have a sleek but small (5.5 by 6 feet) galley kitchen, all new, buttery tile, but no stove and a fridge you could put in your eye (the space was designed for a meeting place, not to live in). So online from Sears I bought a Kenmore 1.2 cubic foot TrueCookPlus countertop microwave for $118.99. How they can put so much technology into anything for that price amazes me...this kid can practically sing and dance. The 1200 watts are (here's an overused word but apt in this application) awesome. Using Barbara Kafka's incomparable, invaluable "Microwave Gourmet," the machine has changed the way I cook. I also bought an Oster two-burner hotplate and it's excellent...an electric kettle is super for my tea and for coddling an egg. I was content with these (brought my toaster from town since there's a toaster oven in my apartment) when a dear friend said, "But Grandma, what're you going to do when we come and want pizza?" so I got a Cuisinart toaster oven big enough for pizza and put it in the bathroom...I have no problem baking pizza--or polenta or apple pie, for that matter--in my handsome new buttery-tiled bathroom.
But today's topic is the soup I've been making with spring vegetables. I can't give you times because I discovered, when I tried it out in my mother's old microwave, they weren't the same. Proportions don't matter because all the vegetables, except the green garlic, have a delicate flavor, but I'll give you mine. What does matter is cooking the elements separately so nothing is mushy. As a general rule in cooking vegetables, Kafka suggests adding a little fat and a little water (I drizzle over a bit of olive oil, which gives a nice finish to the completed soup) and covering the vegetable (I prefer a Nordic Ware plastic dome or waxed paper to plastic film). Depending on the strength of your microwave, begin timing in units of 2 minutes...it's preserving freshness--color, flavor, texture--at which a good microwave excels.
As you will see, the colors are heaven.
This much makes 3-4 suppers for me:
1 small or 1/2 large green cabbage (savoy, when you can find it), in ribbons
3 small golden beets (cook whole unpeeled, then peel and slice)
The beets' leaves (if there are some), in ribbons
2 smallish unpeeled blue potatoes, in 1/4-inch slices
3 medium unpeeled carrots, in small wedges
1 small or 1/2 large fennel bulb, leaves included, thinly sliced
2 small branches celery, leaves included, thinly sliced
1/2 onion, coarsely chopped
2 scallions, leaves included, thinly sliced
AND THE SOUP'S SECRET: 3-4 green garlic, bulbs only, chopped (farmers' markets have green garlic now, as does Whole Foods)
About 1 quart boiling water
About 2 vegetable-based seasoning cubes--I use Star Garlic and Herbs (from an Italian grocery)
About 1 tablespoon tomato paste from a tube or 1 small can tomato sauce
Juice of 1 small or 1/2 large lemon (Meyer, if you have it)
Freshly ground pepper (I like mignonette, the blend of white and black, for subtlety)--you won't need salt because of the cubes
1 small bunch fresh dill
As you cook them, combine the vegetables in a big bowl. Make a broth with the boiling water and cubes, whisk in a concentrated form of tomato--just enough to add depth, then lemon juice and pepper for point.
Stir the broth into the vegetables. Refrigerate until serving time, then reheat in each bowl in the microwave. Serve sprinkled with snipped dill.
So good! Filling, barely any calories, and even more flavorful the next day.
P.S. As for my singing and dancing pal, the most succulent salmon I can remember eating was the first thing I cooked in my new microwave: a 6-ounce, 1/4-inch thick fillet of wild-caught salmon, lightly seasoned, skin-side down, tightly covered on a plate with waxed paper, nuked for 1 minute flat. Unbelievable.
But today's topic is the soup I've been making with spring vegetables. I can't give you times because I discovered, when I tried it out in my mother's old microwave, they weren't the same. Proportions don't matter because all the vegetables, except the green garlic, have a delicate flavor, but I'll give you mine. What does matter is cooking the elements separately so nothing is mushy. As a general rule in cooking vegetables, Kafka suggests adding a little fat and a little water (I drizzle over a bit of olive oil, which gives a nice finish to the completed soup) and covering the vegetable (I prefer a Nordic Ware plastic dome or waxed paper to plastic film). Depending on the strength of your microwave, begin timing in units of 2 minutes...it's preserving freshness--color, flavor, texture--at which a good microwave excels.
As you will see, the colors are heaven.
This much makes 3-4 suppers for me:
1 small or 1/2 large green cabbage (savoy, when you can find it), in ribbons
3 small golden beets (cook whole unpeeled, then peel and slice)
The beets' leaves (if there are some), in ribbons
2 smallish unpeeled blue potatoes, in 1/4-inch slices
3 medium unpeeled carrots, in small wedges
1 small or 1/2 large fennel bulb, leaves included, thinly sliced
2 small branches celery, leaves included, thinly sliced
1/2 onion, coarsely chopped
2 scallions, leaves included, thinly sliced
AND THE SOUP'S SECRET: 3-4 green garlic, bulbs only, chopped (farmers' markets have green garlic now, as does Whole Foods)
About 1 quart boiling water
About 2 vegetable-based seasoning cubes--I use Star Garlic and Herbs (from an Italian grocery)
About 1 tablespoon tomato paste from a tube or 1 small can tomato sauce
Juice of 1 small or 1/2 large lemon (Meyer, if you have it)
Freshly ground pepper (I like mignonette, the blend of white and black, for subtlety)--you won't need salt because of the cubes
1 small bunch fresh dill
As you cook them, combine the vegetables in a big bowl. Make a broth with the boiling water and cubes, whisk in a concentrated form of tomato--just enough to add depth, then lemon juice and pepper for point.
Stir the broth into the vegetables. Refrigerate until serving time, then reheat in each bowl in the microwave. Serve sprinkled with snipped dill.
So good! Filling, barely any calories, and even more flavorful the next day.
P.S. As for my singing and dancing pal, the most succulent salmon I can remember eating was the first thing I cooked in my new microwave: a 6-ounce, 1/4-inch thick fillet of wild-caught salmon, lightly seasoned, skin-side down, tightly covered on a plate with waxed paper, nuked for 1 minute flat. Unbelievable.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Oh oh oh oh oh Split Pea Vegetable Soup Rich with Curry Paste!
My gifted friend, the artist Nan Wollman, recently introduced me to curry paste. Now well you may ask, Sylvia, how on earth did you get to be 74-2/3 years old and not know about curry paste? I’d have to answer that I’ve led a cloistered life.
Nan made us lunch a couple of weeks ago, it was a dazzling dish. She combined coconut milk with red curry paste, added diced carrots, diced chayote, and oyster mushrooms, simmered until the vegetables were nearly tender, dropped in handfuls of shredded spinach leaves and chopped Thai basil, finally some diced roasted sweet red peppers. When all was tender, she ladled it over brown basmati rice. I fair swooned.
The next day, I rushed to my favorite Asian grocery, Safe and Save Market, and bought a pouch of red curry paste. Nan’s packet was Mae Ploy 'Masman Curry Paste.’ Mine is 'Mus Mun Curry,' but ingredients are close to the same. Mine are: “red chilli, onion, garlic, galanga, lemongrass, kaffir lime peel, spice, salt, and shrimp paste" [the spice is likely coriander]. How can it not be divine? I’ve since learned curry pastes are fundamental in Thai cuisine and there is green curry paste made with green chilies and yellow curry paste made with turmeric...Wiki ‘curry paste’ and you will see.
This morning I was in a rush to get out of the house but wanted first to make split pea soup using up scraps of vegetables in the fridge. I did so, then at the very end, inspiration clapped me on the head and I pulled out the curry paste and stirred in a generous amount.
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh!
Now the following is a seat of the pants recipe, giddily imprecise. Make your own lovely split pea vegetable soup, using what you have on hand, then at the end, stir in the magical mystical paste.
Ohohohohohohohohoh!
Only cautionary note I would add is that the vegetable pieces should indeed be finely chopped...nothing larger than a split pea...this gives the texture a splendid amalgam.
One final thought. You will notice there is no garlic in the soup except for whatever small amount is in the curry paste. I was thinking just this morning as I chose not to saute garlic with the onion, that I'm beginning to appreciate dishes with garlic absent more and more. Garlic is one of Nature's gifts to the cook, of course. But--enamored with Mediterranean flavors--we automatically toss it into savory compositions, and in a way, its warmth and strong presence can be its weakness...a distraction...can pull the palate away from the purity, the harmony of underlying essentials. (I just noticed that I made this point earlier--December 22nd--with the Vegetable-Soup-In-Balance. Get off your soap box, Sylvia!)
2 tablespoons light-flavored oil (I happened to use hazelnut oil, but canola would be fine)
1/2 large onion, finely chopped
2 large carrots, unpeeled, finely chopped
1/2 chayote (or 1 zucchini), unpeeled, finely chopped
1 pound split green peas, rinsed and picked over (watch for pebbles)
About 8 cups water and 3 seasoning cubes*, or 8 cups vegetable or chicken broth
About 1/3 cup tomato paste (Italian, from a tube)
1 large sweet red pepper, finely chopped
1/4 to 1/3 cup red curry paste, or to taste
In a large (3 quart) saucepan, heat the oil and sauté the onion and carrots for a couple of minutes, to soften them. Add the chayote and soften for a bit. Stir in the split peas and the water** or broth, bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally. Simmer (loosely covered or uncovered, whatever’s easy) about 1/2 hour. Stir every so often so nothing sticks. Blend in the tomato paste. Continue simmering (and stirring occasionally) until the peas are almost tender, then blend in the sweet red pepper and the curry paste. Finish simmering until the peas are tender. If you want a less sturdy consistency, add water or stock.
Makes 6 to 8 servings, depending who’s eating.
*2 ”Garlic and Herb” and 1 “Mushroom,” from the Italian grocery
**I soften the seasoning cubes in some of the water in the microwave, then stir to blend before mixing into the pot
Nan made us lunch a couple of weeks ago, it was a dazzling dish. She combined coconut milk with red curry paste, added diced carrots, diced chayote, and oyster mushrooms, simmered until the vegetables were nearly tender, dropped in handfuls of shredded spinach leaves and chopped Thai basil, finally some diced roasted sweet red peppers. When all was tender, she ladled it over brown basmati rice. I fair swooned.
The next day, I rushed to my favorite Asian grocery, Safe and Save Market, and bought a pouch of red curry paste. Nan’s packet was Mae Ploy 'Masman Curry Paste.’ Mine is 'Mus Mun Curry,' but ingredients are close to the same. Mine are: “red chilli, onion, garlic, galanga, lemongrass, kaffir lime peel, spice, salt, and shrimp paste" [the spice is likely coriander]. How can it not be divine? I’ve since learned curry pastes are fundamental in Thai cuisine and there is green curry paste made with green chilies and yellow curry paste made with turmeric...Wiki ‘curry paste’ and you will see.
This morning I was in a rush to get out of the house but wanted first to make split pea soup using up scraps of vegetables in the fridge. I did so, then at the very end, inspiration clapped me on the head and I pulled out the curry paste and stirred in a generous amount.
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh!
Now the following is a seat of the pants recipe, giddily imprecise. Make your own lovely split pea vegetable soup, using what you have on hand, then at the end, stir in the magical mystical paste.
Ohohohohohohohohoh!
Only cautionary note I would add is that the vegetable pieces should indeed be finely chopped...nothing larger than a split pea...this gives the texture a splendid amalgam.
One final thought. You will notice there is no garlic in the soup except for whatever small amount is in the curry paste. I was thinking just this morning as I chose not to saute garlic with the onion, that I'm beginning to appreciate dishes with garlic absent more and more. Garlic is one of Nature's gifts to the cook, of course. But--enamored with Mediterranean flavors--we automatically toss it into savory compositions, and in a way, its warmth and strong presence can be its weakness...a distraction...can pull the palate away from the purity, the harmony of underlying essentials. (I just noticed that I made this point earlier--December 22nd--with the Vegetable-Soup-In-Balance. Get off your soap box, Sylvia!)
2 tablespoons light-flavored oil (I happened to use hazelnut oil, but canola would be fine)
1/2 large onion, finely chopped
2 large carrots, unpeeled, finely chopped
1/2 chayote (or 1 zucchini), unpeeled, finely chopped
1 pound split green peas, rinsed and picked over (watch for pebbles)
About 8 cups water and 3 seasoning cubes*, or 8 cups vegetable or chicken broth
About 1/3 cup tomato paste (Italian, from a tube)
1 large sweet red pepper, finely chopped
1/4 to 1/3 cup red curry paste, or to taste
In a large (3 quart) saucepan, heat the oil and sauté the onion and carrots for a couple of minutes, to soften them. Add the chayote and soften for a bit. Stir in the split peas and the water** or broth, bring to a simmer over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally. Simmer (loosely covered or uncovered, whatever’s easy) about 1/2 hour. Stir every so often so nothing sticks. Blend in the tomato paste. Continue simmering (and stirring occasionally) until the peas are almost tender, then blend in the sweet red pepper and the curry paste. Finish simmering until the peas are tender. If you want a less sturdy consistency, add water or stock.
Makes 6 to 8 servings, depending who’s eating.
*2 ”Garlic and Herb” and 1 “Mushroom,” from the Italian grocery
**I soften the seasoning cubes in some of the water in the microwave, then stir to blend before mixing into the pot
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Arthur Sheekman's Cinnamon Toast, Circa 1943
When I was a child, my father made me two things for breakfast according to his mood: Mashed Eggs and Cinnamon Toast.
Mashed Eggs were a Clean Out The Icebox sort of dish...chunks of salami (sometimes Daddy absent-mindedly left the papery covering on)...cheese (often Liederkranz, his favorite, oh so stinky and no longer made in this country, alas)...orange glints of lox (he used cream cheese with the lox, thank heaven, not Liederkranz)...and pickled onions (he sliced up onions, covered them with cider vinegar, kept them in a jar in the fridge)...lots of salt and black pepper. All were beaten together in a soupy mix of eggs, scrambled over slow heat in an astonishing amount of butter in his favorite skillet, then poured (Daddy liked his eggs s*o*f*t*) onto the plate. I never really liked Mashed Eggs, but I was also so charmed and complimented that my father wanted to cook for me, I ate them with a smile.
What brought a genuine smile to my face was Daddy's Cinnamon Toast. It's so simple a concoction, one tends to forget about it--at least, I do, for years at a time. But this morning I was seized by the need to taste it again. I made it in two versions, one with granulated sugar, the other with powdered sugar. As I suspected, I liked the one with powdered sugar best. In the heat of the broiler, some of the little white balls firm up a bit and they are crunchy when you bite them, yum.
I've just Googled recipes for Cinnamon Toast, and I'm surprised to find no one makes it the way my father did. Most recipes want you to mix the cinnamon and sugar. No. The beauty of the toast, I feel, is the snowy (when you use the powdered) sugar under rich reddish brown drifts of cinnamon. When the golden butter bubbles up beneath, your cinnamon toast is not only fragrant but beautiful.
So here is my father's cinnamon toast.
Per serving:
2 large slices good white or wheat* bread
About 2 tablespoons soft butter
About 4 teaspoons confectioner's sugar
Best quality cinnamon from a shaker top
Heat the broiler while you toast the bread as usual...not too dark.
Quickly spread each slice of bread with butter, completely covering the surface.
Use a spoon to sprinkle over the sugar, completely covering the butter.
Shake on cinnamon in drifts over the sugar--be generous.
Place under the broiler--keep an eye on it!--until the butter bubbles and you can smell the cinnamon. Serve at once, especially to a child.
*Rye and sour dough are not recommended, their flavors fight with the cinnamon.
Mashed Eggs were a Clean Out The Icebox sort of dish...chunks of salami (sometimes Daddy absent-mindedly left the papery covering on)...cheese (often Liederkranz, his favorite, oh so stinky and no longer made in this country, alas)...orange glints of lox (he used cream cheese with the lox, thank heaven, not Liederkranz)...and pickled onions (he sliced up onions, covered them with cider vinegar, kept them in a jar in the fridge)...lots of salt and black pepper. All were beaten together in a soupy mix of eggs, scrambled over slow heat in an astonishing amount of butter in his favorite skillet, then poured (Daddy liked his eggs s*o*f*t*) onto the plate. I never really liked Mashed Eggs, but I was also so charmed and complimented that my father wanted to cook for me, I ate them with a smile.
What brought a genuine smile to my face was Daddy's Cinnamon Toast. It's so simple a concoction, one tends to forget about it--at least, I do, for years at a time. But this morning I was seized by the need to taste it again. I made it in two versions, one with granulated sugar, the other with powdered sugar. As I suspected, I liked the one with powdered sugar best. In the heat of the broiler, some of the little white balls firm up a bit and they are crunchy when you bite them, yum.
I've just Googled recipes for Cinnamon Toast, and I'm surprised to find no one makes it the way my father did. Most recipes want you to mix the cinnamon and sugar. No. The beauty of the toast, I feel, is the snowy (when you use the powdered) sugar under rich reddish brown drifts of cinnamon. When the golden butter bubbles up beneath, your cinnamon toast is not only fragrant but beautiful.
So here is my father's cinnamon toast.
Per serving:
2 large slices good white or wheat* bread
About 2 tablespoons soft butter
About 4 teaspoons confectioner's sugar
Best quality cinnamon from a shaker top
Heat the broiler while you toast the bread as usual...not too dark.
Quickly spread each slice of bread with butter, completely covering the surface.
Use a spoon to sprinkle over the sugar, completely covering the butter.
Shake on cinnamon in drifts over the sugar--be generous.
Place under the broiler--keep an eye on it!--until the butter bubbles and you can smell the cinnamon. Serve at once, especially to a child.
*Rye and sour dough are not recommended, their flavors fight with the cinnamon.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
"The Best Ever" Sour Cream Blueberry Make-Ahead Pancakes
In my 1972 edition of "Farm Journal's Country Cookbook" (one of my very most favorite cookbooks) is a recipe for Sour Cream/Blueberry Pancakes. Next to it my daughter Amanda (our family's Princess of Baking) drew a star and wrote, "The best ever!" I'd forgotten about these pancakes partly because I forget to make pancakes on Sunday mornings (we're currently big on popovers) and partly because I rarely have sour cream on hand. Well, last Sunday I had both a yen for pancakes and sour cream in the fridge.
They really are good...and what makes them outstanding is this end note: "If you have leftover batter, cover and store in the refrigerator. It will keep 2 or 3 days..." I did, and this morning, Tuesday, I whomped up another dozen for my breakfast. They were yummy.
What a treat to make the batter when you think of it on the weekend, then Sunday morning when you're not yet awake, fire up the griddle and a few minutes later, scoop up a mountain of "the best ever" delicate berried pancakes. I like them topped with jam...
This makes about 30 2½-inch cakes.
1 cup unbleached flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 tablespoon sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
¼ cup sour cream (or ¼ cup yogurt and 1 more tablespoon melted butter*)
2 tablespoons melted butter
Heaping ½ cup blueberries or mixed berries, fresh or thawed frozen
In a medium-size bowl, use a fork to blend the dry ingredients. In a smallish bowl, beat together the egg, milk, and sour cream until blended. Add wets to dries and beat with a rotary beater until just smooth. Stir in the melted butter then the berries.
Bake immediately or cover and refrigerate, then stir to blend again before baking.
Bake as usual on a medium-hot buttered griddle by the 2-tablespoonsful.
Yes, there is no baking soda in this recipe, which surprises me, and yes, it is a lot of baking powder.
*You can also substitute soured milk (place 3/4 teaspoon cider vinegar or lemon juice in a ¼ cup measure and fill with milk, wait a few moments for it to curdle) or buttermilk...remember to add the extra tablespoon of butter.
They really are good...and what makes them outstanding is this end note: "If you have leftover batter, cover and store in the refrigerator. It will keep 2 or 3 days..." I did, and this morning, Tuesday, I whomped up another dozen for my breakfast. They were yummy.
What a treat to make the batter when you think of it on the weekend, then Sunday morning when you're not yet awake, fire up the griddle and a few minutes later, scoop up a mountain of "the best ever" delicate berried pancakes. I like them topped with jam...
This makes about 30 2½-inch cakes.
1 cup unbleached flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 tablespoon sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
1 egg
1 cup milk
¼ cup sour cream (or ¼ cup yogurt and 1 more tablespoon melted butter*)
2 tablespoons melted butter
Heaping ½ cup blueberries or mixed berries, fresh or thawed frozen
In a medium-size bowl, use a fork to blend the dry ingredients. In a smallish bowl, beat together the egg, milk, and sour cream until blended. Add wets to dries and beat with a rotary beater until just smooth. Stir in the melted butter then the berries.
Bake immediately or cover and refrigerate, then stir to blend again before baking.
Bake as usual on a medium-hot buttered griddle by the 2-tablespoonsful.
Yes, there is no baking soda in this recipe, which surprises me, and yes, it is a lot of baking powder.
*You can also substitute soured milk (place 3/4 teaspoon cider vinegar or lemon juice in a ¼ cup measure and fill with milk, wait a few moments for it to curdle) or buttermilk...remember to add the extra tablespoon of butter.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Warm Summer's Berries with Vanilla Ice Cream
Last night--New Year's Eve supper--for dessert after a first course of red salmon caviar and a main course of moules marinières, I adapted a recipe in "Jeremiah Tower Cooks" called Warm Fruit Stew. I had written on the page, "Perfection. Divine." Although purists would feel it's poor form to serve a summer dessert in the thick of winter, I felt it was the ideal ending to a rich but simple meal--and what the heck, bringing summer's warmth to the end-of-the-year table felt optimistic. Besides, where these berries came from, it was summer. Purists shmurists...
My addition to Tower's recipe was also simple. Years ago when I was putting together a piece about granités for Vogue magazine, I found a note buried in Escoffier: to heighten the flavor of red fruits, add a touch of orange and lemon...to all other fruits, add a touch of lemon. This is the sort of inspired observation that elevates cookery.
I love it when a composition with few ingredients emerges grander than the sum of its parts. This is an easy, elegant and festive dessert that merits a top spot in the sophisticated cook's repertoire, summer OR winter.
Light Syrup:
2 rounded tablespoons sugar (vanilla sugar, if you have it)
1/3 cup water
1/2-inch-wide strip of zest from around the middle of 1 tangerine or orange
Berries:
1 cup hulled and halved strawberries
1 cup blackberries
1 cup blueberries
Finish:*
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Pinch of coarse salt
1 pint vanilla bean ice cream (I recommend Häagen-Dazs "five")
The syrup is quickly made (and can be prepared hours in advance or put together just before using): combine sugar and water in a small skillet, stir over medium-high heat till sugar dissolves, simmer 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, scrape off any white from the back of the zest, then cut zest crosswise into slivers. Remove syrup from the heat and blend in the zest. Cover until needed.
Just before serving, combine the berries and syrup in a largish skillet and gently stir to coat the berries. Cook over medium heat 2 minutes, shaking the skillet, add the butter, lemon juice, and salt and continue shaking until the butter melts, another minute. Serve at once on plates with a dollop of ice cream in the center.
NB: Tower calls this a stew and wants it served on plates...I think of it as a compote and would have reached for pretty bowls, but who am I to contradict Jeremiah Tower?
*I had the butter, juice, and salt in a saucer by the stove, ready to go.
My addition to Tower's recipe was also simple. Years ago when I was putting together a piece about granités for Vogue magazine, I found a note buried in Escoffier: to heighten the flavor of red fruits, add a touch of orange and lemon...to all other fruits, add a touch of lemon. This is the sort of inspired observation that elevates cookery.
I love it when a composition with few ingredients emerges grander than the sum of its parts. This is an easy, elegant and festive dessert that merits a top spot in the sophisticated cook's repertoire, summer OR winter.
Light Syrup:
2 rounded tablespoons sugar (vanilla sugar, if you have it)
1/3 cup water
1/2-inch-wide strip of zest from around the middle of 1 tangerine or orange
Berries:
1 cup hulled and halved strawberries
1 cup blackberries
1 cup blueberries
Finish:*
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Pinch of coarse salt
1 pint vanilla bean ice cream (I recommend Häagen-Dazs "five")
The syrup is quickly made (and can be prepared hours in advance or put together just before using): combine sugar and water in a small skillet, stir over medium-high heat till sugar dissolves, simmer 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, scrape off any white from the back of the zest, then cut zest crosswise into slivers. Remove syrup from the heat and blend in the zest. Cover until needed.
Just before serving, combine the berries and syrup in a largish skillet and gently stir to coat the berries. Cook over medium heat 2 minutes, shaking the skillet, add the butter, lemon juice, and salt and continue shaking until the butter melts, another minute. Serve at once on plates with a dollop of ice cream in the center.
NB: Tower calls this a stew and wants it served on plates...I think of it as a compote and would have reached for pretty bowls, but who am I to contradict Jeremiah Tower?
*I had the butter, juice, and salt in a saucer by the stove, ready to go.
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