tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28094352293900946182024-03-19T00:15:13.113-05:00butter treeHow hungry we are!Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-2720294264421922112014-10-27T22:30:00.001-05:002014-10-27T22:30:45.849-05:00Uncommonly good<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/15459491949" title="Red-braised pork"><img alt="Red-braised pork" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5614/15459491949_56ec354753_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hello, friends. It’s been a while, ages, really. I’ve had my hands full trying to sort some things out. Most of it has had to do with my dissertation. It’s taken me the better part of a year to undo some of the habits and thinking that were holding me back, making me miserable. So, now, writing bits and pieces of it is not quite the terrible thing it once was. And that has opened up my days some. There has been more time for friends and cooking and soaking up the sun. I’ve been in a good place, and I hope that things can stay this way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last month, I was in China with my parents for a few weeks. I won’t say much about the sights, though, because, really, this trip for me was about family—the long hours I spent with my mom on the bus, gazing out at the passing scenery (yaks, looming peaks, haphazard fields of tomatoes hugging the winding, narrow mountain roads) and talking quietly, the morning we spent at an open market in Huanlong Valley, threading through the crowds and munching on sweets like the ones my mom grew up with, the last afternoon in Guangzhou when all of us, even my dad, who doesn’t do any of the cooking at home, gathered at the table and fumbled with dumpling wrappers, trying to imitate my uncle’s deft hand movements. It had been years since I’d spent this much uninterrupted time with my parents and almost as long since I’d seen many of these members of my extended family. And though, of course, we got on each other’s nerves occasionally (okay, maybe more), the time we spent together left me feeling closer to them than I have in a while.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/15643469191" title="Mise"><img alt="Mis" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5616/15643469191_3d47d435a5_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/15643798381" title="All in"><img alt="All in" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3932/15643798381_4e5880642b_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not very good at sustaining relationships at a distance. I let the more immediate demands in my life pull me away. And it’s always been especially difficult with my parents, I think. I’ve grown into a person very different from them in a lot of ways. So, there isn’t always a whole lot to talk about from week to week. But having spent so much time with them recently, I’ve been determined not to let things lapse. And as became obvious to me during the trip, the easiest way to do this will be to talk about food.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s not as though my mom and I didn’t talk about cooking before this. But up until I <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2013/09/on-cultural-identities.html">started cooking from Fuchsia Dunlop’s books</a> last year, most of what found its way to my table wouldn’t have been anything my mom could’ve related to. During the trip, however, we all talked about food a lot—about the produce we saw at markets, about the cooking methods behind dishes served to us at restaurants, about the greens I was growing back home and what I might plant next year. Cooking more Chinese food—even if it wasn’t exactly the kind of food I’d grown up with—had given me a way of connecting with my family that I hadn’t quite had before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, I’ve been trying to do more Chinese cooking since getting back. The dish that’s really stood out since then is another from Fuchsia Dunlop—her red-braised pork with garlic. This dish might be a hard sell for some of you. But I think it’s incredible. You start with a one-pound slab of pork belly. You cut it into one-inch cubes and set these in a heavy pot along with whole garlic cloves, rock sugar, ginger, scallion, Sichuan peppercorns, and dried longan fruit, with water to cover. Then, you cook it all at the barest simmer for ten hours, at the end of which the pork belly pieces are translucent, unctuous, and uncommonly good—a whole-mouth luxury. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, the thing that you might hesitate over is the pork belly. There is no way around this: it is mostly fat. To be clear, I’m not usually one to shy away from animal fat. But I tend to think of pork fat as something to cook things in—not as the thing to be eaten. So, even I blanched a little when I unwrapped the parcel from the butcher. There was definitely more fat than muscle on this slab. This dish was seeming like less of a good idea. But I was wrong about that. You want all that fat. The long cook transforms it. It takes on the flavours in the pot and becomes something delicate and meltingly delicious. </span></div>
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<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/15460975220" title="Another close-up"><img alt="Another close-up" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5605/15460975220_431011f1c0_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, it is still fat. But that’s okay. Red-braised pork is meant to be enjoyed just a morsel or two at a time. Cover the rest of the table with vegetable dishes and gather some friends around. That, anyway, is what I’ll tell my mom when I talk to her about it. (Even if lard was the choice fat for cooking when she was growing up, she has never quite embraced animal fat in the way I have. So, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to talk her into cooking this dish.)</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Red-Braised Pork with Garlic</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">From <a href="http://www.fuchsiadunlop.com/">Fuchsia Dunlop</a> in <i><a href="http://lky.ph/">Lucky Peach</a></i> no. 11</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Note: <i>About the longan fruit</i>. I’m not sure about how widely available these are in North America in their dried form. I coincidentally was given some by a family friend while in China. Dunlop says that you can substitute dates or just go without. <i>About the rock sugar</i>. Rock sugar is a common ingredient that you can find in Chinese grocery stores. It’s less sweet, and possibly less refined, than conventional granulated sugar. It’s sold in large chunks, which you are supposed to break up yourself at home. I’ve found that a mortar and pestle are the best tools for the job. Pound away at it, and it’ll eventually start breaking up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">450 g pork belly with skin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3 heads garlic</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 small piece of ginger (about 25 g), unpeeled</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 scallion</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">165 g / 3/4 cup sugar, preferably rock sugar</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">45 g / 1/4 cup dried longan fruit (pits removed)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 tablespoon sea salt</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">8 Sichuan peppercorns</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bring a medium pot of water to a boil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile, break up the garlic into cloves and peel them. Use the flat side of a cleaver to crush the ginger and scallion slightly to release their flavours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cut the pork into 1-inch chunks. But do not cut it along its vertical axis—it’s okay if the chunks end up longer on this axis. You want each morsel to have a bit of skin and then layers of fat and muscle underneath. (It’s these together that make for the most delicious bites!) Drop the pork into the boiling water and blanch for about a minute. Drain in a colander and then rinse with cold water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Place the pork and all the remaining ingredients in a heavy-bottomed pot (clay or cast-iron) that will fit them all in a single layer. Add just enough water to cover. Bring the liquid to a boil over medium heat, then cover and cook over extremely low heat for 10 hours, by which time the pork will be fall-apart tender and the garlic will have melted into the sauce.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before serving, remove and discard the ginger and scallion. Garnish with more fresh scallion if you wish, and serve with plain steamed rice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Serves 4-6 with other dishes</i>.</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-69186758599011733122013-12-11T09:12:00.000-06:002013-12-11T09:13:16.190-06:00Dig deep<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/11291323414/" title="La caldereta"><img alt="La caldereta" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7289/11291323414_d99cd482fe_z.jpg" width="600" /></a><br />
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I've felt lately that I've been letting the days get away from me. While I've been researching and thinking, thinking and baking, things have been piling up, bit by bit. Cookbooks and philosophy texts sit in haphazard stacks all over the apartment. Some sort of upset is imminent, I'm sure. I've taken to writing at our little dining table, pesky breadcrumbs and all. There's also a canvas bag in the kitchen I keep tripping over. I used it to lug things back from the garden all summer, and it is still slumped where I left it well over a month ago. It's mud-caked from a hurried last beet-greens harvest and full of half-empty seed packets I still need to sort through. And earlier this week, my remaining bottle of <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2013/07/what-was-missing.html">elderflower syrup</a> exploded in the refrigerator! I was not home at the time, but I'm sure that it made a spectacular commotion. (I'm a bit sorry to have missed it!) There was glass and syrup everywhere. It should have occurred to me to pop the top off every now and then. Fermentation gases, friends--these are not to be underestimated!</div>
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But it hasn't all been mayhem around here. My dissertation research is finally starting to take shape. And the baguettes I pulled out of the oven this week were decidedly less woeful-looking. Also, there was this lamb shoulder, slow-roasted in a lavish puddle of wine, smoked paprika, onion, and whole garlic cloves.</div>
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When there is snow on the ground, this is the sort of cooking I like doing best--slow, deliberate, decidedly leisurely. Once you've rubbed salt, rosemary, and thyme into the lamb and cooked down some onion and garlic, there is not much else to do. The lamb joins the onion and garlic in the pan, along with the wine and paprika. Then it all goes into the oven. You just need to look in on it once in a while and do a little basting. Towards the end, you crank the heat and drop in some quartered potatoes to finish with the roast.</div>
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By the time evening closes in, then, you'll have something marvellous on your hands. The lamb will be gleaming, falling off the bone, crackling at the edges. Its gaminess will have been tamed just enough by the wine and herbs. And what it didn't drink up the potatoes will have. You should dig deep with this one. Pull that silken onion, those sweet, slumped garlic cloves from the bottom of the pan and add them to your plate. You won't regret it.</div>
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I intended with this roast to have a little less of the days get away from me. I had a few days' worth of sandwiches in mind. But I should have known--lamb only gets gamier with time. I have been countering that with sharp dijon mustard and roasted red peppers. But really, what you should do if you make this roast is gather some friends 'round and remind them of just how much they matter to you.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/11291573455/" style="text-align: center;" title="With the potatoes"><img alt="With the potatoes" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2853/11291573455_ea6a146fc3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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<b>Roasted Lamb Shoulder in White Wine and Herbs</b></div>
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Adapted, just a little, from <i>Moro East</i></div>
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1 lamb shoulder, bone-in, about 4.5 lb</div>
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3 teaspoons fine sea salt</div>
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1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves</div>
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1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh rosemary</div>
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5 tablespoons olive oil</div>
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1 large onion, roughly sliced</div>
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18 garlic cloves, peeled</div>
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2 bay leaves, preferably fresh</div>
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1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds</div>
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1/2 teaspoon smoked sweet paprika</div>
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1 1/2 cups good white wine</div>
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3 tablespoons brandy (optional)</div>
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2 lb small waxy potatoes, peeled and quartered</div>
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Rub the shoulder with the fine sea salt and half the thyme and rosemary and let it stand for an hour.</div>
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Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.</div>
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Meanwhile, put the olive oil, onion, garlic, and a pinch of salt in a large roasting pan. Fry for about 10 minutes over medium heat until the onion softens and starts to colour. Stir in the bay leaves, fennel seeds, paprika, and remaining thyme and rosemary, followed by the wine and brandy, if using. Place the shoulder in the pan, skin-side up, and put the pan in the oven. Roast for 2 1/2 hours, basting the shoulder at least 4 times (be careful not to leave any onion on top of the shoulder - it may burn).</div>
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Toss the potatoes in the juices in the roasting pan. Turn up the oven to 425 degrees F and cook for a further 40 minutes, adding a splash of water to the pan if the juices have totally dried up. Taste for seasoning and leave to rest for at least 10 minutes before serving.</div>
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<i>Serves 4-6.</i></div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-62856861177833520102013-12-04T20:02:00.002-06:002013-12-06T08:40:33.952-06:00Hello, again<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/11213128895/" title="Thumbprints"><img alt="Thumbprints" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7453/11213128895_f17919c26c_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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It's been awhile. I hope you've all been well. I didn't mean to be away for this long. I'd intended at least to have a pie or two for you ready by Thanksgiving, but none really worked out quite the way I'd been hoping. Grainy custards, sloppy fruit, scorched pastry--it wasn't pretty. I hope you understand.</div>
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But have a thumbprint cookie. These are from the second batch I've made this week. I know--thumbprints are nothing new, nothing you haven't seen before. But, you know, there's something to be said for the classics. Besides, I adore these thumbprints--their delicate butteriness, their deep jammy wells, their faint sugary crackle. And if you happen to have some homemade preserves around, crack open a jar, show them off. A good, tart homemade preserve will shine here. (I used <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2013/07/something-enduring.html">cherry-plum</a> and <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2013/06/sitting-plump-and-gorgeous.html">strawberry-balsamic</a> from my reserves. I especially like that they're a little chunkier. Biting into half a cherry or a bit of strawberry in the middle of a cookie is quite nice.)</div>
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And by all means, take this recipe as a guideline. Swap out a few tablespoons of the all-purpose flour for rye or buckwheat, maybe. Tumble your cookies through a mound of coconut instead of chopped almonds. Replace the vanilla with a few drops of rosewater. It would be hard to go wrong.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/11213245403/" title="Wells of jam"><img alt="Wells of jam" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3690/11213245403_566b92bda1_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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<b>Thumbprint Cookies</b><br />
Adapted from <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/356359/thumbprint-cookies">Martha Stewart</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> With this second batch, for a little more depth, I swapped out 1/4 cup of the all-purpose for rye, and a few tablespoons more wouldn't have hurt, I think. At first, I wasn't sure about quite how much of a difference the rye made, but Octavian, who ate quite a few thumbprints from the first batch, remarked that the new ones were even better, and this was before I'd told him that I'd made any changes. So, go rye!</div>
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4 oz unsalted butter, at room temperature </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/2 cup granulated sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 1/2 tablespoons demerara sugar </div>
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1 large egg, separated </div>
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3/4 teaspoon vanilla paste or extract </div>
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1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (see note above)</div>
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1/4 teaspoon kosher salt </div>
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1/2 cup blanched almonds, coarsely chopped</div>
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1/4 cup good-quality preserves (raspberry, apricot, or something else tart)</div>
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Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, cream the butter and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Add the egg yolk and vanilla paste and mix well. Add the flour and salt and mix until combined.</div>
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Put the egg white in a small bowl and whisk to break it up. Combine the almonds and demerara sugar in a wide dish. </div>
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Form the dough into 1-inch balls. Dip in the egg white, then in the almond mixture. Place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, a couple of inches apart. Make a deep well in the centre of each ball with the end of a thick-handled wooden spoon. Bake for 10 minutes, then remove from the oven and press down the centres again. Fill each cookie with about a 1/2 teaspoon of preserves. Bake for another 10-12 minutes. Remove from the oven and place on a wire rack to cool.</div>
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<i>Makes about 18 cookies</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-47004163219371420372013-11-13T18:12:00.002-06:002013-11-13T18:13:32.874-06:00Retreat to the kitchen<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10826719836/" title="Delicata hummus"><img alt="Delicata hummus" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7364/10826719836_de9e81a9c8_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Starting to write a dissertation is no straightforward thing. You can be lost for weeks and not know it. And the advice you tend to get, while sometimes painfully obvious, is still hard to follow. I've been feeling shrunken, scared, and incapable lately. I've been wondering whether in fact I really belong here. And though I've been told that this phase of grad school is like this for lots of people, trying to push through it all, to actually believe in myself, has been hard. Sometimes, it's just been easier to retreat to the kitchen.</div>
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Still, I haven't allowed myself to take on anything too consuming. Spending time on something extravagant--a layer cake, another batch of preserves--would at this point, I think, just leave me guilt-stricken. So, I've stuck mostly to simple things, things to help keep me humming through the day, like this sunny delicata-squash hummus.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10845751976/" title="Ready for poaching"><img alt="Ready for poaching" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7293/10845751976_61f881fddd_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10845955173/" title="Roasted squash"><img alt="Roasted squash" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3673/10845955173_92487a8bfd_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10845935103/" title="Dark edges"><img alt="Dark edges" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7380/10845935103_67d3e922b9_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Though I spend most mornings at my desk--typing, cursing, thumbing through books--I usually find myself desperately hungry a couple of hours after breakfast, no matter what I eat. So, almost inevitably, I drop what I'm doing, tear through the cupboards, and find a bag of something salty and satisfying to mindlessly crunch my way through. I am never at my best when hungry.</div>
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Having a jar of delicata hummus around has helped. Its mellow, nutty sweetness, which gives way to a lingering serrano-kissed heat, is worth slowing down for, worth savouring. So it at least makes for more mindful snacking. I often spread it just as it is on crackers or toasted baguette. But it takes well to being gussied up too. A dab of Greek yogurt tames its heat and adds welcome acidity. A drizzle of maple syrup brings out the delicata's sweetness. Pomegranate and sesame seeds add some nice pop. And though I haven't tried this yet, I get the feeling that something smoky would really make this hummus sing. Smoked sea salt? Crumbled bacon and chives? I don't know, but I can't wait to try.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10826816244/" title="On baguette"><img alt="On baguette" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2856/10826816244_466ecef92e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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This recipe, by the way comes from <i><a href="http://modernfarmer.com/">Modern Farmer</a></i>, a new-ish quarterly magazine that I've enjoyed paging through recently. It isn't <i>exactly</i> a food magazine in the expected sense (the hummus recipe is the only recipe in this issue), but unsurprisingly, it touches on issues we should all take some interest in (food waste, breeding heat-resistant strains of lettuce).</div>
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<b>Delicata Hummus</b></div>
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Adapted from Karen Lebovitz in <i>Modern Farmer</i>, Fall 2013</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 pounds delicata squash (or of another variety of your choosing)</div>
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1 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil</div>
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Salt and pepper</div>
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2 heads garlic, separated into cloves and peeled (about 1/2 cup of cloves)</div>
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2 or 3 serrano peppers, sliced in half, stems and seeds removed</div>
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1/4 cup tahini</div>
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3 tablespoons lemon juice</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">GARNISHES</span></div>
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Greek yogurt, maple syrup, pomegranate seeds, and toasted sesame seeds</div>
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Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Cut the squash in half and remove the seeds and string. Rub the flesh with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and 2 generous pinches of salt. Place the squash cut side down on a half-sheet and bake until very soft, about 1 hour.</div>
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While the squash is baking, place the garlic, serranos, and remaining olive oil in a small saucepan over low heat. Poach the garlic and peppers in the oil until completely soft, 30-40 minutes. The garlic should be very lightly browned.</div>
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Scoop out the flesh from the roasted squash and place in a food processor. Add the poaching oil, garlic, serranos, tahini, and lemon juice. Puree until smooth, about 1 minute. Season to taste with salt and pepper.</div>
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The texture of the hummus will vary with the squash. Add up to 1/2 cup of water and blend until the desired consistency is reached. Refrigerate at least 3 hours or up to a week. The hummus also keeps well frozen in an airtight container.</div>
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<i>Makes 5-6 cups</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-350546920435287592013-10-13T10:07:00.000-05:002013-10-13T10:07:06.514-05:00A kitchen garden<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9761800716/" title="Fava beans"><img alt="Fava beans" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7351/9761800716_1b9f29c4c4_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Two springs ago, when I put my first seeds in the ground, I had no idea just how much this little patch would come to mean to me. These were the beginning days of my modest kitchen garden, set to sprout from one of the three 10-x-4-foot raised beds my more capable neighbours had constructed behind our building. Back then, I thought of the space and the work to come only as something that might lead to better eating, to more varied and vibrant plates at our table. I didn't give much thought to the growing itself. A row of collards, at the time, seemed an unlikely place to cultivate affections.</div>
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But I've since changed my mind--because once you've put those seeds in the ground, I've found, it's hard not to get drawn into the lives of your plants, to be utterly captivated by them. Your heart leaps when you see the first seedlings poking out from the soil. Sometimes you catch them mid-stretch, just as they're emerging--still pale, partly curled, their first leaves yet to completely unfurl. They look a little sleepy. You are struck by their vulnerability. You want to do whatever you can to see that they thrive. So you find yourself in the midst of an unfolding drama. Your plants are the unlikely heroines, weathering the assault of pests, the elements. You do what you can to help them.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10245970106/" title="Making the filling"><img alt="Making the filling" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5543/10245970106_506cac323a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10247203994/" title="Fava bean"><img alt="Fava bean filling" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7389/10247203994_5155789b37_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10247127824/" title="Pinched Agnolotti"><img alt="Pinched Agnolotti" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3804/10247127824_bd58567248_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
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And, of course, the plants you grow most attached to are the ones that really struggle, the ones that seem to need you most. For me, this year, it was my fava beans. Favas aren't really meant to be cultivated here in the Midwest. They are slow to grow. It takes them 70-90 days to go from seed to filling their fat pods, and the cool, damp weather that they love is too short-lived here. By the time they flower and begin to set pods, the first of summer's scorching days have already arrived, and so they struggle to produce. Mine also happened to attract the attention of hungry aphids. So for awhile I was afraid they wouldn't produce at all.</div>
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But they did. Pathetically, but they did. After a month's worth of harvesting, de-podding, blanching, and freezing--usually just a handful of pods at a time--I was just shy of half a pound of beans. Thinking back on it now, I wonder if it would have been better just to have eaten them as they came in and not worried so much about how few they were. The ones I tried straight from the blanching pot were, after all, incredible--delicate, sweet, vegetal--by far the best tasting thing I've been able to grow. But after all the trouble they'd given me, I wanted to do something special with them. So I ended up making Thomas Keller's fava bean agnolotti.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10247242865/" title="To be cut"><img alt="To be cut" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7418/10247242865_b182087d24_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10247252904/" title="Cutting agnolotti"><img alt="Cutting agnolotti" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3794/10247252904_3e8c41ecf7_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/10247305444/" title="Agnolotti"><img alt="Agnolotti" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8412/10247305444_ca15dbef02_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Making any sort of filled pasta takes a bit of time and practice. But it feels rewarding to get your hands dirty and tackle something new. You make agnolotti from long, narrow sheets of pasta. You pipe a single line of filling along each sheet and then bring bottom of the sheet over the filling, folding and pressing to form a tube. Then, using both your thumbs and forefingers, you work your way down the tube, pinching out individual agnolotti. There is something especially satisfying about this part, seeing an agnolotto plump up between your fingers, feeling the filling squish. And once you've cut them apart from each other, what you end up with are gorgeously plump little dumplings. They are so darling that you just want to pinch their cheeks.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9761544341/" title="Agnolotti"><img alt="Agnolotti" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7453/9761544341_c8d951b966_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9760332021/" title="Fava bean agnolotti"><img alt="Fava bean agnolotti" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3770/9760332021_54c5275c4d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Fat with a filling of fava bean purée, mascarpone, and breadcrumbs, these particular agnolotti were especially lovely--luxuriously textured and delicately vegetal. The puddle of warm spices, butter, stock, and cream in which they sat only helped. On a whim, I garnished each serving with a cluster or two of tiny cilantro flowers snipped from my neighbours' plot. These added a brazen citrusy pop to some bites, which I quite liked. Though the season for fava beans stretches from late spring into early summer, I feel as though these agnolotti are what I'd want to throw together on one of the chilly days just about to creep up on us. They have a soothing, velvety warmth to them that would perfect to cozy up with. And I would do just that, if there were anymore agnolotti in the freezer. But my plants weathered a lot, and I barely had beans enough for this one batch. But maybe favas fare better wherever you are.</div>
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<b>Fava Bean Agnolotti with Curry Emulsion</b></div>
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Adapted from Thomas Keller's <i>The French Laundry Cookbook</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE: </span>This recipe is a long one, but don't be intimidated. You can break up this recipe over weeks if you want (which is in fact what I did). You can shell and blanch the fava beans one day and then just tuck them into the freezer. Then, when you have more time on your hands, you can make the pasta dough and the filling (thaw your favas first). Shortly after that, or on the same day, you can fill and shape your agnolotti. Finally, when you want to enjoy your agnolotti, all you have to do is cook them and put together the curry emulsion. <i>Shaping agnolotti</i>. It took me a few tries to really understand how to get the shape right (which is not to say that my agnolotti are at all perfect). I think that written instructions can only help so much. At some point, things just clicked for me. But you might want to take a look at the Kitchn's s<a href="http://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-fill-and-shape-agnolotti-pasta-cooking-lessons-from-the-kitchn-179272">tep-by-step agnolotti-making tutorial</a>. <i>Curry emulsion</i>. If, like me, you happen to find yourself with more emulsion than the agnolotti look like they can really handle, just pour off what remains in the pan and stick it in the fridge. Drizzle some on your scrambled eggs or some roasted asparagus the next day. Trust me. <i>Portioning</i>. Keller intends these agnolotti as a starter for six. In my case, they made a modest lunch for three.</div>
<i><br /></i><span style="font-size: x-small;">
PASTA</span><br />
200 g / 1 2/3 cup all-purpose flour<br />
6 large egg yolks<br />
1 large egg<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons olive oil<br />
1 tablespoon milk<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">FAVA BEAN FILLING</span><br />
2-3 lb fava beans (225 g / 1/2 cups shelled)<br />
65 g / 3/4 cup fresh bread crumbs<br />
55 g / 1/4 cup + 1/2 tablespoon mascarpone<br />
Salt to taste<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">CURRY EMULSION</span><br />
2 teaspoons curry powder<br />
2 tablespoons chopped scallions<br />
3/4 cup + 2 tablespoons vegetable stock or water<br />
1/4 cup heavy cream<br />
1/4 cup crème fraîche<br />
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into chunks<br />
Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste<br />
18 one-inch-long pieces ramps or scallions, blanched for 1 minute, then chilled and pat dry<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO SERVE</span><br />
18 one-inch-long pieces garlic sprouts or garlic chives<br />
6 sprigs cilantro flowers (optional)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO MAKE THE PASTA DOUGH</span><br />
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Mound the flour on a clean work surface and make a well in the centre, pushing the flour to all sides to make a ring with sides about 1-inch wide. Make sure that the well is wide enough to hold all the eggs without spilling.</div>
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Pour the egg yolks, egg, oil, and milk into the well. Use your fingers to break the eggs up. Still using your fingers, begin turning the eggs in a circular motion, keeping them within the well and not allowing them to spill over the sides. This circular motion allows the eggs to gradually pull in flour from the sides of the well: it is important that the flour not be incorporated too rapidly, or your dough will be lumpy. Keep moving the eggs while slowly incorporating the flour. Using a pastry scraper, occasionally push the flour towards the eggs; the flour should be moved only enough to maintain the gradual incorporation of the flour, and the eggs should continue to be contained in the well. The mixture will thicken and eventually get too tight to keep turning with your fingers.</div>
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When the dough begins thickening and starts lifting itself up from the work surface, begin incorporating the remaining flour with the pastry scraper by lifting the flour up and over the dough that's beginning to form and cutting it into the dough. When the remaining flour from the sides of the well has been cut into the dough, the dough will still look shaggy. Bring the dough together in the palms of your hands and form it into a ball. It will look flaky but hold together.</div>
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Knead the dough by pressing it, bit by bit, in a forward motion with the hells of your hands rather than folding it over on itself as you would with a bread dough. Re-form the dough into a ball and repeat the process several times. The dough should feel moist but not sticky. Let the dough rest for a few minutes while you clean the work surface.</div>
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Dust the clean work surface with a little flour. Knead the dough by pushing against it in a forward motion with the heels of your hands. Form the dough into a ball again and knead it again. Keep kneading in this forward motion until the dough becomes silky smooth. The dough is ready when you can pull your finger through it and the dough wants to snap back into place. The kneading process can take anywhere from 10 to 15 minutes. It is important to work the dough long enough to pass the pull test; otherwise when it rests, it will collapse.</div>
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Double wrap the dough in plastic wrap to ensure that it does not dry out. Let the dough rest for at least 30 minutes and up to 1 hour before rolling it through a pasta machine. The dough can be made ahead, wrapped, and refrigerated: bring to room temperature before proceeding.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO MAKE THE FAVA BEAN FILLING</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Shell the fava beans and then peel the skins from the beans. Starting a small slit in the skin with a sharp paring knife makes the peeling easier. Remove the small germ at the side of each bean. You need 1 1/2 cups of beans for the filling; reserve any extra beans for another use. Blanch the beans in generously salted water for 5 minutes, or until tender, and immediately transfer to ice water to chill. When they are cold, drain the beans and spread on paper towels to drain thoroughly.</div>
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Place the beans in a food processor with the bread crumbs. Blend until they come together and form a ball. Add the mascarpone and process again until the mixture is smooth. Season to taste with salt. You will have 1-1 1/4 cups of filling. Refrigerate the mixture until it is cool, or for up to 2 days.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO FORM THE PASTA SHEETS</span></div>
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Divide the dough into three or four pieces (you will have a little extra that you can cut into spaghetti or fettuccine and freeze for later use). Work with one piece at a time and keep the others covered so that they don't dry out. Set the rollers of your pasta machine to the widest setting. Flatten the first piece out with your hands into a long rectangle and feed it through the machine. Fold it over onto itself as you would a letter and flatten it with your hands again. Rotate it a quarter turn and feed it through the machine. Repeat this procedure 2 or 3 more times. Use flour as necessary to keep the pasta from sticking. You shouldn't need to use much at all.</div>
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Set the rollers down one notch and feed the pasta through. Do not fold it over. Run the sheet through on the same setting 2 more times. Then, adjust the rollers again and repeat this procedure, adjusting the rollers as you go, until the pasta is thin enough to see your fingers through it but not so thin that it's translucent. (On my machine, this means rolling it multiple times through the second-last setting.) Repeat with the remaining pieces of dough.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO FILL THE AGNOLOTTI</span></div>
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Work with one sheet of pasta at a time, keeping the others covered. Lay the sheet on a lightly-floured work surface with the long side facing you. Trim the edges so that they are straight. Place the agnolotti filling in a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch plain tip. Pipe a line of filling across the bottom of the sheet, leaving a 3/4 inch border of pasta along the left, right, and bottom edges.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pull the bottom edge of the pasta up and over the filling. Seal the agnolotti by carefully molding the pasta over the filling and pressing lightly with your index finger to seal the edge of the dough to the pasta sheet; don't drag your finger along the dough to seal, or your risk ripping the dough. When it it sealed, there should be about a 1/2-inch of excess dough visible above the tube of filling (where you sealed it). Be certain that you are sealing tightly while pressing out any pockets of air. Seal the left and right ends of the dough.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO SHAPE THE AGNOLOTTI</span></div>
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Starting at one end, place the thumb and forefinger of each hand together as if you were going to pinch something, and leaving about 1 inch of space between your hands and holding your fingers vertically, pinch the filling firmly in 1-inch increments, making about 3/4 inch of pinched area between each pocket of filling. It is important to leave this much pinched area between the agnolotti, or when the agnolotti are separated, they may come unsealed.</div>
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Run a crimped pastry wheel along the top edge of the folded-over dough, separating the strip of filling pockets from the remainder of the pasta sheet. Don't cut too close to the filling, or you risk breaking the seal. Separate the individual agnolotti by cutting through the center of each pinched area, rolling the pastry wheel away from your and leaning the tube of filling away from you and into the work surface as you cut. The leaning helps form the agnolotti's characteristic pocket-shape. Working quickly, place the agnolotti on a baking sheet dusted with a thin layer of cornmeal, which will prevent sticking. Don't let the agnolotti touch sac other, or they may stick together. Repeat the same procedure with the remaining pasta sheets.</div>
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At this point, you can either cook the agnolotti in boiling water immediately or freeze them on the baking sheet. Once the agnolotti are frozen, place them in airtight freezer bags and keep them frozen for up to several weeks. Cook the agnolotti while still frozen.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO COMPLETE</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the curry emulsion, toast the curry powder in a small saucepan over medium heat until it is fragrant. Stir in the scallions and heat for another minute. Add the 3/4 cup stock, the cream, and the crème fraîche, bring to a simmer, and cook until the liquid is reduced to a half cup. Swirl in the butter. When the butter is melted, add the remaining 2 tablespoons of stock and blend for 30 seconds with an immersion blender to emulsify the mixture (alternatively, transfer to a conventional blender and emulsify). Season the mixture with salt and pepper and strain into a wide pan.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Meanwhile, cook the agnolotti in a large pot of lightly salted boiling water until cooked through, 4-5 minutes.</div>
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Drain the agnolotti, add the agnolotti and ramps to the curry emulsion, and toss over low heat to coat with sauce. Divide the agnolotti and ramps among three serving dishes and garnish the top of each with 6 garlic sprouts and 2 flower sprigs, if using. Serve immediately.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Makes 48 agnolotti</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-26163097491994885032013-09-23T12:27:00.001-05:002013-09-23T12:27:56.174-05:00On cultural identities<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9829954286/" title="Cooking from Every Grain of Rice"><img alt="Cooking from Every Grain of Rice" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3780/9829954286_e06fc36e1a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Exciting news! <b>Today, a couple of other home cooks and I will be video-chatting live with Fuchsia Dunlop as a part of this month's New York Times' Recipe Lab.</b> Dunlop is an expert on a number of China's regional cuisines and author of a fantastic travel memoir and three cookbooks, including <i>Every Grain of Rice</i>. We'll be talking with her about Chinese cooking and a dish from <i>EGR</i> we all made, Gong Bao Chicken. Tune in to <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/23/dining/live-video-chat-on-chinese-cooking-at-home.html?ref=dining">Recipe Lab</a> at 3 pm Eastern. It's going to be great! If you're a bit confused about why I'm participating in this chat (when, after all, was the last time that you saw anything Chinese around here?), see below for some background.</div>
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Cultural identity can be a funny thing. My mother is Cantonese. I grew up crunching my way through bok choy slicked in oyster sauce, wrinkling my nose at bitter melon, sneaking bits of crispy pork skin when I didn't think anyone was looking. But you wouldn't know it from the way that I cook and eat now, at least not in a way that I can see. Sure, I'm not half-bad at picking clean a small pile of spicy chicken feet, and I can appreciate the gelatinousness of vinegar-braised pork hocks. But I couldn't tell you much about the ingredients and methods. In fact, I don't really know how to cook any of the food I ate growing up. I just wasn't all that interested in learning to back then, and this part of my heritage is something I've always had a bit of a hard time with. I still don't really know how it fits in with who I am.</div>
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But lately, I've been trying to get a better handle on Chinese cooking (which is not to say that there's really <i>one</i> thing you could call that). See, at some point next year, I'm going to be travelling with my mother in China for a few weeks. This won't be the first time that I've visited, but I feel as though I've done quite a bit of growing up since my last couple of trips, and I want this one to be different. On past trips, I've left most of the planning up to my mother and her sister, and while we've seen some really amazing things together, the food, at least when travelling outside of Guandong, the province my family is from, has never been particularly good. But this, I'm pretty sure, has only been because we've relied on packaged tours when far away from Guandong. The meals are pre-arranged and totally unremarkable. My mother would probably argue that this is convenient, that it leaves us with time to see and do more, but I of course think that stumbling on a good place to eat just is a part of the seeing and doing. So this time around, I've decided to take charge, and the first step has just been learning more about some of the regional cuisines.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9830081286/" title="Deep-fried eggplant"><img alt="Deep-fried eggplant" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5452/9830081286_155fbac9ec_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9830076245/" title="Mise en place"><img alt="Mise en place" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3782/9830076245_3ba232bb4c_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9830174023/" title="Fish-fragrant eggplant"><img alt="Fish-fragrant eggplant" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5458/9830174023_3160bddb40_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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My starting place has been Fuchsia Dunlop's memoir, <i>Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper</i>. Dunlop, though British, has spent a great deal of time in China since her early twenties. She was in Chengdu (the capital of Sichuan province) initially with a year-long British Council research grant and was supposed to be studying the government's policy on ethnic minorities. But when that didn't go very far (people, unsurprisingly, were reluctant to talk), she found herself drawn to the activity in Sichuanese kitchens and to the often strange but splendid food that came out of them. She talked to everyone she could about Sichuanese food, begged her way into restaurant kitchens to observe and take notes, and eventually trained as a chef at the Sichuan Institute of Higher Cuisine, the first Westerner ever to have done so. She had found her calling. </div>
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The memoir details Dunlop's experiences in China over the years. It's a compelling blend of sharp observation, personal narrative, and reflection on the cultural differences she has run up against. And food, unsurprisingly, is often at the centre of all this. Dunlop, for example, is struck one evening by how much her time in China has changed her appreciation of texture when she realizes that her parents are politely struggling with the items she's ordered for their hotpot--goose intestines, ox tripe and throat cartilage, rabbits' ears, and small bony catfish, all unpleasantly rubbery, squeaky, crunchy things in the average Westerner's mouth. But for her now, there's a distinct pleasure to these textures. Chinese gastronomy isn't just about flavour but the subtle play of temperature and texture. It takes time, experience, and a lot of polite crunching, to really appreciate this (which is not to say, of course, that <i>all</i> Chinese food is this challenging). Dunlop often connects coming to eat like the Chinese with coming to think like them too, and there definitely is truth to this. It's what, I think, makes her memoir so illuminating when it comes to Chinese culture and what has led me to the kitchen in preparation for this trip.</div>
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A couple of weeks ago, with all these thoughts about identity, food, and travel were simmering away in my head, I noticed that Fuchsia Dunlop was the cookbook author who was going to be featured in the New York Times' Recipe Lab this month. Recipe Lab is the Times' monthly feature in which readers are invited to cook a recipe from one of the featured author's books and a few home cooks take part in a live video chat with the author. Seeing this, I applied to participate in the chat and thought that I probably wouldn't hear back. But I did! And it's happening today! So, tune in live to <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/23/dining/live-video-chat-on-chinese-cooking-at-home.html?ref=dining">Recipe Lab</a> to see me and a couple of other home cooks chatting with Ms. Dunlop about Chinese cooking today at 3 pm Eastern.</div>
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For the video chat, we all cooked the Gong Bao (a.k.a. Kung Pao) Chicken from Dunlop's latest cookbook, <i>Every Grain of Rice</i>. (The cookbook, by the way, is gorgeous. I've been pouring over it obsessively.) If you want to hear more about that, you'll have to tune in today (or stream it later at your convenience). But the day I made the chicken, I was feeling ambitious, so I also made another of Dunlop's dishes to go along with it, Fish-Fragrant Eggplant. This eggplant is crazy good. I'm already planning on making it again later this week. It isn't the quickest dish to put together, but it's worth your time. You first fry slices of eggplant to a gleaming gold. Then, you sizzle Sichuanese chilli bean paste (a savoury paste made from fermented fava beans) in hot oil and add to that lots of minced garlic and ginger. This forms the fragrant base for the sauce into which you'll slip the eggplant. Stock, soy sauce, and a little sugar come next, then the eggplant, followed by cornstarch to add some body to the sauce, and Chinkiang vinegar (a dark, heady rice vinegar) and chopped scallions to finish. (There's no fish in this dish. <i>Fish-fragrant</i> refers to the seasonings in the sauce, which are traditionally used for fish in Sichuanese cooking.) The resulting dish is incredible. The eggplant has a silky, luxurious feel to it in your mouth, and the sauce is somehow tangy, bright, and deeply savoury all at once.</div>
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I still haven't attempted anything like the dishes I grew up with. Sichuanese cooking is spicier, punchier, than the cooking you find in Guandong. But I think I might just wait until the next time I see my mother for that. I'll ask her to show me what she does (<i>finally</i>), and I'll cook this eggplant for her.</div>
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<b>Fish-Fragrant Eggplant</b><br />
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From Fuchsia Dunlop's <i>Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper</i> (reprinted in <i>Every Grain of Rice</i>)</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> Dunlop says that you can also bake or shallow-fry the eggplant for this dish. But instead of then adding the eggplant to the sauce, she recommends that you pour the finished sauce onto the eggplant--otherwise, it might disintegrate. I chose to deep-fry. However, I used a heavy-bottomed 4-quart stock pot instead of a wok for both the deep-frying and the sauce. I also used homemade vegetable stock instead of chicken stock, just because it was what I had around. You should be able to find Chinkiang vinegar and Sichuanese chilli bean paste at your local Chinese grocery store. Lee Kum Kee is a common brand that sells the latter. As Dunlop says, the brand is Cantonese and their version of the paste has some ingredients you wouldn't find in a traditional Sichuanese paste. Pixian brand is a better choice, but Lee Kum Kee will do.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO FRY THE EGGPLANT</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
600-700 g eggplant</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Salt</div>
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Peanut oil for deep-frying</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR THE SAUCE</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 1/2 tablespoons Sichuanese chilli paste (dou ban jiang)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh ginger</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 tablespoon chopped garlic</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2/3 cup chicken stock</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/2 teaspoon light soy sauce or tamari</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3/4 teaspoon cornstarch, mixed with 1 tablespoon cold water</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 1/2 teaspoons Chinkiang vinegar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4 scallions, green parts only, sliced into fine rings</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 teaspoon sesame oil</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cut the eggplant in half lengthwise and then crosswise. Chop each quarter lengthwise into three or four evenly sized chunks. Sprinkle generously with salt and leave for at least 30 minutes to drain.</div>
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In a wok, the oil for deep-frying to 356-392 degrees F. Add the eggplant in batches and deep-fry for 3-4 minutes until lightly golden on the outside and soft and buttery within. Remove and drain on paper towel.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Drain off the deep-frying oil, rinse the wok if necessary, and then return it to a medium flame with 2-3 tablespoons of oil. Add the chilli bean paste and stir-fry until the oil is red and fragrant, then add the ginger and garlic and continue to stir-fry for another 20-30 seconds, until they too are fragrant.</div>
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Add the stock, sugar, and soy sauce and mix well. Season with salt to taste, if necessary.</div>
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Add the fried eggplant to the sauce, bring to a boil, then let let them simmer gently for a few minutes to absorb some of the flavours. Then sprinkle the cornstarch mixture over the eggplant and stir in gently to thicken the sauce. Next, stir in the vinegar and spring onions and leave for a few seconds until the onions have lost their rawness. Finally, remove the pan from heat, stir in the sesame oil and serve.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-64444629354598432872013-09-10T15:53:00.000-05:002013-11-17T12:14:05.895-06:00High summer at the market, in the kitchen<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9710805194/" title="Galettes!"><img alt="Galettes!" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7390/9710805194_1643e2df9f_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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In the days of high summer, there are few places in Chicago I'd rather be than <a href="http://www.greencitymarket.org/">Green City Market</a>. It is the real deal--small-scale midwestern farmers committed to their land, astonishingly good produce in abundance. Even early on a Wednesday morning, the market hums with quiet excitement. Rounding the corner to the next stretch of stalls, I, anyway, am always buoyed by the prospect of discovering something beautiful and unusual, something I've never seen before.</div>
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And I'm glad that Sandra Holl seems to share my feelings about the place. A few weeks ago, I was invited to tag along with her on a market trip. Sandra is chef and owner of <a href="http://www.floriole.com/">Floriole</a>, and I've long been an admirer of hers. Her bakery is incomparable in this city. It turns out such gorgeous stuff--canelés with custard-like centres, mahogany sourdough boules, the flakiest croissants. When I'm in the neighbourhood, I always try and stop in.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9714086050/" title="Peaches, blackberries, plums"><img alt="Peaches, blackberries, plums" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2807/9714086050_96a7a1ab77_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9710843767/" title="Brown butter custard"><img alt="Brown butter custard" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7301/9710843767_2160b2763e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9714215326/" title="Homemade puff pastry"><img alt="Homemade puff pastry" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7354/9714215326_bd2547c86b_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We met that morning at Floriole's market stall--it's where the bakery got its start--and then made the rounds. Sandra had already put in orders with some of the farms (peaches and green beans from <a href="http://www.greencitymarket.org/farmers/farmer.asp?id=24">Mick Klug</a>, arugula from <a href="http://www.greenacresindiana.com/">Green Acres</a>), so we visited the stalls to collect them. (If you take your eyes off all the produce for a moment and peer behind the stalls at Green City Market, you'll see tall stacks of cardboard boxes scrawled with some very familiar names--these are all the restaurant orders from around the city awaiting pick-up.) But in between pick-ups and afterwards, we also spent some time looking at what else there was available that day. If something catches her eye, Sandra explained, even if it doesn't fit in with anything she has planned, she'll take it back to the bakery for her chefs to do with it whatever happens to inspire them. On this day, it was the indigo-rose tomatoes at <a href="http://growinghomeinc.org/">Growing Home</a> that stood out--small and inky purple with just a bit of a blush to them. (Sandra tries to source as much as she can locally for Floriole. And in the days of high summer, between Green City Market, her mother's garden just outside the city, and the bakery's own rooftop setup, that isn't particularly hard. But even staples like flour, eggs, and butter at the bakery come from producers in the Midwest.)</div>
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On our way out, we picked up a flat of fat blackberries from <a href="http://www.ellisfamilyfarm.com/">Ellis Family Farms</a> and chatted with the Ellises about their teenage daughter Mary, who's in charge of the farm's laying operation. They showed us a recent photo of Mary scrubbing a hen with a toothbrush in preparation for a show. It was pretty clear that over the years Sandra's developed some lasting ties to the people at this market.</div>
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Back at the bakery, I was also invited to try my hand at some pastry-making in the kitchen. It was a bit of a dream come true, being there in the midst of that bustle, even if only for half an hour. There was a lot going on around us--challah being tested, tart shells being unmoulded, gougères coming out of the oven, sourdough loaves being sliced by hand. Our plan was to make some galettes with the fruit we'd picked up. The kitchen made it simple for us. There were already rounds of house-made puff pastry dough ready at hand. All we had to do was slice some peaches for the filling (tasting as we sliced, of course--Sandra emphasized the importance of this) and assemble the galettes. So we spread the pastry-dough rounds with a thin layer of brown-butter custard, mounded each with a big handful of sliced peaches and blackberries, crimped up the edges over the fruit, and then slid them into the oven to bake. And, of course, they were phenomenal. How couldn't they be? Impossibly flaky pastry. Caramel-edged fruit. Nothing better together.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9710860601/" title="Spreading custard"><img alt="Spreading custard" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7335/9710860601_95a0fba063_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9714139440/" title="Galettes assembled"><img alt="Galettes assembled" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2860/9714139440_509001571f_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9710910871/" title="Galettes ready to bake"><img alt="Galettes ready to bake" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5526/9710910871_30ea5c39f9_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sandra was kind enough to allow me to share these galettes with you (thanks, Sandra!). How involved you want the process to be is kind of up to you. I took this as an opportunity to make puff pastry from scratch for the very first time. And though I found the work really rewarding and totally worth the effort, I suspect that most of you won't have the time and/or inclination. It can be a two- or three-day process, just because the butter needs to be cold when you're working with it and the gluten in the dough needs a couple of hours to relax after it gets rolled out each time. Instead, you could try making <i>Gourmet's</i> <a href="http://www.gourmet.com/recipes/2000s/2004/10/roughpuffpastry">"rough" puff pastry</a>, which is not as demanding and has been my go-to for a long time, or you could buy good-quality ready-made puff pastry (Sandra and lots of others recommend Dufour). The brown-butter custard, as Sandra says, is also optional. It adds extra sweetness and nuttiness to the galettes and prevents the pastry from sopping up too much of the fruit's juices during baking. What's important is that you use the best fruit available to you. It matters here--these galettes are really all about the fruit. Speaking of which--in the time that it's taken me to try out these galettes at home, high summer has come and gone, which means you won't be seeing peaches and blackberries at the market for much longer. But the galettes are very adaptable--you could probably work just about any fruit into them. I made two kinds this past weekend, some peach-blackberry, some plum-rosemary. You should be able to find plums at the market for a good long while still.</div>
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The homemade galettes turned out really well. In fact, they might be the best thing I've made all year. Seriously. They were so good. Octavian and I greedily demolished the two we kept for ourselves in <i>seconds</i> and then <i>almost</i>, <i>almost</i>, regretted having given the others away.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9707625139/" title="Plum and rosemary galette"><img alt="Plum and rosemary galette" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3669/9707625139_fc7c903e87_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9720861612/" title="Hanging out with Sandra"><img alt="Hanging out with Sandra" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2883/9720861612_79bdcb34a3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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When people ask, I always tell them that the best thing about running this blog has been the people I've gotten to know through it. It's always gratifying to find people who think and care even more than I do about good food, people who are completely dedicated to what they do. I feel lucky to have met the people I have. It's affirming and inspiring. And there's always so much to learn from them. Sandra is definitely one of those people. She is serious about good pastry--I've seen it. So, walking around the market with her that morning, it was heartening to see that a good blackberry could still excite her as much as it does me.<br />
<br />
<b>Summer Fruit Galettes</b><br />
<i>An at-home take on <a href="http://www.floriole.com/">Floriole</a>'s sweet galettes</i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> While in Floriole's kitchen, we didn't do a whole lot of measuring, and afterwards, Sandra only gave me exact quantities for the brown-butter custard, so the quantities below are based on my observations while baking with Sandra and what I did at home. Floriole's galettes, I think, are in fact a <i>bit</i> bigger than the ones I made, but mine still make for nice individual portions. <i>About the fruit</i>. The galettes that I made actually had less fruit than I've called for below (I used about 225 g all in all), but I think they really could have used more. The fruit does reduce a lot during baking. Feel free, of course, to use only peaches and blackberries or only plums. <i>About the temperature</i>. If you have a convection oven, by all means, use the convection option. Just bake the galettes at 350 degrees F instead and for about 30 minutes. <i>About the brown-butter custard</i>. At Floriole, the kitchen goes through <i>a lot</i> of brown-butter custard. This is reflected in the quantities that Sandra gave me. For my batch of custard at home, I converted most of the measurements to grams and divided by <i>eight</i>. And still, I had way more custard than needed for these galettes. I put my remaining custard in the freezer for the time being. Unless you have ideas for what you might do with more than a pound of remaining custard (you could just make a ton of galettes), you might want to try scaling down the recipe more or just skipping it all together. Almond cream would also be a good substitute, if you happen to have any of that lying around. <i>About chilling</i>. It's really important that you chill the pastries after assembling them. This will help them keep their shape as they bake. I rushed mine a little, and they don't quite have the nice star-like shape they're supposed to.<br />
<br />
650 g puff pastry dough, chilled<br />
All-purpose flour, for dusting<br />
4 tablespoons brown butter custard (optional - recipe below)<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">FRUIT FILLING</span><br />
150 g blackberries and sliced peaches<br />
150 g sliced Italian prune plums<br />
1/4 teaspoon finely chopped rosemary<br />
2 tablespoons sugar, divided<br />
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, divided<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">EGGWASH</span><br />
1 egg yolk<br />
2 teaspoons heavy cream<br />
<br />
Coarse sugar, like turbinado sugar, for finishing<br />
<br />
Lightly flour your work surface and rolling pin. Place the block of dough on the work surface and dust lightly with flour. Gently but firmly roll it out into a 12-inch square, about 1/4 inch thick, using only as much flour as necessary to prevent the dough from sticking. Using a 6-inch cake ring or an equivalently sized plate as a guide and a sharp knife (you want the cuts to be as clean as possible, so as not to disturb the layers of butter in the dough), cut 4 6-inch circles from the dough. Place the circles on a parchment-lined baking sheet, cover loosely with plastic wrap, and chill in the fridge for at least an hour.<br />
Put the peaches and blackberries in one small mixing bowl, the plums and rosemary in another. Add 1 tablespoon sugar and 1/2 tablespoon flour to each bowl and gently toss to combine.<br />
Whisk together the egg yolk and heavy cream for the eggwash.<br />
Spread 1 tablespoon brown butter custard, if using, in a thin layer over one of the 6-inch circles, leaving a 1-inch border around the edge. Mound a quarter of the fruit in its centre. Then crimp the pastry in the following way. Start by folding up part of the edge about 3/4 inch over the fruit, then while keeping the fold in place, take another part of the edge, an inch or so to the right, and fold it up over the fruit so that it overlaps the first folded part of the edge. Now, where the two folds overlap, press down firmly with one finger so that the folds hold--you should be able to an indent from your finger. Continue folding and pressing until the crimp goes around the entire pastry. It should take about seven folds. (You may have trouble crimping the pastry with all the fruit mounded in the centre. If that's the case, remove some to make the crimping easier and tuck it back in afterwards. It may seem like too much fruit right now, but it will reduce significantly during baking.) Repeat with the remaining pastries. Brush with eggwash and chill in the fridge for 30-60 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.<br />
Sprinkle the pastries with coarse sugar and bake for 30-35 minutes, until puffed and deeply golden. The galettes are best eaten warm from the oven.<br />
<i>Makes 4 individual galettes</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Brown Butter Custard</b><br />
From <i><a href="http://www.floriole.com/">Floriole Cafe and Bakery</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
170 g unsalted butter, cut into chunks<br />
Juice of a medium lemon<br />
3 eggs<br />
220 g sugar<br />
1/2 tablespoon brandy<br />
1/2 teaspoon vanilla<br />
Kosher salt, a big pinch<br />
33 g all-purpose flour<br />
45 g heavy cream<br />
<br />
Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. When the butter has melted, bring it to a boil, still over medium heat and whisking constantly to prevent it from separating. Continue cooking the butter, whisking occasionally to prevent milk solids from sticking to the bottom of the pan, about 5 minutes. The butter is ready when it is the colour of caramel. Check its colour by lifting some up in a spoon. Pour into a heatproof container, preferably something with a spout. Add the lemon juice and let cool.<br />
Meanwhile, in a stand mixer fitted with the wire whip attachment, beat the eggs and sugar on medium, until pale and thick, about 3 minutes. Gradually incorporate the browned butter. Then add the brandy, salt, flour, cream, and vanilla and mix just until combined. If the custard starts to look grainy at any point, that's fine. Use immediately or store refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 1 week.<br />
<i>Makes about 585 g</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-82028434593860975752013-08-27T12:02:00.000-05:002013-08-28T22:27:11.924-05:00Setting aside spades and worries<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9583929437/" title="Pepper and Eggplant Coca"><img alt="Pepper and Eggplant Coca" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5509/9583929437_1f8bf90f5d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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It's been a quiet summer for the two of us. We stuck pretty close to home, busy tending to ideas and vegetable beds, hoping that in time they'd flourish. But summer is fast fading, which means that many of our good friends, who've spent the summer away, will be back in town. I'm thinking that it's time that we set aside our spades and worries for a little and think about breaking the quiet, about maybe having a party.</div>
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When we do, this flatbread is sure to be a part of it. (If you want to get fancy, this flatbread is technically a Catalan <i>coca</i> of sorts.) It is perfect late-summer party fare--just red pepper, onion, and eggplant cooked down into a luxurious mess, spread out on thin stretches of dough, and then slipped into a hot oven for a scant few minutes. There, the onion especially melts and chars, while the dough blisters and bakes up shatteringly crisp. Cut into squares, it is ready to be passed around.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9607666861/" title="In a row"><img alt="In a row" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7377/9607666861_7aee740541_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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This flatbread is decidedly unfussy. The dough, though yeasted, is forgiving. I have let it sit out an hour or two longer than it really should have and then stuck extra in the fridge for later use. It held up just fine. You could definitely cook down the vegetables a few hours, maybe a day even, in advance. And with everything prepped, you could easily keep turning out flatbreads with a party in full swing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Onion, Red Pepper, and Eggplant Coca</b></div>
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Adapted from Sam and Sam Clark's <i>Moro East</i></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">DOUGH</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
112 g / 1 cup bread flour, plus extra for dusting</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/3 teaspoon fine sea salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/4 teaspoon instant yeast</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
75 ml / scant 1/3 cup water</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/2 tablespoon olive oil</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">VEGETABLES</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 medium eggplant, cut into half-inch cubes</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 teaspoon fine sea salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6 tablespoons olive oil, plus more as needed</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 medium Spanish onions, roughly chopped</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 red peppers, cut in half lengthwise, seeded, and thinly sliced</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 heaped tablespoon finely chopped rosemary</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To make the flatbread dough, place the flour, salt, and yeast in a medium bowl and mix thoroughly. Stir together the oil and water in a cup. Make a well in the flour and then pour in the water mixture a little at a time, mixing constantly with your hands. When all the yeast mixture has been incorporated, transfer the dough to a floured surface and knead well for at least 5 minutes. If the dough is still stick, add a little more flour; if it is too stiff, a little more water. It is ready when no longer tacky but soft, elastic, and smooth. Put the dough in a clean, oiled bowl and leave to rise until doubled in bulk, 1-2 hours. After proofing, it can be chilled until needed. Give it some time to come back to room temperature, about an hour.</div>
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For the topping, first toss the eggplant with the salt in a colander and set aside. Heat the olive oil in a heavy, 10-inch sauté pan and, when hot but not smoking, add the onions with a pinch of salt. Give them a good stir and cook for 5 minutes. Add the peppers and cook for 15-20 minutes more, until the onions are golden and sweet and the peppers soft. Be sure to stir them often so they cook evenly and do not stick to the bottom of the pan. Blot the eggplant dry with a towel, add to the pan along with the rosemary, and cook for a final 15 minutes, stirring often, until the eggplant is soft all the way through. Remove from heat and rain off any excess oil. Check the seasoning and set aside to cool.</div>
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When ready to bake the flatbread, preheat the oven to 525 degrees F (with a baking stone, if you have one). Divide the dough into two and roll out half very thinly to make a 12-inch by 8-inch oblong. If it's being stubborn, cover and let rest for a few minutes for the gluten to relax and then try again. Place it on a peel, if using a baking stone, or on a baking sheet, if not. Spread half the vegetables over the surface, right up to the edges of the dough. Bake for 8-15 minutes (flatbread baked on a stone will take significantly less time), until browned and crispy underneath. While the first flatbread is in the oven, start rolling and topping the next one. They are great served piping hot from the oven or at room temperature.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Serves 6-8 as an appetizer</i>.</div>
</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-46157201290071853092013-08-15T09:40:00.001-05:002013-08-15T09:43:21.014-05:00Pie season<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9502595059/" title="Peach and raspberry pie!"><img alt="Peach and raspberry pie!" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3671/9502595059_5d8bdb37e7_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm <strike>kind of</strike> crazy about fruit pies. They are pretty much everything I want in something sweet--just rich, flaky pastry spilling over with bright, luscious fruit. But I hardly ever make pies. I know, I know. A terrible shame. But you know how it is. Fruit pies are a finicky thing. Between pulling together the pastry, piling in the fruit, and letting it all bubble and bake, there can be a lot of heartbreak. So as much as I love them, I don't bake pies nearly enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I'm hoping that will change, starting with this pie--peach-raspberry with pecan crumble. It is so, so good. It starts out with peaches--blanched and peeled, then roasted until silken and slumped. Then, come the raspberries, stirred into the still-hot peaches. These, once piled into a buttery shell, get mounded with pecan crumble, which bakes up golden and craggy. It's a bit involved, I know. A pie that will likely keep you in the kitchen all afternoon and leave you with a sink full of dishes. There's no hiding that. But this pie is also spectacular, quite possibly the best I've had. The peaches are intense, concentrated, deeply floral from their roasting. And the raspberries scattered throughout are so perfect with them, little pockets of jammy, puckery brightness. The pecan crumble too is spot on--it delivers needed crunch, with all that slumped, soft fruit. All in all, swoon-worthy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514765867/" title="Frozen pie shell, raspberries, peaches"><img alt="Frozen pie shell, raspberries, peaches" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5513/9514765867_8e5a2878b2_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514800655/" title="Peeling peaches"><img alt="Peeling peaches" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5447/9514800655_44753e24e0_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514796829/" title="Roasted peaches"><img alt="Roasted peaches" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3731/9514796829_ab8da9ca4a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The pie comes from the new <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Hoosier-Mama-Book-Pie/dp/1572841435">Hoosier Mama Book of Pie</a></i>. <a href="http://www.hoosiermamapie.com/">Hoosier Mama</a> is local pie shop here in Chicago--an impressive sliver of a storefront and bakery that turns out wonderful pies all year long. They are very serious about their pie there. They are all about buttery, flaky pastry, all about intense, swoon-worthy fillings. It is my kind of shop. So I'm really glad that they've decided to share some of their pie wisdom in this book. Paula Haney and Allison Scott offer encouraging instruction. They recognise that pie-making is something that has mostly fallen out of favour at home and that the wisdom that went with it is largely lost to us. So they explain their process in detail and illustrate with lots of step-by-step photos. These definitely help with potential heartbreak. I am particularly thrilled to have picked up their crimping technique. The crusts at Hoosier Mama always have the most gorgeous, defined crimp. And now mine aren't so bad looking either.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I really would like to make more than one or two pies every year. Pie is just too good to not have around more often. And from here on out, I don't think it's going to be too much of a problem. The peach-raspberry pie is a bit demanding--one to keep in mind for when you want to make someone feel really special--but there are plenty of easier pies in the book. I'm already thinking about my next pie, likely Lemon Chess with Sticky Blueberries. The gooey filling comes together in five minutes, and the blueberries should be a snap too. And then there's the pie after that. The first apples have already started showing up at the markets, and this book gives apples <i>a lot</i> of love. Classic apple, caramel-apple cider, apple and quince, <a href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/2013/08/hoosier-mama/">dutch apple with sour cream custard</a>, etc., etc. I can't wait! This, friends, is the start of pie season.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514787361/" title="Fruit in the shell"><img alt="Fruit in the shell" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7417/9514787361_e14b62e256_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514778053/" title="Pecan crumble"><img alt="Pecan crumble" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3804/9514778053_5e085c5191_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9517562872/" title="Baked pie"><img alt="Baked pie" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7432/9517562872_1575489669_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One final note. As you can probably see, my pie filling is a little runnier than it should be. I wasn't very diligent in following the roasting directions for the peaches. I didn't have an appropriate-sized baking pan and thought my peaches were cooking too quickly, so I pulled them out at the 25-minute mark. It didn't occur to me at the time just how important the long roast was. But this pie's crumble topping mounds over the entire surface. That means <i>none</i> of the water remaining in the peaches evaporates in the final bake. Those peaches need to roast for at least 40 minutes. My mistake.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9514769897/" title="Slumped slice"><img alt="Slumpy slice" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3736/9514769897_8c0a4a37bc_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Peach-Raspberry Pie with Pecan Crumble</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From<i> </i>Paula Haney and Allison Scott's <i>Hoosier Mama Book of Pie</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE</span>: To peel peaches, bring a wide pot of water to a boil. Using a paring knife, make an X in the bottom of each peach. Blanch the peaches for 45 second or so, in batches if need be. Remove the peaches with a slotted spoon and immediately transfer them to a bowl of ice-water. Peel the peaches, starting from the X. If a peach is being stubborn, try repeating the blanching process. If this doesn't work, take your vegetable peeler to it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 single-crust, blind-baked All-Butter Pie Dough shell (available as a PDF <a href="http://www.agatepublishing.com/resources/download.cfm?GCOI=93284100515160&thefile=Hoosier_Mama_All-Butter_Pie_Dough.pdf">here</a>)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
125 g / 1 cup raspberries</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1230 g / 8 cups peeled peach slices (see note above)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
15 g / 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.5 g / 1/4 teaspoon almond extract</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
200 g / 1 cup granulated sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
31 g / 3 tablespoons potato starch</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pinch of kosher salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 recipe Pecan Crumble (see below)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pick through the raspberries, discarding any stems, leaves, or shrivelled berries. Set aside. (There's no need to wash them--the berries grow way off the ground.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Place the peeled peach slices in a large bowl. Add the lemon juice and almond extract and toss until the peaches are well coated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Place the sugar, potato starch, and salt in a small bowl and whisk until thoroughly combined. Pour the dry ingredients over the peaches and gently toss until most of the dry ingredients cling to the peaches.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Spray a 9 x 13-inch non-reactive baking pan with cooking spray. (I used butter without much issue.) Transfer the peaches to the baking pan and bake for 20 minutes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Remove the pan from the oven and stir the peaches, making sure to scrape out any ingredients that stick to the sides of the baking dish. Return the pan to the oven and bake for 20 more minutes. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Repeat this step until the peach juices are thickened and translucent. The peach slices should be tender but still hold their shape. Stir the raspberries directly into the hot peaches and cool to room temperature.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once cooled, spoon the fruit into the pie shell and top with 1/2 of the Pecan Crumble. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until the crumble is lightly toasted. (I'd recommend setting your pie plate on a baking sheet--you might get a few drips over the side.) Top the pie with remaining crumble and bake 20-25 minutes more, until the top is crispy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cool for at least 1 hour before slicing. The pie can be stored at room temperature for up to 2 days and in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Pecan Crumble</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From<i> </i>Paula Haney and Allison Scott's <i>Hoosier Mama Book of Pie</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE</span>: To toast the pecans, spread them out on a baking sheet and bake at 300 degrees F for 10 minutes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
148 g / 1 cup all-purpose flour</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
100 g / 1/2 cup granulated sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
30 g / 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
50 g / 1/2 cup toasted pecans</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
84 g / 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Pinch of kosher salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Combine all of the ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mix on low until the mixture resembles fine crumbs. Increase the speed to medium and mix until gravel-sized pieces form.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes before using to top a pie. The crumble can be stored in the refrigerator for up to a week.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-85252854217034534952013-07-26T09:37:00.002-05:002013-07-26T10:57:03.164-05:00Something enduring<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9357449137/" title="Cherry Preserves with Plums"><img alt="Cherry Preserves with Plums" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2840/9357449137_e48ef8f66a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know, I know, another batch of preserves--<i>what gives</i>? I've been asking that of myself a lot lately, and I still don't have much of an answer. I've just found myself this summer making jam feverishly--and not only that but thinking a lot about it (also feverishly)--about what went well and what didn't with past batches, about how to squeeze in another session soon, about what to make next. It's all gotten, I admit, just a little bit obsessive. And before this, if you can believe it, jam wasn't something that really held my interest. Butter, I thought, is all a girl really needs. Why complicate matters?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9360231956/" title="Plums and cherries"><img alt="Plums and cherries" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7360/9360231956_3301eae86a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9360436410/" title="Macerating fruit"><img alt="Macerating fruit" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7372/9360436410_c2bc546b6d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9361272712/" title="Ready to cook"><img alt="Ready to cook" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5525/9361272712_977a8f59ac_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Why, indeed, complicate matters?</i> That was, for a long time, my attitude towards summer fruit. Berries, peaches, and plums--why fuss with them when they're good as they are? On a sticky July day, you can't do much better for yourself than eating a cold plum over the kitchen sink, juices running down your arms. So why trouble yourself with more? But then <i>twice</i> last week I found myself in the kitchen sweating it out over a pot of bubbling fruit and sugar, glass jars close at hand waiting to be filled. So obviously, at some point, I'd undergone a change of mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It had a lot to do with the process, I think. Making preserves is very physical, very absorbing--pulling apart cherries one by one and plucking out their pits or slicing up a mound of plums. You give more attention to the fruit than you might just sticking it in your mouth, and it feels good. And the transformation that takes place, because it happens in an open pan, and because you're there the whole time, stirring, stirring, stirring, is one you get to see all the way through. You get to see the fruit slump and soften. You get to see the sugar disappear into the juices, and the juices bubble up wildly and thicken. It's dramatic and beautiful. You get a different appreciation of the fruit. And you feel like you're tapping into something old, elemental, deeply human.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This, anyway, is the feeling I'm left with, having recently read and swooned over much of Kevin West's <i><a href="http://www.savingtheseason.com/">Saving the Season</a></i>. The book is a bit unusual for a cookbook. West provides plenty of clear instruction and assurance on pickles, jams, jellies, and the like. But he also contextualizes preservation as a practice. Between recipes, he draws on a mixture of history, literature, and personal narrative to give us a better sense of the fruits, vegetables, and processes to follow. You get the feeling reading it that you're being given an heirloom, something enduring to hold on to. I'm pretty sure that I'll be turning to the book season after season, year after year, for a long time. (Before the book, West wrote a blog by the same name. I suggest you check on his post on <a href="http://www.savingtheseason.com/journal/a-quince-primer.html">quince</a>, if you want to get the flavour of his work. It's heady.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9361316216/" title="Preserves on toast"><img alt="Preserves on toast" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7416/9361316216_547f86f46f_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This latest batch is from the book, a mixture of early plums and sweet cherries, finished with a splash of bourbon. I didn't make it quite as intended. I was supposed to use inky-dark Bing cherries, but in a moment of absentmindedness at the market, I ended up with a brighter, less assertive variety. So my preserves don't quite have the depth and colour they're supposed to. But I don't really mind. Instead, they have a sort of all-round, stone-fruit sunniness to them, something I know I'll appreciate come January. My favourite spoonfuls are the ones that include a slice of plum. The fruit is velvety, yielding in the best way. And with the bourbon, it is made luxurious, buttery even.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Cherry Preserves with Plums</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From Kevin West's <i>Saving the Season</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> Fruit obviously varies in sweetness. The measurements provided for both sugar and lemon juice are therefore guidelines only. West encourages you to taste your fruit at every stage of the process--out of hand, once macerated, and during reduction (after a minute on one of those chilled plates). Adjust with more sugar or lemon juice as you see fit. West also advises starting out with a little less (up to a 1/2 cup less) sugar, depending on the plum varieties available to you. You can always add more sugar towards the end, if you don't think the preserves are sweet enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 pounds black cherries, such as Bing</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 pounds firm, yellow-fleshed plums, such as Red Beauty (the tarter, the better)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3 cups sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/4 cup bourbon or brandy</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wash and drain the fruit. Pit the cherries. (West isn't one for cherry-pitters. His method is to grab each cherry, one thumb on either side of the stem, and pull it apart. It should split lengthwise along its seam. Then you can just dig out the pit. This works best, I've found, with soft, ripe cherries. It makes less of a mess than a pitter.) Slice the plums away from their pits in sections. Stir together the fruit, lemon juice, and sugar. Set aside to macerate for at least 15 minutes. (If you plan to macerate for longer, e.g. overnight, press a piece of parchment paper or plastic wrap close to the fruit to prevent oxidation.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Set a few small plates in the freezer. Warm 5 clean half-pint jars and lids in the oven set at 200 degrees F.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Turn the fruit-sugar mixture into a preserving pan or other large, wide, heavy-bottomed pot. Reduce over high heat, stirring frequently. Once it comes to a full rolling boil, it should take 10-12 more minutes to fully reduce. Test the preserves. Turn off the heat and spoon about a teaspoon's worth onto one of the chilled plates. Return it to the freezer for 1 minute. If the surface wrinkles when you push your finger through it, it's ready. If not, continue reducing for a couple minutes more and test the consistency again. Once fully reduced, add the brandy or bourbon and continue to cook, stirring well, for 1 minute longer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ladle the hot preserves into the five half-pint jars, leaving 1/4-inch headspace. Wipe the jars' rims clean and put on their lids and bands (screwed only finger-tight).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Process in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes (count 10 minutes from when the water returns to a boil). Remove the jars from the water and let cool. Check to see if a proper seal has formed by removing each jar's band and holding the jar by its lid. The lid should hold firm. If it doesn't, store the jar in the fridge and eat its contents promptly.<br />
<i>Makes about 5 1/2-pint jars</i>. </div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-90859542624687165522013-07-16T21:28:00.001-05:002013-07-17T21:35:30.935-05:00So I'll just say this<div style="text-align: justify;">
Heat here in the Midwest is a sticky, unrelenting thing. It hangs heavy in the air and clings to you. It leaves you feeling muddled and slow, thick as the air around you. On some days, by early afternoon, it is hard to string together sentences. You are reduced to a hot, sticky puddle of yourself. Kind of like today.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9302761286/" title="Pitted by butter_tree, on Flickr"><img alt="Pitted" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7336/9302761286_c760bb8b04_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9299969023/" title="Stewed"><img alt="Stewed" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3772/9299969023_f2c5c5383d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I'll just say this. I am glad, <i>so</i> glad, that I churned out this batch of sour cherry frozen yogurt a few days ago (a rare moment of foresight on my part). A few spoons (or more!) snuck from the freezer at midday--clean, bright, and cold sliding down your throat--are utterly restorative. And best of all, the taste vividly recalls forkfuls of leftover <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2012/07/pie-wisdom.html">sour cherry pie</a>, eaten cold from the fridge for breakfast (an indulgent breakfast of the best kind, if you ask me).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And even if this finds you already a hot, sticky, muddled mess, not to worry. This frozen yogurt only calls for three ingredients, really--sour cherries, sugar, and yogurt. And the cherries, once pitted, need only a scant few minutes' cooking, just until they yield. Then, all you have to do is blend the cherries and yogurt together and get them a-churnin'. Relief--cold, sour, and electrically pink--is not far off.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9300020153/" title="Sour cherry frozen yogurt"><img alt="Sour cherry frozen yogurt" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3696/9300020153_9d04be20af_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Sour Cherry Frozen Yogurt</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted, just a little, from David Lebovitz's <i>The Perfect Scoop</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: This frozen yogurt's consistency is best the day it's made, but that shouldn't stop you from having it around for a little longer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
450 g / 1 pound fresh sour cherries (about 3 cups before pitting)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
150 g / 3/4 cup sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
240 g / 1 cup plain whole-milk yogurt (Greek-style, if you'd like)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A splash of brandy or 2 drops almond extract (optional)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Stem and pit the cherries. Put them in a medium saucepan with the sugar and brandy, if using. Cover, bring to a boil, and then lower the heat and simmer for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently to encourage the juices to flow. The cherries are ready when tender and cooked through. Remove from heat and let cool to room temperature.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Purée the cooked cherries and any liquid with the yogurt and almond extract, if using, in a blender or food processor until smooth. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Chill for 2 hours, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Makes about 3 cups</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-7769668166160727662013-07-09T12:30:00.001-05:002013-12-09T19:16:35.306-06:00What was missing<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9244143960/" title="Elderflowers"><img alt="Elderflowers" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2828/9244143960_cb1de0fbc4_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Awhile ago, I finally picked up Luisa Weiss' memoir, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Berlin-Kitchen-Story-Recipes/dp/0670025380/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1344497912&sr=8-1&keywords=my+berlin+kitchen">My Berlin Kitchen</a></i>. And, friends, if you don't already know firsthand, it is lovely through and through. Most of us at some point, I think, find ourselves struggling to figure out where it is we really belong, and Luisa gives clear and heartfelt expression to this in telling her story--the pull of your roots, your history can be hard, but it takes serious courage to leave one life for another, to really listen to yourself for once. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The bits of the book that I like best are by far the ones that take place in Berlin. These for the most part are little vignettes of everyday life--birthday parties, dinners with old friends, summer picnics--but they sparkle in a certain way. You can really tell that this is where Luisa feels most at home. And you get glimpses of Berlin that you can't just by visiting. I was there for a bit <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2012/08/a-happy-coincidence.html">last summer</a> and tried to take in as much as I could. I walked and walked and ate and ate, and though I loved almost every bit of it, I never really felt as though I quite got what Berlin was about. And maybe it's just that I wasn't there for long enough, that I didn't see quite enough of it, but my guess now is that what was missing from it all was <i>a kitchen to cook in</i>. You really get the sense from Luisa that Berlin's soul is in its kitchens, with its women and men tending to bubbling pots and deep bowls. How better, after all, could you get to know a city than by taking a trip to an overgrown orchard at its outskirts--probably given up during the Cold War--and picking plums for <i>Pflaumenmus</i>? Or by gathering up bunches of white asparagus at its markets and making sharp, bright salads? Or by snipping the sprays of elderflowers that bloom in its parks and bringing them home to make syrup? I can't really think of any.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9247301713/" title="Snipped elderflowers"><img alt="Snipped elderflowers" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7392/9247301713_0ec261551e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9250096618/" title="Flowers steeping"><img alt="Flowers steeping" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5549/9250096618_b71b2abbe2_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9244123192/" title="Elderflower cordial"><img alt="Elderflower cordial" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7290/9244123192_2a49b31108_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In Chicago, you definitely can't expect to find elderflowers just anywhere. (<strike>And even if you do happen upon some in the city, I wouldn't advise cooking with them</strike>. Some of the soil around here is pretty seriously lead-laced. This <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2010/09/29/130212437/fresh-vegetables-but-hold-the-lead">NPR article</a> on lead and urban gardening advises against eating roots and greens growing in contaminated soil but suggests that fruit and flowers might be safe to eat. Maybe you can just harvest elderflowers if you find them in your neighbourhood after all? I don't know. I'd have to do more research.) But Luisa's description of her first drink of elderflower syrup--a couple of fingers' worth poured in a glass filled with cold water, evocative of Berlin's spring and all that was missing in her life at the time--was enough to send me looking for some blooms around here. And I happened to be in luck. Elderflowers' short season in the Midwest falls between late June and early July. So, I was able to arrange with <a href="http://www.seedlingfruit.com/">Seedling Farm</a> to have some sprays ready for pick-up at the market. (The blooms are too delicate to survive much shuttling back and forth, so you have to contact the farm ahead of time.) Finding elderflowers is definitely the most troublesome part of making this syrup. The rest is just a matter of snipping the blooms from their stems and steeping them in a sugar syrup, along with a little lemon and citric acid. In a few days' time, the golden syrup is ready for bottling and drinking.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So far, my friends and I have been enjoying it mixed with sparkling water and lemon, sometimes a little good gin too. Yesterday, I tried adding a bit of muddled basil, which I quite liked. Luisa recommends a mix of Prosecco, muddled mint, sparkling water, and lemon. She also says that elderflower, while refreshing in the summer, is an entirely different thing in the dark of winter, that it really tastes of spring and even joy then. I am doing my best to save a little, but I can already tell that it's going to be hard.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Elderflower Syrup</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From Luisa Weiss' <i>My Berlin Kitchen</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> You can find citric acid at Indian grocery stores, where it is labelled as "lemon salt" or "sour salt." As usual, I found mine at the <a href="http://www.thespicehouse.com/spices/citric-acid-sour-salt">Spice House.</a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">UPDATE,</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">2013-12-09</span>: A couple of months in, I noticed that my syrup had started fermenting a little. When I opened the bottle, there was a noticeable pop. I am not sure what to attribute this to. Perhaps I was not as thorough as I could have been with cleaning out my bottles. In any case, I didn't think too much of it until today when I opened my fridge to find that the fermentation had caused the glass bottle to explode (I hadn't opened it for awhile, and the bottle was stoppered with a wire-bail mechanism, so it was too secure to let any gas escape). Anyway, take this as a lesson--mind your fermentation.</div>
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20 to 25 large elderflower sprays</div>
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3 to 4 organic lemons, washed and sliced paper-thin, seeds removed</div>
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3 1/2 tablespoons citric acid</div>
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3 pounds and 6 ounces sugar</div>
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Clean and dry an opaque vessel large enough to hold about 5 quarts.</div>
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Hold each elderflower spray over the vessel and snip the tiny blossoms away from the stem and let them fall into the crock, taking care not to lose any of the pale yellow pollen. (Keep an eye out for tiny insects in among the blossoms. One or two are probably unavoidable. I found an itty bitty caterpillar. Shake them out or nudge them along towards the stem so that they don't end up in your syrup.) Add the sliced lemons to the vessel and sprinkle in the citric acid.</div>
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In a medium pot over medium heat, combine the sugar and 1 1/2 quarts of water. Stirring occasionally, melt the sugar and bring the mixture to a boil. Then remove it from heat and let the syrup sit until lukewarm.</div>
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Pour the syrup over the lemon and elderflowers and mix well. Cover the vessel with plastic wrap and let it stand in a cool corner of your home for 3 days, stirring once a day.</div>
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On the final day, uncover the crock and pour the liquid through a fine-mesh strainer into clean glass bottles. Discard the lemon slices and elderflowers. Store in the refrigerator or in a cool, dark cellar for up to a year.</div>
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<i>Makes about 2 litres.</i></div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-23214876948310758262013-07-03T09:50:00.000-05:002013-07-03T16:59:10.997-05:00Effort well spent<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9191392237/" title="Kohlrabi, Fennel, and Blueberry Salad"><img alt="Kohlrabi, Fennel, and Blueberry Salad" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3732/9191392237_bf35fe006f_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Summer is easy on us home cooks. There's hardly any need to fuss at the stove, to coax sweetness and colour onto our plates. There's plenty to be had already. That's the thing about summer. The produce doesn't need much help from us--a few seconds' blanching, a pinch of flaky salt, maybe. But that's it. The rest we can just put in our mouths, <i>and it is good just as it is</i>. How crazy is that?</div>
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So, lately, and especially when headed out to the farmers' market, I haven't been thinking too hard about what dinner or the next day's lunch will look like. I've taken to wandering the stretch of stands and going home with just whatever catches my eye. No lists, no set ideas. I figure that things will sort themselves out. And usually they do. Paper-thin slices of radish find their way into a tangle of chilled soba noodles, baby mustard greens into a sharp, garlicky salad. So things have been a little more laid-back around here. (Outside the the market season, I always head out with a list, sometimes two.)
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9190759621/" title="Kohlrabi"><img alt="Kohlrabi" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3768/9190759621_1c30e37771_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9195345352/" title="A mess of mint"><img alt="A mess of mint" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5333/9195345352_34652e3fee_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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But I did make an exception this past weekend at the market. I made sure to pick up what I needed for this kohlrabi salad. I first had it at a friend's late last year. And at the time, admittedly, I wasn't expecting much. Kohlrabi was that one member of the cabbage family I just didn't get. Dark, bitter greens--yes. Creamy, starchy roots--still good. But that strange, saw-toothed bulb? It wasn't something that I'd yet come to terms with. This salad, though, changed that. All evening, I kept coming back for more. (And to be clear, there was competition--<a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2012/11/we-made-occasion-of-it.html">these pommes Anna</a> and a sumptuous venison roast.) It was hard not to when it had so much going for it--toasted almonds, slivers of fennel, blueberries, salty goat's cheese, mint, and a serious gingery kick. But make no mistake, the kohlrabi, with its earthy sweetness, its addictive crunch, was at the centre of it all. And I got it.</div>
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So though it's been good just eating whatever comes my way, having hardly done a thing to it, the little bit of extra effort for this salad is effort well spent. Some things, like a good bulb or two of kohlrabi, are just worth seeking out.</div>
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<b>Kohlrabi, Fennel, and Blueberry Salad</b></div>
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From Stephanie Izard via <i><a href="http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/kohlrabi-fennel-and-blueberry-salad">Food & Wine</a></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE</span>: <i>Choosing kohlrabi</i>. Try to find bulbs on the smaller side, about the size of a tennis ball. They'll be sweeter and not so fibrous. <i>The mandoline</i>. I've never actually used a mandoline for this salad. I've always sliced everything by hand. Things might turn out prettier with a mandoline, but I like the extra crunch of the slightly thicker kohlrabi slices. I also just tend to avoid using more kitchen tools than I really have to.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">DRESSING</span></div>
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2 tablespoons minced peeled fresh ginger</div>
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2 tablespoons minced shallot</div>
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1 tablespoon white balsamic vinegar</div>
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1 tablespoon mayonnaise</div>
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1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard</div>
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1 teaspoon soy sauce</div>
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1 teaspoon pure maple syrup</div>
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1/4 cup grapeseed oil</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">SALAD</span></div>
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1/2 cup sliced almonds</div>
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1 1/4 pounds kohlrabi, peeled and very thinly sliced on a mandoline</div>
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1 fennel bulb, trimmed and thinly sliced on a mandoline</div>
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2 ounces semifirm goat cheese, such as Evalon, Garrotxa or Manchester, shaved</div>
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1 cup blueberries or pitted, halved sweet cherries</div>
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2 tablespoons torn mint leaves</div>
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Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Spread the almonds on a baking sheet and toast for 8-10 minutes, until deeply golden. Let cool. </div>
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In a blender, combine the ginger, shallot, vinegar, mayonnaise, mustard, soy sauce, and maple syrup and puree. With the blender on, add the grapeseed oil in a thin stream and blend until creamy. Season the dressing with salt and pepper. </div>
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In a large bowl, toss the kohlrabi with the fennel, cheese, toasted almonds and dressing. Season with salt and pepper and toss to coat. Add the blueberries and mint and toss gently. Serve right away.</div>
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<i>Serves 4-6.</i></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-73802000884590028342013-06-20T21:40:00.001-05:002013-06-25T17:30:28.131-05:00Sitting plump and gorgeous<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9094032176/" title="Jars cooling"><img alt="Jars cooling" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3738/9094032176_8b196b52a2_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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While in the kitchen, I don't tend to think of my mother much. It has a lot to do, I think, with not having learned to cook from her. Growing up, I just didn't have much interest in it. So, in a lot of ways, when I did learn, I grew into a very different kind of cook from her, one with different rhythms, different appetites. And so now, between what I might make for dinner on any given night and what she might, there just isn't much overlap. If, when she calls, she asks me about what I had for dinner, it's more out of motherly concern. (I'm pretty sure she thinks I don't eat enough vegetables.) We don't talk much about what we've been cooking. And for me, at least, this is a bit of a sad state of affairs, if only because we both do a lot of cooking, and cooking, if for different reasons, is important to both of us.</div>
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But I thought of her while making this jam, and I'm sure to call her about it soon. See, my mother has never much cared for more traditional strawberry jams. She thinks that the fruit loses too much of itself in all that heat and violent bubbling over the stove. So, she makes a no-cook freezer jam for herself every year, one which calls just for crushed strawberries, sugar, liquid pectin, and a lot of stirring. But I think that she's been missing out all these years. Those strawberries could use a little bubbling action before making their way into jars. And that needn't mean annihilating them.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9097980288/" title="Three pints of strawberries"><img alt="Three pints of strawberries" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2829/9097980288_a68eae45ab_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9095757055/" title="Macerated berries"><img alt="Macerated berries" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2852/9095757055_4eff2f0150_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9095766069/" title="Macerated berries close-up by butter_tree, on Flickr"><img alt="Macerated berries close-up" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7386/9095766069_3f7d4e7b27_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9094038928/" title="Strawberry jam"><img alt="Strawberry jam" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3817/9094038928_e10ae0f3f8_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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The jam I made comes from Christine Ferber's <i>Mes Confitures</i>. And, admittedly, the process is quite a bit fussier than most. But, it is worthwhile. (Ferber's known as the jam fairy of Alsace for a reason!) You first let the strawberries macerate in sugar overnight, drawing out their juices. In the morning, you strain the berries. The juice goes into a wide, heavy pot, along with the juice from some quickly cooked raspberries. And here's where it gets good. You let the juices bubble away on their own for a spell, until they reach 221 degrees F. And only then do you add those delicate berries, cooking them just until they're translucent, jewel-like. Off heat, you stir in the final flourishes--a splash of good balsamic vinegar and a little black pepper.</div>
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This jam is really nothing like my mother's. Its flavours are big and resonant, and it tastes deeply, unmistakably of strawberries. The other ingredients--the raspberry juice, the balsamic vinegar, the black pepper--are really just there to heighten what's already present in the fruit. And most of the berries remain whole, sitting plump and gorgeous on your toast. It is wonderful, wonderful stuff. And I think it could change my mother's mind.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9097971390/" title="Strawberry jam on toast"><img alt="Strawberry jam on toast" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7424/9097971390_1a6a0cd114_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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By the way, the jam is pictured here with <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/2010/08/it-is-called-toast.html">this bread</a>, and while, I do like the bread a lot, I think this particular jam needs something a little more refined to carry it--something with a delicate crumb, maybe a little sweetness to it, and no pesky seeds or bran. My guess is that the jam would also pair well with ricotta. But what I'm really looking forward to is trying it with a little cheese after dinner, maybe some sort of salty, firm goat's cheese.</div>
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<b>Strawberry Preserves with Raspberry Juice and Balsamic Vinegar </b></div>
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Adapted, just a little, from Christine Ferber's <i>Mes Confitures</i> via <a href="http://lindseysluscious.blogspot.com/2008/07/putting-red-in-red-white-and-blue.html">Lindsey's Luscious</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE</span>: <i>Timing and yield</i>. I cooked my jam once the berries were in for probably an additional 12 minutes--I don't think I <i>quite</i> let the liquid prior to that reach 221 degrees F. My mistake. This might explain why I got more like 2 pints out of my berries instead of 2 1/2. I might also just have skimmed too eagerly throughout. <i>Jars</i>. This was my first time canning with Weck jars, those lovely German-made jars with glass lids, rubber rings, and clips. I followed Marisa McClellan's very clear <a href="http://www.foodinjars.com/2011/03/canning-101-how-to-can-using-weck-jars-giveaway/">instructions</a>.</div>
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790 g / 1 3/4 lb strawberries (680 g / 1 1/2 lb net), the smallest, most fragrant you can find</div>
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800 g / 4 1/4 cups granulated sugar</div>
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Juice of 1 small lemon</div>
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565 g / 1 1/4 lb raspberries, preferably fresh but frozen will do</div>
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1 tablespoon + 2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar, your best</div>
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5 peppercorns, freshly ground</div>
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Rinse the strawberries sparingly in cold water. You don't want to waterlog them. Dry them gently with a towel and then stem and halve them (quarter the largest ones, leave the tiniest whole).</div>
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In a large bowl, combine the strawberries, sugar, and lemon juice. Cover the bowl with a sheet of parchment and place in the refrigerator to macerate overnight.</div>
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The next day, place the raspberries in a small saucepan with 100 ml / 3 1/2 oz water and bring to a boil. Cook for a few minutes, until the berries break down. Pour the berries into a fine-mesh sieve over a bowl to collect their juices, pressing on the fruit with the back of a spoon lightly. Discard the raspberry pulp.</div>
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Set a small plate in the freezer. Place the raspberry juice in a large, wide, heavy-bottomed pot (or a preserving pan, if you have one). Strain the strawberry juice (with a clean sieve) into the same pot and set the fruit aside. (Some of the sugar may not have dissolved. Not to worry--just try to get most of it into the pot with the juice.) Bring the juices to a boil over medium-high heat. Skim any foam that bubbles up. This will make for a clearer jam. Cook until it reaches 221 degrees F on a candy thermometer, about 10-15 minutes. Then add the macerated strawberries and return to a boil. Skim again, as needed, and don't leave the pot unattended--this jam <i>really</i> bubbles up. Cook for about five minutes more, stirring gently and frequently.<br />
Check to see if the jam is set. Spoon a small amount on the cold plate from the freezer. Return the plate to the freezer for 1 minute. Try pushing the jam with your finger. If the surface wrinkles a little, the jam is ready. (I left my jam on the loose side, which I think really works in this case.) If not, continue cooking for a few more minutes and repeat the test. Remove the jam from heat and stir in the balsamic vinegar and black pepper. Ladle the jam into sterilized jars, leaving a 1/4 inch of head space. Wipe the jars' rims clean and put on their lids and bands.</div>
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Process in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes (count 10 minutes from when the water returns to a boil). Remove the jars from the water and let cool. Check to see if a proper seal has formed by removing each jar's band and holding the jar by its lid. The lid should hold firm. If it doesn't, store the jar in the fridge and eat its contents promptly.
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<i>Makes about 5 1/2-pint jars</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-52688833784007308022013-06-11T17:44:00.002-05:002013-06-13T20:10:27.404-05:00We did it!<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8990800721/" title="Rhubarb brown-butter tart by butter_tree, on Flickr"><img alt="Rhubarb brown-butter tart" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7356/8990800721_a4741a3ec6_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Good cookbooks are like good friends. You want to surround yourself with them. They're the ones who will see you through, the ones who inspire you, the ones with whom you can spend long hours musing, late into the night. And, most importantly, they're the ones you can always count on--to pull you out of a slump or be a voice of assurance or, in my case most recently, help you make a few dozen pastries worthy of the fine and discerning folks that would be at <a href="http://nodessertleftbehind.tumblr.com/">No Dessert Left Behind</a>.</div>
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So you can count <i>Bouchon Bakery</i> a good <strike>friend</strike> cookbook of mine...because we did it! ((I think.) If you snagged a piece of this tart at the bake sale, I would <i>love</i> to know what you thought of it.) See, it was less than two weeks ago that I received an email asking me to contribute to this bake sale for <a href="http://www.nokidhungry.org/">No Kid Hungry</a>, and already I knew, it was not going to be just any bake sale. Most of the participants would be pastry chefs from around the city--talented people who make wonderful pastry everyday for a living. Big things were expected. But I didn't have the time to do any recipe testing (I had a big pile of final papers to grade), and nothing that I'd made in recent memory fit my requirements. Whatever I was going to make needed to be (a) something that I could easily portion and box to go, (b) eye-catching, preferably, and (c) would hold up for at least a good 24 hours (mostly so that I wouldn't have to start my baking at 2 am--I'm no professional). So I put my trust in Thomas Keller and Sebastien Rouxel and decided to make a half-sheet-sized <i>tarte à la rhubarbe et au beurre noisette</i>.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020934088/" title="Trimmed rhubarb stalks"><img alt="Trimmed rhubarb stalks" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3777/9020934088_103eebb128_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020985918/" title="Rhubarb de-strung"><img de-strung="" rhubarb="" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7341/9020985918_97110cf914_z.jpg" width="600 alt=" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020941884/" title="Blind baking"><img alt="Blind baking" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7308/9020941884_c46ae93f0d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Even by my standards, making this tart was a monster of a project. In part, this was because I was doubling the recipe as written (at Bouchon, they do bake it in half-sheet pans, since, you know, it's a bakery, but the recipe for home bakers is scaled back to a quarter-sheet pan). I had twice as much rhubarb to trim and de-string. And rolling out enough pâte sucrée to fit an 18-x-13-inch pan and then getting it into that pan were not the easiest of feats. But these considerations aside, there was still a lot to do. Keller and Rouxel get you to cure your lengths of rhubarb--once trimmed and stripped of their tough outer layer--in sugar and grenadine for 24 hours. This process draws water from the rhubarb (the stalks are mostly just water) that would otherwise be released during baking, and the grenadine lends some extra colour to the stalks. There is also the pâte sucrée to pull together, a buttery, vanilla-specked dough that lines the bottom of the tart. Then there's the almond-brown-butter filling to make, some of which gets piped over the blind-baked pâte sucrée, the rest between and over the stalks of cured rhubarb. The assembled tart then gets baked to a deep, burnished gold. And finally, once cooled, it's cut up and mounded with crunchy almond streusel.</div>
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Like I said, it was a lot to do. And a lot to trust in too. I'd never made this tart before. And I didn't really have a back-up plan. There were definitely a couple of moments--like when my stand mixer was throwing up handfuls of flour onto the counter (the pâte sucrée doubled, quite frankly, is a bit too much for a standard stand mixer to handle) and when brown-butter filling (just a few drips, luckily) was baking over the edge of my half-sheet and onto oven floor--where I thought to myself, "This is going to be a <i>disaster</i>."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020970204/" title="Almond brown-butter filling"><img alt="Almond brown-butter filling" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7429/9020970204_01fca386e5_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9018723985/" title="Grenadine-cured rhubarb"><img alt="Grenadine-cured rhubarb" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3826/9018723985_48360dc93e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020962700/" title="Baked rhubarb tart"><img alt="Baked rhubarb tart" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5448/9020962700_5078c28e9c_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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But it wasn't. The tart baked up beautifully. And with Octavian's help and that of a couple of other good-willed friends, I even got it portioned and packed up in time to make the Saturday evening drop-off at <a href="http://www.littlegoatchicago.com/">Little Goat</a>. (See, good cookbooks and good friends!) </div>
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I wish I could tell you more about how it tasted. But I didn't get a chance to buy back a piece (for most of the bake sale I was down on the first floor of the restaurant, directing people upstairs), and of the test square that I held back, well, Octavian did most of the testing. (He approved.) What I ate I did early Sunday morning still half-asleep. I remember it being deeply nutty and just sweet enough--the rhubarb was still emphatically tart. But maybe some of you out there are in a better position to say than me. (Speak up, please.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/9020976900/" title="The test piece"><img alt="The test piece" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2857/9020976900_9d74fa56eb_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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To all of you in Chicago who came out on Sunday, thank you so much for your support! I hope you had a good time. And to <a href="https://twitter.com/VanessaHayes">Vanessa</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/mstashwick">Mike</a>, who organized the bake sale, thank you so much for all of your hard work and for inviting me to bake. (And <a href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/">Tim</a>, thanks for thinking of me and passing my name along!) It got a little crazy, but I had a blast.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">AN UPDATE - </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">2013-06-12</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">: </span>Oh, and I got word today--we made $6,252 at the bake sale! Way to go, guys! (And here are <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/97503871@N08/sets/72157634102094515/">some photos</a> from the event.)<br />
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<b>Tarte à la rhubarbe et au beurre noisette </b>(Rhubarb Brown-Butter Tart)</div>
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From Thomas Keller and Sebastien Rouxel's <i>Bouchon Bakery</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">NOTE:</span> <i>Timing.</i> There are lots of steps to making this tart. You'll need to give yourself at least two days--the first to at least trim, de-string, and start curing the rhubarb, the second to bake and assemble the tart. I also pulled together the pâte sucrée on the first day. You could also make the streusel then too. I just didn't have the time. <i>Eggs</i>. To measure out eggs for this recipe, first crack them open into a bowl and whisk them together. One large egg weighs about 50 grams or comes to about 1/3 cup in volume, so that should give you an idea of how many you need. Keller and Rouxel also have you push the whisked eggs through a fine-mesh strainer to remove any small bits of shell and the chalazae attaching the yolk to the white. (I find this step a little annoying to do for more than a couple of eggs. My feeling is that you could probably skip it.) <i>Grenadine</i>. The book doesn't really say anything about how to shop for grenadine. The most commonly available brand in the US is mostly just high-fructose corn syrup and food colouring and also tastes like cough syrup, which is kind of annoying. Traditionally, grenadine was made with pomegranate juice, and fancier brands, like <a href="http://www.jackrudycocktailco.com/product/small-batch-grenadine">this one</a>, are returning to that practice. (It's also not difficult, I'm told, to make your own.) I debated a little bit about what to do here. Eventually, I found a grenadine at the grocery store that was at least made with sugar (though it also tasted like cough syrup), and given that the purpose of the grenadine here seems to be to colour the rhubarb, I'd say that you should keep the fancy stuff for imbibing. It doesn't noticeably affect the rhubarb's flavour, anyway. <i>Fraisage</i>. Below, pulling together the tart dough requires a French technique called "fraisage." Here's a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRW-XTVwrnw">video</a> that might give you a better sense of what to do. The actual <i>fraisage</i> starts around 2:05. <i>Scale</i>. The measurements below correspond to those printed in the book. Like I said above, I scaled up to a half-sheet pan for the bake sale, but I assume that very few of you will need to feed 24-32 on any given occasion. But if for whatever reason you do find yourself in that situation, consider getting your hands on a good kitchen scale (I'm not sure that doubling the measurements here by volume will prove as reliable) and then follow the recipe as printed. It works! Just keep in mind that you will probably have to bake the tart shell, the assembled tart, and the streusel for a few extra minutes in each case, given that you've got more surface area and more volume to deal with. Use your judgement.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">CURED RHUBARB</span><br />
15 young stalks of rhubarb (about 2 pounds), preferably at least 13 inches long and about 1/2 inch wide</div>
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100 g / 1/2 cup granulated sugar</div>
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120 g / 1/4 + 2 tablespoons grenadine</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">PÂTE SUCRÉE</span></div>
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375 g / 2 2/3 cups all-purpose flour</div>
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46 g / 1/4 cup + 2 1/2 tablespoons + 94 g / 3/4 cup + 1 tablespoon powdered sugar</div>
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47 g / 1/4 cup + 3 tablespoons finely ground almonds</div>
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225 g / 8 oz unsalted butter, at room temperature</div>
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1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise</div>
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56 g / 3 1/2 tablespoons eggs (see note above)</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">BROWN-BUTTER FILLING</span></div>
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235 g / 8.25 oz unsalted butter</div>
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75 g / 1/2 cup + 3 tablespoons finely ground almonds</div>
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75 g / 1/2 cup + 1 1/2 teaspoons all-purpose flour</div>
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150 g / 1/2 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoons eggs (see note above)</div>
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210 g / 1 cup + 1 tablespoon granulated sugar</div>
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75 g / 1/4 cup + 2 teaspoons whole milk</div>
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75 g / 1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon heavy cream</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TOASTED ALMOND STREUSEL</span></div>
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40 g / 1/4 + 2 teaspoons all-purpose flour</div>
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40 g / 1/3 cup + 1 teaspoon finely ground almonds</div>
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40 g / 3 tablespoons granulated sugar</div>
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Pinch of kosher salt</div>
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40 g / 1.4 oz cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch pieces</div>
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Powdered sugar for dusting</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR THE CURED RHUBARB:</span> Trim the rhubarb to fit the length of the quarter-sheet pan you'll be using for the assembled tart. Using a sharp paring knife (a vegetable peeler would remove too much), remove any tough strings and peel from the stalks. Do this by making just a few short cuts at one end to separate the peel from the stalk and then pulling it off the rest of the way with your fingers, following the length of the stalk. If any of the stalks are very young and green and don't peel easily, leave them unpeeled.</div>
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Arrange the rhubarb in a 9-x-13-inch baking dish. Sprinkle with it with the sugar and drizzle the grenadine over top. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 24 hours, turning the rhubarb every 8 hours to coat it evenly.</div>
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Drain the rhubarb on paper towels, and discard the liquid remaining in the dish.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR THE TART SHELL:</span> Place the all-purpose flour in a medium bowl. Sift the 46 g / 1/4 cup + 2 1/2 tablespoons powdered sugar and the almond flour into the bowl. Break up any lumps remaining in the sieve and add them to the bowl. Whisk to combine.</div>
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Place the butter in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment and cream on medium-low until the butter is the consistency of mayonnaise and holds a peak when the paddle is lifted. Sift in the remaining powdered sugar and pulse to begin incorporating it. Then increase the speed to medium-low and mix for about 1 minute, until the mixture is fluffy. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the butter mixture, and mix on low for about 30 seconds, just to disperse the seeds evenly.</div>
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Add the dry ingredients in two additions, mixing for just 15-30 seconds after each to combine. Scrape the bottom of the bowl. Add the eggs and mix on low until just combined, another 15-30 seconds.</div>
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Transfer the dough to a clean work surface, gathered in a mound close to you. Using the heel of your hand, smear the dough, a bit at a time, across the work surface. Gather the dough up again with a bench scraper and repeat until the dough is smooth and uniform. This technique, called <i>fraisage</i>, ensures a delicate and uniform crust. Pat the dough into a rectangle, about 3/4 inch thick. Wrap the dough in a double layer of plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm, about 2 hours, but preferably overnight. The dough can be refrigerated for up to 2 days or frozen for up to 1 month.</div>
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Butter the quarter-sheet pan or spray with non-stick spray. Line the bottom with parchment paper. Unwrap the dough and place between two sheets of parchment paper. With a rolling pin, pound the top of the dough, working from one side to the other, and then rotate 90 degrees and repeat. Roll out the dough in the parchment, from the center outward, rotating and flipping the dough as needed. Form a 12-by-16-inch rectangle, just less than 1/8 inch thick. Remove the top layer of parchment and carefully invert the dough onto the quarter-sheet pan, letting any excess hang over the edges. Run your hands over the parchment and smooth the dough and force out any air bubbles. Make sure that the dough at the corners of the pan is no thicker than elsewhere. Remove the parchment and run the rolling pin over the edges of the pan to remove any excess dough. Cover the dough with plastic wrap and chill for 30 minutes in the freezer or 1 hour in the fridge. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.</div>
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Line the dough with parchment paper and fill the pan with raw rice or beans. Bake for 15 minutes, then rotate the pan and bake for another 15 to 20 minutes, until the dough is set and no longer sticks to the parchment. Take the pan from the oven and remove the parchment and rice. Return the pan to the oven and bake for another 15 minutes, or until the dough is golden brown. (Don't worry if the edges of the tart have darkened further. They're unlikely to burn, and you can trim them away later anyway.) Set the pan on a cooling rack and cool completely.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR THE ALMOND STREUSEL:</span> Whisk together the all-purpose flour, ground almonds, sugar, and salt in a bowl, breaking up any lumps. Add the butter pieces and toss to coat. Work the butter in with your fingertips, breaking the butter into pieces no larger than 1/8 inch. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and chill for at least 2 hours, or up to 2 days, or freeze for up to 1 month.</div>
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Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Spread the streusel in an even layer on a parchment-lined sheet pan. Bake for 8-10 minutes, turning the streusel every few minutes, until it's golden brown and dry. Place the pan on a cooling rack and let cool completely.</div>
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Transfer the streusel to the bowl of a food processor and blitz to the consistency of brown sugar. The streusel can be stored in a covered container for up to 2 days.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR THE FILLING: </span>Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.<br />
Line a fine-mesh strainer with a double layer of cheesecloth and set over a small bowl. In a small saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. As soon as it has melted, whisk continuously to prevent the butter from separating. Once it boils, stop whisking and increase the heat to medium-high. Continue cooking the butter for a few minutes, whisking occasionally to keep the solids that settle at the bottom of the pan from burning. Check the color of the butter by lifting some out of the pan with a spoon. The butter is ready when it is the color of caramel. Remove the pan from heat and pour the butter into the strainer set over the bowl. Discard the cheesecloth and pour the browned butter into a heat-proof bowl, measuring out 165 g / 3/4 cup + 1 tablespoon. Set aside for a few minutes to cool. The butter should not have cooled completely when it is added to the almond filling--otherwise it will not incorporate--but it should not be hot off the stove either. </div>
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Whisk together the almond flour and all-purpose flour in a medium bowl, breaking up any lumps. </div>
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Add the eggs and sugar to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and mix on medium speed for about 2 minutes, until increased in volume and thickened. With the mixer running on medium-low, slowly add the milk and cream. Add in the dry ingredients and mix on medium-low speed for just a few seconds to combine. With the mixer running on medium, add the browned butter in a slow, thin stream and mix until combined. Transfer the filling to a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch tip.</div>
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Pipe enough filling into the crust to cover the bottom with a 1/4-inch-thick layer and spread it evenly with an offset spatula. Arrange the rhubarb rounded-side-up on top of the filling, running lengthwise with the pan. If there are any pieces shorter than the pan, patch them up with a piece cut from another stalk. Pipe more filling around the rhubarb pieces, filling in any gaps. Then spread any remaining filling over the top of the rhubarb. There may not be quite enough filling to completely cover the stalks. That's okay.</div>
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Bake the assembled tart for 40 minutes. (Place another sheet pan on a lower rack in the oven to catch any drips. My filling overflowed just a little in the first few minutes of baking.) Rotate the pan, reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees F, and bake for another 10 to 15 minutes, until the filling is set and deeply golden. Set the pan on a cooling rack and cool completely.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO SERVE:</span> Cut the tart into 12 pieces, dividing the tart in half along its width and then into six along its length. This way, each piece shows the long rhubarb stalks in profile. Trim the crust on the pieces, if desired. Mound some almond streusel onto each of the pieces and dust with powdered sugar.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">SERVES 12.</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-56583999785587269702013-06-05T17:35:00.000-05:002013-06-05T17:35:31.225-05:00No Dessert Left Behind<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8960989407/" title="Market bag"><img alt="Market bag" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3704/8960989407_029593a386_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Hey Chicagoans! Come out this Sunday to <i>No Dessert Left Behind</i> and support Share Our Strength's <a href="http://www.nokidhungry.org/"><i>No Kid Hungry</i> campaign</a>. It's going be a bake sale like you've never seen. Dozens of pastry chefs and home bakers from around the city are contributing to the spread. Many of my favourite spots in the city<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">–</span>The Publican, Longman & Eagle, Floriole, The Butcher and Larder, and Little Goat<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">–</span>will be bringing something from their kitchens to the event. It's going to be amazing! And, most importantly, all of the proceeds will go to Share Our Strength, whose initiatives in Illinois include connecting families with already existing food programs like SNAP and increasing participation in school breakfasts and summer-meal programs. You can read more about the NKH campaign <a href="http://www.nokidhungry.org/about-us/programs">here</a>.</div>
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But I'm especially excited because I'm baking too. You'll have to wait to see what it is, but it might just have something to do with the four pounds of rhubarb I lugged home from Green City Market this morning...</div>
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I'll also be out front Sunday morning greeting people and directing them inside. Hope to see you there! </div>
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<b>No Dessert Left Behind</b></div>
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Sunday, June 9 from 10 am - 3 pm</div>
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At <i>Little Goat</i>, on the second floor</div>
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820 W. Randolph Street, Chicago IL</div>
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<i>Click <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/451925091564226/">here</a> for more details, including a full list of participants. </i></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-7517758525912161632013-05-27T15:09:00.000-05:002013-06-29T18:33:40.199-05:00Aglow with summer<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8803102700/" title="Rhubarb-vanilla jam"><img alt="Rhubarb-vanilla jam" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3688/8803102700_8d9b75763a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Last year, I let rhubarb season pass me clear on by. I had deadlines to meet and couldn't allow myself even to daydream about matters pink and bright. It would have been too much. One thing would have led to another. Daydreams to a bus that would take me across town. That bus to the festive sprawl of <a href="http://www.greencitymarket.org/">Green City Market</a> and row upon row of pearly pink stalks. A serious armload of such stalks to an afternoon in the kitchen, chopping them up and letting them cook down in sugar. And if you ask me, there few better ways to spend an afternoon. But deadlines are deadlines. So I pushed those thoughts out of my head and let the season pass.</div>
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This year, I was determined to have things turn out differently. This season would have to make up for the last. I would get my hands on some rhubarb early and make the most of it. So, last weekend, as a start, I scooped up some rhubarb from the market and made myself a few jars of rosy-hued jam.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8857947607/" title="Rhubarb stalks"><img alt="Rhubarb stalks" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5460/8857947607_46a7744fb3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8858609518/" title="Chopping stalks"><img alt="Chopping stalks" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5465/8858609518_e392780d31_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8857974461/" title="Macerated rhubarb"><img alt="Macerated rhubarb" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2827/8857974461_38a7fac6fe_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Now, making jam is one of those things I don't have much experience with. I've made jelly here and there in small quantities, but none has been an unqualified success. Like the apple jelly I made last October--I let it cook for way too long. After it set, it was pretty well unworkable, like trying to spoon and spread an oversized gummy bear on toast. So, yes, preserving fruit--or at least fruit juices--has not really been my thing. But lately, for some reason, the idea is something I've been drawn to. I think that it has something to do with tangibility. So much of what we make in the kitchen disappears so quickly. That's just how it is--an afternoon's effort spent in a few mouthfuls. But a batch of jam is something you can hang on to for a good long while. And it marks some particular moment in your year. I, anyway, find comfort in the idea that I could wake up on a dark morning in January and find a row of jars in the kitchen still aglow with summer. There would be something really special about prying open one of those jars on a morning like that and thinking back to the day I'd ladled in the fruit and sealed it up.</div>
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But I'd be surprised if this particular batch lasted until January. For one, it's a very small batch--just a little over a pint's worth. But more to the point, the jam is very good--bright, fruity, and aromatic. It'll be hard not to go through it all pretty quickly. I'm hoping, though, that this batch is only the first of many I'll make this year.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8858565472/" title="Rhubarb jam on toast"><img alt="Rhubarb jam on toast" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3820/8858565472_d73e1fa5d3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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<b>Rhubarb-Vanilla Jam</b><br />
Adapted from Brandi Henderson's <i><a href="http://lookimadethat.com/2011/06/21/rhubarbvanillajam/">I made that!</a></i><br />
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Note: Though my jam-making experience is limited, I've found that it's one of those cooking processes where it pays to be very attentive--not enough stirring and you might scorch your fruit or let it overcook. You could also make use of a candy or instant-read thermometer in cooking the jam (the set point is supposed to be 220 degrees F), but I've found the wrinkle test to be a more reliable indicator. <i>About the lemon</i>. The lemon in this recipe is important for two reasons. First, the juice adds the acidity needed to make the jam shelf-stable. Second, both the juice and rind add pectin, which will help your jam set.</div>
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24 oz rhubarb, trimmed<br />
17.25 oz granulated sugar<br />
Half a vanilla bean<br />
1 lemon, preferably organic<br />
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Slice the rhubarb into pieces about 1/8 of an inch thick. For particularly thick stalks, halve them lengthwise before slicing.</div>
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Pour the sugar into a large bowl. Split the vanilla bean lengthwise, scrape out the seeds, and add them to the sugar. Using your fingers, break up the clumps of seed and distribute throughout the sugar. Add in the rhubarb and the vanilla pod. Juice the lemon and add to the rhubarb. Cut the rind and flesh into quarters, remove any seeds, and then add the quarters to the bowl. Stir well. Cover and refrigerate for at least an hour (but up to overnight) to allow the fruit to release its juices.</div>
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Sterilize two half-pint jars and their bands and lids, either by heating them in a 200 degree F oven or in boiling water for 10 minutes. Put a small plate in the freezer. </div>
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Transfer the rhubarb to a large, heavy-bottomed pot. Bring to a lively simmer over medium-high heat. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the fruit is thickened and hisses loudly in the pot as you stir, about 20-25 minutes. Check to see if the jam will set. Spoon a small amount on the cold plate from the freezer. Return the plate to the freezer for 1 minute. Try pushing the jam with your finger. If the surface wrinkles, the jam is ready. If not, continue cooking for a few more minutes and repeat the test. Remove the jam from heat and ladle into the sterilized jars, leaving a 1/4 inch of head space. Wipe the jars' rims clean and put on their lids and bands. </div>
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Process in a boiling-water bath for 10 minutes (count 10 minutes from when the water returns to a boil). Remove the jars from the water and let cool. Check to see if a proper seal has formed by removing each jar's band and holding the jar by its lid. The lid should hold firm. If it doesn't, store the jar in the fridge and eat its contents promptly.</div>
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<i>Makes about 1 pint</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-19902297068170731562013-05-09T11:39:00.001-05:002013-05-09T11:39:40.928-05:00In-between days<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8720264619/" title="Pork balls in broth"><img alt="Pork balls in broth" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7312/8720264619_0f48855f59_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Around here, spring tends to come in dribs and drabs--a splash of sunshine here, a smattering of blooms there. It takes a while for the season to gather momentum, to really come into its own. In some ways, these first few weeks are the ones I like best. The first shoots out of the ground, the first lacy blossoms on the trees--spotting these on walks around the neighbourhood makes me want to skip to the end of the block. <i>Spring! It's here! It's here!</i> There's something so good about the newness of it all. </div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8722747203/" title="Mise for the pork balls"><img alt="Mise for the pork balls" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7428/8722747203_97ef5aae39_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8723880474/" title="Chopped"><img alt="Chopped" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7430/8723880474_deb2d8f25e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8723877342/" title="For mixing"><img alt="For mixing" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7379/8723877342_618a0ca327_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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But like I said, the season's momentum is slow to gather. Like right now, it <i>feels</i> just about like spring. It's warm enough to throw open all the windows, and when passing through the yard, it's hard not to crush a few violets underfoot. They've got it carpeted. But most of the farmers' markets in town have yet to open, and even when they do in the coming days, it might be a while before there's much more filling the stands than asparagus and pea shoots (which is not to say that I have anything against either). So, yes, I'm being impatient. But after months and months of brassicas--roasted, braised, and pan-fried--how can you not be? There comes a point in the year, however short-lived, when it's hard to even look at another cabbage.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8722753525/" title="Fry up"><img alt="Fry up" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7323/8722753525_b4bb758abc_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8722750451/" title="Pork balls"><img alt="Pork balls" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7326/8722750451_35968b82cf_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8720361597/" title="Bowls"><img alt="Bowls" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7347/8720361597_f6c28ed503_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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But, in these in-between days, cabbage is what you can count on. So here is something to help you wait out the days--Nigel Slater's chicken broth with pork and kale. Now, I can't go so far as to say that it tastes like spring--<i>that</i> would just be a bit of a stretch--but it doesn't quite recall the depths of winter either. An in-between kind of dish. For, though that ruffled kale afloat in broth has an unmistakable wintriness to it, the meatballs do not. These are rolled together with generous handfuls each of parsley, mint, and scallion, as well as a bit of fresh chile for kick, then seared golden in a hot pan and finished in the broth. The effect is something bright and fresh, something powerfully enlivening--enough to slough off the last of winter's drabness and make you forget (at least for a little while) that you are waiting.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8722778283/" title="Germination!"><img alt="Germination!" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7336/8722778283_2788c2ce1e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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<b>Chicken Broth with Pork and Kale</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted from Nigel Slater's <i>Tender</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: As Slater says, you can substitute the kale leaves for savoy cabbage, and I get the feeling that I might have preferred it that way. I also bulked up the leftovers the next day with some cubes of boiled potato, which rounded things out rather nicely.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">PORK BALLS</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
400 g / 14 oz ground pork</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 small, hot chiles</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4 scallions</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 garlic cloves</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6 bushy sprigs of parsley</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
6 bushy sprigs of mint</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A little vegetable oil</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">SOUP</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 liter / 4 cups chicken stock</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
125 g / 4 1/2 oz kale leaves (from about half a bunch)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Remove any tough stalks from the kale leaves and tear into rough pieces. Bring a medium pot of salted water to a boil and blanch the kale for a minute or two, then drain and set aside. Give the pot a quick rinse.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Put the pork in a mixing bowl. Finely chop the chiles and add them with their seeds to the pork. Slice the scallions, discarding the roots and the very darkest tips of the leaves. Peel and mince the garlic, and add with the scallions to the pork. Pull the parsley and mint leaves from their stems and chop coarsely, then add them to the pork with the salt. Mix everything thoroughly with your hands and form into about sixteen balls, about 1 1/4 inches in diameter.</div>
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Warm a thin slick of oil in a cast-iron pan and cook the pork balls, in batches if needed, until toasty on all sides, about 5 minutes.</div>
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Meanwhile, in the same pot the kale cooked in, bring the stock to a boil and season with salt and pepper. Lower in the pork balls and then decrease the heat and simmer for 5-7 minutes, until they are cooked through. Add the kale to the soup and serve immediately.</div>
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<i>Serves 3-4</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-90650819145070162882013-04-27T12:52:00.000-05:002013-04-30T10:05:04.998-05:00Breakfast that takes care of itself<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8677510297/" title="Honey-cinnamon scones"><img alt="Honey-cinnamon scones" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8530/8677510297_6821651958_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Around here, breakfast tends to get the least of our attention. More often than not, it's a rushed affair. What matters is that the steady <i>drip, drip, drip</i> of coffee gets underway and that one of us coaxes <a href="http://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/">Morning Edition</a> from the crackle of the radio (we always seem to be losing our signal). Even on weekends, we don't linger long in the kitchen at breakfast time. I, anyway, feel most pressed in those early hours to tackle something and not let the day slip away. I have patience, enormous patience, for the sometimes slow-going, often messy stretches of making a good meal--just not at breakfast time. I get fidgety, almost anxious, for instance, hovering over the stove, flipping pancakes. It feels like an <i>eternity</i> passes between cracking the eggs and getting to the bottom of that big bowl of batter. So, around here, we stick mostly to buttered toast and the occasional bowl of oatmeal.</div>
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But, there are, of course, mornings on which I feel that something a little more special is in order. And lately, that hasn't at all been a problem. I've had a stash of honey-cinnamon scones in the freezer to dig into.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8686782060/" title="Brushing scones"><img alt="Brushing scones" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8400/8686782060_17e81cd103_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8686784988/" title="Scone interior"><img alt="Scone interior" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8542/8686784988_9606ccda26_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">These are not your run-of-the-mill scone. Their texture is a bit surprising, not quite like what you might expect. There's a pleasing heft and crumbliness to them, which is delicate, melting, even. And then there's the cinnamon-honey butter that marbles the scones. The bits that find their way to the edges give those bites a special crackle and sweetness. And, rather conveniently, these scones are</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">meant</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> to be baked straight from the freezer. On pretty well any morning, you can probably manage to get these to the table <i>and</i> do whatever else you need to in order start your day. For the scones, all you have to do is get the oven ready, and they will take care of themselves. I like breakfasts that take care of themselves.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">These scones come from</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Bouchon Bakery Cookbook</i><span style="text-align: justify;">. I've only had it for a couple of weeks, but I think that it's set to become my new favourite baking book. It is beautiful and staggeringly comprehensive. There is a whole section dedicated to</span><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><i style="text-align: justify;">pâte à choux</i><span style="text-align: justify;">. There are not one but two madeleine recipes. And, most exciting of all, there is a method for generating steam in home ovens (always a problem for bread baked at home) that calls for river rocks, chains, and a Super Soaker. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">The book, in this way, while certainly detail-oriented and technique-driven, doesn't take itself too, too seriously. Its tone, also, is patient and reassuring. There are lots of explanations and technical advice scattered throughout the book, but none of it feels overwhelming. I, anyway, am ready to fill a hotel pan up with rocks and chains and bake some bread soon.</span></div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span>
<b>Cinnamon Honey Scones</b><br />
Adapted, just a little, from Thomas Keller and Sebastian Rouxel's <i>The Bouchon Bakery Cookbook</i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: <i>The measurements</i>. As Keller explains, the measurements are a bit crazy-looking but only because the recipe has been scaled down for home use. <i>The glaze</i>. Though the scones are better with the glaze brushed on top, I have skipped it when not inclined to add another pan to my pile of dishes.</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">CINNAMON-HONEY CUBES</span><br />
30 g / 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour<br />
30 g / 2 1/2 tablespoons granulated sugar<br />
4 g / 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon<br />
30 g / 1 ounce cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes<br />
20 g / 1 tablespoon clover honey<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">SCONE DOUGH</span><br />
152 g / 1 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour<br />
304 g / 2 1/4 cups + 2 tablespoons cake flour<br />
12.5 g / 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder<br />
2.5 g / 1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />
91 g / 1/4 cup + 3 1/2 tablespoons granulated sugar<br />
227 g / 8 ounces cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch pieces<br />
135 g / 1/2 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoons heavy cream<br />
135 g / 1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons crème fraîche<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">HONEY BUTTER GLAZE</span><br />
45 g / 3 tablespoons + 2 teaspoons butter<br />
20 g / 1 tablespoon clover honey<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>For the cinnamon-honey cubes.</i> Place the four in a medium bowl. Sift in the sugar and cinnamon and whisk to combine. Toss in the butter cubes, coating them with the dry mixture. Using your fingertips, break up the butter until there are no large visible pieces. Using a spatula, mix in the honey to form a smooth paste. Press the paste into a 4-inch square on a sheet of plastic wrap. Wrap tightly and freeze until solid, about two hours or for up to 1 week.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>For the scones</i>. Place the all-purpose flour in the bowl of a stand mixer and sift in the cake flour, baking, powder, baking soda, and granulated sugar. Fit the mixer with the paddle attachment and mix on the lowest setting for about 15 seconds to combine. Stop the mixer, add the butter, and then on the lowest setting, pulse to begin incorporating the butter. Increase the speed to low and mix for about 3 minutes to break up the butter and incorporate it into the dry mixture. If any large pieces of butter remain, stop the mixer, break them up by hand, and mix just until incorporated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the mixer running, slowly pour in the cream. Add the crème fraîche and mix for about 30 seconds, until all of the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough comes together around the paddle. Scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl and the paddle and pulse again to combine. Remove the bowl from the mixer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cut the cinnamon-honey butter paste into 1/4-inch cubes and add them to the scone dough. Mix them in by hand. They may begin to break up a bit in the dough, but that's okay. Mound the dough on your work surface and, using the heel of your hand or a pastry scraper, push it together. Place the dough between two pieces of plastic wrap and, using your hands, press it into a 7 1/2-by-10-inch block, smoothing the top. Press the sides of your hands against the sides of the dough to straighten the edges. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for a bout 2 hours, until firm.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Using a chef's knife or a bicycle cutter, cut the block of dough along its length into thirds and then crosswise into quarters. Arrange the dough on the parchment-lined sheet, leaving space between them. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze until solid, at least 2 hours, but preferably overnight. The scones can be stored in the freezer for up to 1 month. (If storing them long term, be sure to wrap them well or, once frozen, transfer them to an air-tight freezer bag.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (or 325 degrees F if using a convection oven). Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. Bake for 27-30 minutes (or 20-23 minutes, if using a convection oven), until golden brown.</div>
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<i>For the glaze</i>. Stir the butter and honey together in a small saucepan over medium-low heat until the butter has melted and combined with the honey. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As soon as the scones come out of the oven, brush the tops with the glaze. Set the sheet pan on a cooling rack and cool completely.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The scones are best on the day they are baked, but they can be stored in a covered container for 1 day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Makes 12 scones</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-79452697085091680362013-04-18T09:57:00.000-05:002013-04-20T12:49:34.998-05:00You make strides<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8653797992/" title="Avocado-lemon macarons"><img alt="Avocado-lemon macarons" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8244/8653797992_e5a690c5bf_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Things have been a little crazy around here lately. I've started a teaching-assistantship and find the dance of students' pens across paper as I speak a little disconcerting. I'm just not used to having anything I say aloud seem important enough for people to be taking notes. And I've been putting together my dissertation committee, which has also been a little terrifying. See, the dissertation, up until about now, hasn't been much more than a mythical beast. Sure, you start grad school knowing that this is what it all leads up to, writing a small book's worth of sound and original ideas, meticulously argued for. And, sure, you see the people around you, very smart people, muddling through. But, for you, it remains just a smudge on the horizon, like, when you were much younger, the prospect of growing up and leaving home--something you knew you would have to do someday but that for the time being was pretty well unfathomable. And so you're able to assure yourself that when you get there, you'll be ready. You'll be so much better read. You'll have it all figured out. And then one day, you wake up to find that you don't know where the days went, that you still don't feel quite ready, but that <i>someday</i> is now, the very day stretching before you. Like I said, a little terrifying. But a little exhilarating too.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8658168531/" title="Candying lemon peel"><img alt="Candying lemon peel" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8114/8658168531_ff38d700c5_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8658171653/" title="Mashed avocado"><img alt="Mashed avocado" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8101/8658171653_b947765a65_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8659279544/" title="Piped macaron shells"><img alt="Piped macaron shells" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8124/8659279544_c5e7790e90_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In this way, starting to work on a dissertation is, I imagine, a lot like some of life's other milestones, the ones that we know to expect but never really feel ready for. Like turning 30. I'm not there yet, but a good friend of mine is as of this week. And leading up to it, he was, as far as I could tell, fine with it. But either way, I thought that he might appreciate a few macarons.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For this, I turned to Pierre Hermé's <i>Macaron</i>. I've had a copy for almost two years now (thanks to my friend whose birthday it was, incidentally), and working from it is still for me as daunting, as exhilarating as ever. This, admittedly, has something to do with the fact that I don't make macarons very often. Pastry bag in hand, I always feel like I'm at least a little out of practice. But this aside, making macarons from this book for me always has the feel of something like a high-wire act. You put a lot in at the outset--blanching and grinding almonds to a fine powder, aging egg whites, making ganache, and, in this case, candying some lemon peel--but then it all comes down to just a few moments in the process, and there's the sense that it'd be all too easy to misstep.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So why do it at all? It's not for everyone, admittedly. But I like the challenge. I like the constraints. On that narrow a wire, you only find ways to get better at what you're doing. You make strides. And, in particular, this time around, I just really wanted to know what a <i>macaron avocat-citron</i> would taste like. The <i>avocat</i> part is the ganache--mashed avocado whisked bit by bit into cream and melted white chocolate, then chilled until it attains a luxurious thickness. The <i>citron</i> part is candied lemon peel--bright little gems cooked with vanilla bean, star anise, and sarawak peppercorn, at the centre of each macaron. The overall effect is something marvellous, multidimensional. It starts with the avocado, whose presence is quiet and vegetal, adding a certain softness to the sweetness of the ganache. Then comes the pop of the candied peel--citrusy, bitter, floral. And like any good macaron, it has a way of almost disappearing before you know it, leaving behind just a few bright green shards of shell.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8658683143/" title="Slicing candied peel"><img alt="Slicing candied peel" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8113/8658683143_f3e51042f3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8659797376/" title="Baked macaron shells"><img alt="Baked macaron shells" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8110/8659797376_325fbfa4d1_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8659821152/" title="Assembled macarons"><img alt="Assembled macarons" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8113/8659821152_5c210d7430_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At my friend's party--a sprawling, unhurried sort of Sunday brunch--the conversation at one point turned to what it's like being in your thirties (most of the other attendees were already there). Another friend offered up the following insight--that what was important when turning 30 wasn't so much having everything figured out but being in a good place. And with friends, mimosas, and macarons abound, my friend, I thought, wasn't off to a bad start.<br />
<br />
I don't pretend to be a macaron expert. Like I said, I don't make them nearly often enough. (And it shows!) So, if you're looking for pointers, <a href="http://notsohumblepie.blogspot.com/2010/08/macaron-troubleshooting-new-recipe.html">Not So Humble Pie</a> is a good place to start. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Macaron Avocat-Citron</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted from Pierre Hermé's <i>Macaron</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Special equipment:</i> scale, candy thermometer, stand mixer, pastry bags, no. 11 piping tip. <i>About the aged egg whites.</i> Hermé recommends that a week before you plan to make the macarons you separate the requisite amount of egg white from the yolks and age them in the fridge. Place them in a small container, cover it with plastic wrap, and puncture the plastic a few times with a sharp knife. After four to seven days in the fridge, the whites will lose their elasticity, making them easier to whip up and less likely to get over-beaten and dry. <i>About the couverture chocolate</i>. By definition, couverture chocolate is chocolate that is at least 32% cocoa butter. For the first time this time, I had some Valrhona Ivoire on hand. I can't say definitively whether it was the Valrhona, but this ganache set up far more nicely than the last Hermé ganache I made with Callebaut. <i>About the food colouring: </i>I've been using <a href="http://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/baking-decorating-paste-vivid-color/">this</a> set from Williams-Sonoma for my last few batches of macarons. The colours are pretty limited, but I haven't been dedicated enough to track down a fancier line.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">CANDIED LEMON</span><br />
4 lemons, preferably organic<br />
500 ml water<br />
250 g granulated sugar<br />
1 star anise<br />
5 black sarawak peppercorns<br />
1/2 vanilla bean<br />
2 tablespoons lemon juice<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">MACARON SHELLS</span><br />
150 g finely blanched and ground almonds<br />
150 g powdered sugar<br />
55 g aged egg whites<br />
1 g lemon-yellow food colouring<br />
2 g pistachio-green food colouring<br />
+<br />
150 g granulated sugar<br />
38 g water<br />
55 g aged egg whites<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">AVOCADO-LEMON GANACHE</span><br />
1-2 ripe avocados<br />
25 g lemon juice<br />
Pinch of sea salt<br />
50 g heavy cream<br />
Zest of a quarter lemon<br />
250 g couverture white chocolate, preferably Valrhona<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">DAY ONE: </span>Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. In the meantime, rinse and dry the lemons. With a sharp knife, trim the ends and cut off the skin from top to bottom in strips, taking a good centimeter of lemon flesh with them. Put the strips in the water, return to a boil, and cook for 2 minutes then drain. Repeat this blanching process two more times with fresh water each time.<br />
Crush the peppercorns. Place them in a medium saucepan along with the water, sugar, lemon juice, and star anise. Split the half vanilla bean in two along its length and scrape the seeds into the pan. Add the empty pod. Bring the mixture to a boil over low heat. Add the lemon strips. Simmer gently on medium-low for about one and a half hours, partially covered. Pour the zests and syrup into a bowl and let cool. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave in the refrigerator until the following day.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">DAY TWO:</span> Place the candied lemon in a strainer over a bowl and let drain for about 1 hour. Then cut to a 3mm dice.<br />
Meanwhile, prepare the ganache. Cut the avocados in two and remove their pits. Scoop out the flesh with a spoon and mash. Weigh 150 g of mashed avocado (set aside the remaining for another use) and stir in the lemon juice and salt. Heat the avocado in a small saucepan over a very low flame. Stir continuously until the purée reaches 40-50 degrees C / 104-122 degrees F. Remove from heat.<br />
Unless using féves, give the chocolate a rough chop. Put the chocolate in a heat-proof bowl over a pot of simmering water to melt. Stir occasionally. In a small saucepan, bring the cream to a boil and add the lemon zest. Pour the cream over the chocolate and then begin adding the avocado purée, a little bit at a time. Whisk vigorously to prevent the ganache from breaking. Once the avocado is fully incorporated, pour the ganache into a wide heat-proof dish and cover with plastic wrap, touching it to the surface of the ganache to prevent a skin from forming. Chill in the refrigerator until thick and creamy, 3-4 hours.<br />
Prepare the macaron shells. Sift the ground almonds and powered sugar into a large bowl. Stir together the food colouring and one 55 g portion of egg whites in a small dish. Add these to the almonds and sugar but do not mix them in.<br />
In a small saucepan, bring the granulated sugar and water to a boil. Keep the sides of the saucepan clean to prevent the sugar from re-crystallising by brushing them with a wet pastry brush. When the syrup reaches 110 degrees C / 230 degrees F, begin whipping the second 55 g portion of egg whites using a stand mixer. When the syrup reaches 118 degrees C / 244 degrees F, slowly pour the syrup into the whites, letting the syrup run down the sides of the bowl so that it doesn't splatter. The whites should have barely formed soft peaks at this point. Continue whipping the whites on high speed for one more minute. Reduce the speed of the mixer to medium and continue whipping the whites for about 2 minutes. The whites are ready when they've cooled to 50 degrees C / 122 degrees F. Add the whites to the powdered almond mixture and fold in, running your spatula under the mixture and turning it over onto itself. Continue working the batter in this way until it reaches the right consistency. It will be the right consistency when it falls off the end of the spatula in a thick ribbon and sinks into the batter in the bowl. If the batter holds its shape, it needs to be worked for longer. Batter with this consistency won't produce smooth shells.<br />
Put the macaron batter in a pastry bag fitted with a no. 11 tip.
Pipe shells around 3.5 cm in diameter, spaced at least 2 cm apart on a parchment-lined half-sheet (doubled with another half-sheet for insulation). Let the shells stand for 30 minutes, and meanwhile, preheat the oven to 180 degrees C / 356 degrees F. Bake the shells for 12-14 minutes. Let the shells cool for at least 30 minutes before lifting them from the parchment.<br />
Assemble the macarons. Fill a pastry bag fitted with a no. 11 tip with the avocado. Pipe a generous amount of ganache on half of the macaron shells. Add three or four candied lemon cubes to each ganache-topped shell. Sandwich these with the remaining shells.
Leave the macarons in the refrigerator for 24 hours. Remove from the refrigerator 2 hours before serving.<br />
<i>Makes about 36 macarons.</i></div>
</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-38876684034042860812013-03-25T16:13:00.000-05:002013-03-25T23:44:49.290-05:00The flavours they remembered<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8590814154/" title="Oma and Bella"><img alt="Oma and Bella" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8383/8590814154_ef96c51921_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few weeks ago, Luisa <a href="http://www.thewednesdaychef.com/the_wednesday_chef/2013/02/oma-bella.html">wrote</a> about <a href="http://omabella.com/">Oma and Bella</a>, a film about two women--best friends, Holocaust survivors, splendid home cooks--and their life in the kitchen. Regina and Bella (the filmmaker, Alexa Karolinski, is Regina's granddaughter, making Regina her <i>Oma</i>) live together in Berlin and spend their days in bright kitchen smocks hovering over simmering pots of borscht, rolling up stuffed, oversized cabbage leaves, and filling tins to the brim with sparkling cream-cheese cookies. The film, though about their lives now, is permeated with their past. The food that they prepare day-to-day is the same food they grew up eating. Now, I don't have any personal connection to any of this--to that very dark part of history, to post-war Germany, to the culture and traditions that survive with Regina and Bella. But you certainly don't need to to appreciate the film or to want to cook everything from the beautiful little book of recipes that Alexa has put together.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What I find most remarkable about Regina and Bella's cooking is that it is all pieced together from childhood memory. They alone from their respective families survived the camps, and they'd been too young at the time to learn to cook. So, after the war, they taught themselves from the flavours they remembered. And this is the same food that they cook today, that connects them to a past of which there are otherwise very few tangible traces. (In the film, Regina and Bella tell us that any survivors who were able to save family photos were very lucky.) So leafing through the cookbook, having the sweet smell of slow-roasted onions fill my kitchen (these onions are at the heart of Regina and Bella's cooking), feel to me like something of a privilege. I feel terribly lucky to be able to cook this food at all, and I am so glad that Alexa took on the project of turning their handfuls into half-cups so that we might all share in it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8589598825/" title="Onions chopped"><img alt="Onions chopped" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8092/8589598825_945023faa3_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8589609543/" title="Onions cooked down"><img alt="Onions cooked down" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8104/8589609543_6fb97e3122_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8590728614/" title="Cutting out circles"><img alt="Cutting out circles" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8392/8590728614_64ca6f411d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Regina and Bella are firm believers in keeping their freezer well-stocked--as in, they are always prepared to feed a serious crowd with almost no notice. I really admire that. It always feels reassuring to have at least a few goodies stashed away. My own freezer stock was not (and still isn't) nearly as impressive (chicken stock, pork stock, gelatin purée, ground turkey, two sausages, marrow bones), so when my copy of the cookbook arrived in the mail, I decided to start with Regina and Bella's pierogis, with the hope of adding to it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I'm afraid that my freezer stock of pierogis is already nearly gone. I made a double batch, hoping that the pierogis would turn out well. But really, I should have made a quadruple batch <i>at the very least</i>. These pierogis are so, so good. The filling is super simple, just onion and potato. You cook down diced onions on gentle heat to a golden, sticky mass. This can take some time--over an hour in my case--but the onions don't need your undivided attention. And in the interim, you can also boil and mash a few potatoes for the filling and pull together the pierogi dough. The dough, by the way, isn't at all fussy. It can get a little dry once rolled out if you don't work quickly enough, but that is easily remedied with moistened fingertips. It will hold shut during cooking with some good, firm pinches and doesn't suffer after being handled a lot. Admittedly, with the onions to cook down, the dough to prepare, and the assembly, making these pierogis can feel like quite the production. But they are definitely worthwhile, especially if you make a big batch to stash away.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8589625309/" title="Pierogi filling"><img alt="Pierogi filling" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8246/8589625309_8eba2d0ed9_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8590738914/" title="Assembled for cooking"><img alt="Assembled for cooking" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8386/8590738914_67ca91d8c4_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8588152968/" title="Pierogi"><img alt="Pierogi" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8243/8588152968_efc1e7b6d0_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The cookbook suggests that you serve your pierogis with meatballs. We ate ours alongside braised red cabbage spiked with apple-cider vinegar and caraway seed. Alexa also says in the book that her Oma has been known to chase her pierogis with homemade pickles and shots of vodka. I just don't have the constitution for that sort of thing, but what women Regina and Bella must be!</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Potato and Onion Pierogi</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted from <i>Oma & Bella, The Cookbook</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: You may end up with a little extra filling--I had maybe a 1/4 cup leftover--but I wouldn't expect this to be much of a problem. Even cold out of the fridge a day later, it was very good.<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">FILLING:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 large yellow onions</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
125 ml / 1/2 cup vegetable oil</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
700 g / 1 1/2 lb starchy potatoes (about 3 medium ones)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Salt and pepper to taste</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">DOUGH:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
380 g / 3 cups all-purpose flour + more for dusting</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
125 ml / 1/2 cup water</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 large eggs</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Large pinch of salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO FINISH:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Scallions or chives, thinly sliced</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sour cream</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Finely dice the onion and fry it in the oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet on low to medium-low heat until dark-golden brown, about 1 hour. Meanwhile, peel and boil the potatoes in a large pot of salted water until tender, about 20-25 minutes, depending on the size of your potatoes. Drain the potatoes and return them to their pot with the heat on medium, then mash them (doing things this way will help to rid the potatoes of excess water). Remove the onions from the oil with a slotted spoon (don't toss the oil--save it to fry the pierogis in or for some other use) and combine them with the mashed potato in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper to taste.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a large bowl, mix the flour, water, eggs, and salt with a fork until a rough dough forms. Turn the dough out onto a clean surface and knead for 5 minutes as you would pasta dough, pushing the dough away from you across the work surface with your palms and then balling it up and repeating this, using flour as necessary to prevent the dough from sticking. Cover the dough with plastic wrap or an overturned bowl for 5-10 minutes to let the dough relax. Then roll out the dough until it is only a couple of millimetres thick, again using flour as needed (it helps to have a bench scraper handy and to use it lift the dough from your work surface occasionally to prevent sticking). Use the rim of water glass or a biscuit cutter about 3 inches in diameter to cut circles out of the dough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On each circle, place a tablespoon of the potato filling. Fold the dough over itself to form a semi-circle and seal the edges with damp fingers, pinching firmly. Place finished pierogis on a flour- or cornmeal-dusted baking sheet. (Be sure to gather up the dough scraps and re-roll them for a second or even third round of pierogis. Just keep this remaining dough covered while you're busy with assembly.) At this point you can either freeze the pierogis on the baking sheet until firm and then seal them in a bag in the freezer for later use or proceed as follows.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bring a medium-sized pot of salted water to a boil. Place the pierogis in the boiling water. When they float to the surface, they are ready. Drain in a colander.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a skillet over medium heat, fry the cooked pierogis, a few minutes per side, until golden brown. Serve hot with scallions and sour cream.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Makes about 30 pierogis, enough for 4-6 people as part of a larger meal</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-85181644892838029912013-03-08T09:07:00.000-06:002013-03-08T09:07:34.482-06:00Backwards arithmetic<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8538258098/" title="Parsnip dumplings"><img alt="Parsnip dumplings" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8518/8538258098_246867f632_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sometimes, I daydream about food, about flavours and colours that might well meet on a plate someday, that could just take a liking to each other. But most of the time, the sorts of thoughts about food that occupy me aren't so elevated. They are as practical as can be, driven by questions like `What to do with that neglected crust of bread?', `Is the parsley too far gone?', and `Can that cabbage be stretched to make a little lunch tomorrow?'. These, I take it, are just the sorts of day-to-day thoughts that occupy almost any home cook worth her salt. She does a sort of larder arithmetic to make as much as she can of what she has, especially of the odd scrap or two leftover from meals long cooked and eaten. It isn't glamorous, but there's an art to it (one that mothers and grandmothers seem to have down pat).</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8538616017/" title="Parsnips and potato"><img alt="Parsnips and potato" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8086/8538616017_37226c8568_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8539726036/" title="Diced vegetables"><img alt="Diced vegetables" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8093/8539726036_ddf5b6eb37_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8538618329/" title="Dumpling dough"><img alt="Dumpling dough" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8251/8538618329_4fe800ff0b_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, that is the sort of arithmetic that I do <i>most of the time</i>. Every now and then, though, I get it a little backwards. I bake a loaf of bread, hoping for a few stale slices at the end of the week to blitz into crumbs. I devise ways of using up egg whites, thinking to add to my stash of yolks in the freezer. That sort of thing. Not terribly out there but still a little backwards. But my most recent round of such arithmetic--I don't think it can be described as anything but <i>very</i> backwards. Up until last weekend, you see, I'd been thinking a lot about whole chickens--about riding across town with them on the bus, about roasting them with <a href="http://www.lottieanddoof.com/2012/12/pimenton-roasted-chicken-and-potatoes/">garlic and paprika</a>, about braising them <a href="http://www.turntablekitchen.com/2012/10/jerusalem-chicken-with-caramelized-onion-cardamom-rice/">with caramelized onion and cardamom rice</a>--but all that, truth be told, was secondary. What I was really thinking about were their backs, necks, bones, and wing tips. I was in it for the stock, you see. I needed five pounds of such bits, and let me tell you, that's <i>a lot</i> of bird to collect, bird by bird. So there was a lot of scheming done on my part and a lot of chicken dinners from January on. (I have to confess--I eventually got impatient and bought some extra necks to supplement what I had.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But this is not a story about stock. It in fact is about dumplings--soft, pillowy, parsnip dumplings. I first made them back in January with their intended broth. And for a vegetable broth, it was pretty good. Ottolenghi promised depth, and there was some. But I am just not a vegetable-broth kind of girl. For me, vegetable broth just never has enough depth, enough savour, to really hold its own. The carrots, the onion--they add a lot of sweetness, and there's nothing to counterbalance that. But I loved the parsnip dumplings and wanted to make them again. All I needed was a broth to really carry them. So that's how I ended up riding the bus home with whole chickens, how I ended up amassing a freezer full of chicken odds and ends, how I ended up spending most of Sunday morning perched on a stool, peering over a giant, steaming stock pot packed with those odds and ends.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8539723490/" title="Parsnip dumplings in broth"><img alt="Parsnip dumplings in broth" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8244/8539723490_652b4e8f97_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All I can do is hope that these efforts do as much to illustrate how very good these dumplings are as they do how crazy I sometimes get. I won't even try to encourage you to follow my lead as far as the stock goes. I'll just say that these dumplings deserve good broth (vegetable or chicken, whatever pleases you) and that they're worth a little extra effort.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But for those of you curious about the stock, I was following the recipe from <i>The French Laundry</i> cookbook, which makes about 5 quarts (Keller claims 6) from five pounds of bones, an optional pound of chicken feet (that's about 9), and a mirepoix of carrot, onion, and leek. I am not quite sure what the chicken feet added, and given that they weren't exactly a bargain (oddly enough), I might try the stock without them next time. As written, the recipe produces a beautiful, pale gold stock. It is a bit subtle, but that isn't too surprising, given that in the restaurant it's intended to play a supporting role in risottos and the like. You can, of course, reduce it to good effect. This definitely won't be the last you'll hear of stock around here. I have my eye on a couple of other interesting-looking recipes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Parsnip Dumplings</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted, just a little, from Yotam Ottolenghi's <i>Plenty</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: You can get away with making the dough in advance, but it doesn't keep well past a day. It starts to lose its cohesion and won't hold its shape very well in simmering water. But if you want to get the prep out of the way and cook the dumplings a little later, make the dough as directed and chill <i>but</i> don't add the baking powder until you're just about ready to cook the dumplings. Otherwise, they won't float to the surface.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">DUMPLINGS</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
225 g russet potato (one small one), peeled and diced (half-inch dice)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
180 g parsnips (about 3 modest ones), peeled and diced (half-inch dice)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 garlic clove, peeled</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 tablespoons butter</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
70 g / 1/2 cup all-purpose flour</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1/2 rounded teaspoon baking powder</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
50 g / 1/3 cup semolina</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 egg</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Salt and white pepper</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">TO SERVE</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4 cups good-quality broth, preferably homemade</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 small carrot, cut into half-inch-wide batons and cooked until tender or reserved from homemade stock (optional)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Parsley, chopped</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cook the potato, parsnips, and garlic in plenty of boiling salted water until soft, 8-10 minutes. Drain well. Wipe dry the pan in which the vegetables were cooked and put them back inside. Add the butter and sauté on medium heat for a few minutes to get rid of the excess moisture. While hot mash them with a potato ricer or masher. Add the flour, semolina, egg, and some salt and pepper and mix until incorporated. Chill for 30-60 minutes, covered with plastic wrap.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Heat the broth and taste for seasoning. In another pan, bring some salted water to a light simmer. Dip a teaspoon or small scoop (something with a release mechanism will make things easier--the dough is on the tacky side) in water and use it to spoon out the dumpling mix into the water. Once the dumplings come to the surface, leave to simmer for 30 seconds, then remove from the water with a slotted spoon.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ladle the hot broth into bowls. Place the dumplings and carrot, if using, in the broth, garnish with parsley, and serve immediately.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Serves 4</i>.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-45259222936565847922013-02-26T19:13:00.001-06:002013-02-27T13:52:50.059-06:00That pâte à choux magic<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8506053634/" title="Honey-glazed crullers"><img alt="Honey-glazed crullers" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8243/8506053634_034e83d82c_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are the things that you outgrow, and then there are the things you know you never will. The former, for me, include wild hair colours, teenage crushes, the (over)use of twenty-dollar words, and cookies-and-cream anything; the latter, wooly scarves, long road trips made in the right company, French philosophy, and honey crullers.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The cruller has always been my favourite doughnut. I love its delicate egginess, its impossible airiness, the crackly glaze that clings to its winding, golden ridges. It, for me, is doughnut perfection. So, naturally, I was excited to see that it was among the doughnuts featured in this month's <i>Saveur </i>(for those of you haven't seen it yet, it is a veritable doughnut extravaganza). Before this, it hadn't occurred to me to even try making crullers at home. How, after all, would you be able to reproduce those distinctive ridges, that airy structure, in your own kitchen? <i>Saveur</i> had answers. A star piping tip! <i>Pâte à choux</i>! Actually, now that I think about it, it seems kind of obvious. <i>Pâte à choux</i> is the egg-rich pastry dough out of which éclairs, gougères, and gnocchi parisienne are made. You start, typically, with water, butter, sugar, and salt over the stove and add to that flour and then eggs to pull together a pretty soft, unassuming dough. But when that dough hits heat it <i>puffs</i>, airy, golden, ethereal. So, really, it should have come as no surprise that crullers are made out of <i>pâte à choux</i>. They have that same magical quality about them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8511986626/" title="Parchment squares"><img alt="Parchment squares" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8514/8511986626_a674c76b5c_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8511706402/" title="Piped rings"><img alt="Piped rings" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8098/8511706402_685bba190a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8510595415/" title="Unglazed"><img alt="Unglazed" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8246/8510595415_fac8be0311_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So I was all set to make my first crullers until I looked at the ingredients list. <i>Vodka</i>? <i>Instant potato flakes</i>? Now, I'm not one to baulk at <a href="http://butter-tree.blogspot.com/2011/07/secret-ingredient.html">an unusual pâte à choux</a>, but I at least want an explanation. The head notes, however, said nothing, and I just wasn't feeling <i>that</i> adventurous. But I still wanted crullers, so I took this as an excuse to get a book I've wanted for some time, Lara Ferroni's <i>Doughnuts</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Leafing through the book, I almost got sidetracked. There are <i>so</i> many doughnuts in it that I'd like to make. Apple-cider doughnuts made with graham flour, <i>picarones</i>, which are Peruvian winter-squash fritters, crème brûlée doughnuts--they all sounded fantastically good. But in the end, the thought of those swirled ridges, that <i>pâte à choux</i> magic, it got to me.<br />
Deep-frying, admittedly, can be intimidating. That oil, after all, gets very, very hot. But common sense, a deep, heavy-bottomed pot, a deep-fry thermometer, and a spider skimmer are all you really need to keep things safe. And besides, making doughnuts is fun, especially with a friend in the kitchen to help out. For these crullers, one of you can pipe rings of <i>pâte à choux</i> onto squares of greased parchment, while the other takes care of the frying. It's pretty straightforward. Really, there isn't much at all standing between you and a dozen fine and lofty crullers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8510598633/" title="Half-dozen"><img alt="Half-dozen" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8105/8510598633_f22109fbdb_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8510596843/" title="Glazed, overhead"><img alt="Glazed, overhead" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8366/8510596843_3d5f85cc43_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8511698794/" title="Cruller interior"><img alt="Cruller interior" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8241/8511698794_953804e500_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And now that I've made these crullers, I'm really curious about the recipe printed in <i>Saveur</i>. Has anyone tried it out? Can anyone tell me what the vodka and potato flakes do?<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Honey Crullers</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Adapted, ever so slightly, from Lara Ferroni's <i>Doughnuts</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: <i>About the piping tip</i>. I used an Ateco no. 846, which is actually a <i>closed-star</i> piping tip. The equivalent open-star tip is the Ateco no. 826, but I couldn't find one of these in time. The only difference between the two, as far as I can tell, is that the closed-star tip produces more pronounced ridges in the pastry, which isn't a bad thing at all in this case. <i>About the frying oil</i>. I used canola oil, but I'm not sure that I would again. Though canola is a fine frying oil for some things, it isn't all that neutral, and with these doughnuts at least, its flavour was more noticeable than I'd have liked it to be. Ferroni recommends safflower oil, and I second that. <i>About the parchment squares</i>. If you end up with enough <i>pâte à choux</i> to make more than 12 crullers like I did, you might find yourself short on parchment squares. I reused a few. They were a little crinkly from the hot oil, but that didn't really pose much of a problem for piping.<br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1 cup water</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
85 g / 6 tablespoons butter</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
2 teaspoons sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
generous 1/4 teaspoon salt</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
135 g / 1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3 large eggs, at room temperature</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1-2 large egg whites, at room temperature and slightly beaten</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Vegetable oil for frying</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Honey glaze (see below)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Place the water, butter, sugar, and salt in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan and bring to a brisk boil over medium-high heat. Add the flour and stir with a wooden spoon until the flour is completely incorporated. Continue to cook and stir for 3 to 4 minutes to steam away as much water as possible. The more moisture you can remove, the more eggs you can add later and the lighter your pastry will be. The mixture is ready when a thin film coats the bottom of the pan.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Move the mixture to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Although you can mix the <i>pâte à choux</i> by hand, this can be rather arduous, so use a mixer if you have one. Stir the mixture for about 1 minute to allow it to cool. Then mix on medium speed and add the first egg. Let it mix in completely and then scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the remaining eggs, one at a time, and mix in completely. Add the egg whites, a little at a time, until the paste becomes smooth and glossy and will hold a slight peak when pinched with your fingers. Be careful not to add too much egg white or your crullers will become heavy. Transfer the batter to a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch star piping tip.<br />
To fry the crullers, heat at least 2 inches of oil in a heavy-bottomed pot until a deep-fry thermometer registers 370 degrees F. While the oil is heating, cut out twelve 3-inch-by-3-inch squares of parchment paper and lightly grease them. Pipe a generous ring onto each square. When the oil is hot, gently place one cruller at a time in the oil, paper side up. Remove the paper with tongs. Fry on each side until golden brown, 2-3 minutes. (Undercooked crullers will collapse while cooling, so observe the first one, and if this happens, increase your frying time and check the oil temperature for the rest.) Remove with a spider skimmer or slotted spoon and drain on paper towel for at least 1 minute. Leave on a rack to cool. Once cool to the touch, the crullers can be glazed.<br />
<i>Alternatively</i>, you can bake the crullers. They will have slightly firmer crusts than fried ones. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and pipe the crullers onto it, at least 2 inches apart from one another. Bake for 5 minutes, then reduce the heat to 350 degrees F and bake for another 15 minutes. Turn off the heat, open the oven door slightly and let the crullers sit in the cooling oven for 5 to 10 minutes. Remove, dip in glaze, and cool on a rack until the glaze has set.<br />
<i>Makes 10-15 doughnuts</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>Tips for using a pastry bag</i>. To fill the bag, first fit the bag with the tip and then tuck some of the bag into the wide end of the tip. This will prevent whatever you're filling the bag with from running out the tip as you fill. Second, roll down the sides of the bag a bit so that when you transfer your filling to the bag, it doesn't end up all near the wide opening where your hands will be. You'll just make a mess trying to squeeze its contents towards the tip. If you're working alone, stand the empty bag up in a tall glass to keep it steady as you fill. Regardless, a tall glass can be helpful if you need to put the bag down at any point in the middle of piping. Finally, with the bag filled, twist the wide end of the bag shut and hold it there with one hand (use your other hand to support and guide the bag by holding the bag closer to the tip). With the bag twisted and held this way, you should be able to easily force the filling through the tip.<br />
<br />
<b>Honey Glaze</b><br />
From Lara Ferroni's <i>Doughnuts</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
150 g / 1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted<br />
1 tablespoon honey<br />
3 to 4 tablespoons milk water<br />
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Place the sugar in a medium bowl and slowly stir in the honey and milk, a little at a time, to make a smooth, pourable glaze.</div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-73238166860823022592013-02-18T12:42:00.000-06:002013-02-18T12:42:08.993-06:00You have to engage<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8483483791/" title="Smoked ham hock rillettes"><img alt="Smoked ham hock rillettes" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8105/8483483791_b927e7ec53_z.jpg" width="600" /></a> </div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"We're sensorily deprived right now in modern life. Our eyes are engaged--sometimes our ears--but our bodies? Not so much. These aren't just bags of bones we're carrying around." -- Michael Pollan in <i>Lucky Peach</i> no. 6.</blockquote>
Smoked ham hock rillettes. This one might be a hard sell, not because making a few jars is particularly difficult but because--there's no point in trying to hide it--it's messy and time-consuming, a real <i>process</i> as far as a recipe goes. You cannot but get your hands (and your kitchen) dirty. But that's also what I enjoy about making them.</div>
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You might roll your eyes. <i>Grad student</i>. <i>Too much time on her hands</i>. But that's not what this comes down to. On weeknights, I'm all for ease and convenience, for meals that practically cook themselves and hardly leave a trace. But those aren't the meals that draw me to the kitchen. They're not the reason I cook. I cook to engage myself, to use my hands, to make messes and learn a thing or two in the midst of making them. These aren't, of course, the most basic reasons for being in the kitchen, but they are the ones that make cooking a pleasure, whatever night of the week it may be. And it's good, I think, to remind ourselves of this once in a while and cook something demanding, something that draws us in. And these rillettes, they do that.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8485629525/" title="Smoked ham hocks"><img alt="Smoked ham hocks" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8528/8485629525_78f7fa6529_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8485640779/" title="Ham hocks near the end of cooking"><img alt="Ham hocks near the end of cooking" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8227/8485640779_100ee57a2d_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8486729410/" title="Ham hocks broken down"><img alt="Ham hocks broken down" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8112/8486729410_968b113ae2_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Rillettes traditionally are a coarse-textured, rich spread made from a fatty cut of pork, duck, or goose. The meat is gently braised, finely shredded, and then mixed with fresh herbs, spices, and the flavourful liquid in which it was braised. Pretty straightforward. The result is something like pâté but less fussy. These particular rillettes, however, come from the good people at Mission Street Food and so, unsurprisingly, part with tradition. </div>
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The hock is pretty lean as far as cuts of pork go. In fact, it's mostly skin, bone, and connective tissue. So that's where things start to get messy with these rillettes. Once the hocks have been cooked, you need to get at what little meat there is. And there's no getting around this, you need to use your hands. Bits of meat are often tangled up with connective tissue and hard to spot, so what you need to do is break down the hocks by hand and feel your way through them, pulling soft tissue from bone, picking out the meat as you go.</div>
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But why use smoked hocks in the first place, why go through all that trouble for so little? Because what smoked hocks lack in flesh and fat they make up for in flavour and collagen. Remember all of that skin, that sticky connective tissue? Even after four hours of simmering, these are still steeped through with woodsy, smoky flavour. And just as important, they're rich in collagen. Collagen is all about texture. It's basically what gelatin is made out of. It's the stuff that gives homemade stocks their satiny, rich mouth-feel. So, naturally, that skin and connective tissue don't go to waste here. You whirl them in the blender with a splash of stock from cooking the hocks and push that through a sieve. And there you have it, smoky gelatin purée.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8485635657/" title="Skin and connective tissue"><img alt="Skin and connective tissue" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8249/8485635657_4bc4afa5ca_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8486725120/" title="Components collected"><img alt="Components collected" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8379/8486725120_5a91b8d58a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8486723000/" title="Rillettes on sourdough"><img alt="Rillettes on sourdough" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8369/8486723000_02114bbb7a_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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Now, this, I think, is where things get demanding. It isn't that anything gets difficult. It's just that your attention, your judgement is called for. You have to engage. Let me explain. At this point, you'll have all of your components lined up. From the hocks, you'll have meat, pork stock, and gelatin purée. You should also have some rendered pork fat (yes, lard) on hand to supplement what you have, since ham hocks are so lean. Then there are the seasonings. <i>Quatre épices</i>, a blend of white pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon, and clove, is traditional. Crushed garlic, dijon mustard, sherry vinegar, and fresh thyme leaves aren't out of place either. Salt, needless to say, is important. (As printed, the MSF recipe is loosey-goosey. Very helpfully, it calls for 'spices'.) The meat goes into the bowl of your stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. What happens next is more or less up to you. Each of the components will contribute a particular flavour and/or texture to the finished rillettes. How you prioritize them is a matter of preference. What this means is that you have to taste and tweak as you go. You have to ask yourself: does this need more fat? Is it getting too dry--should I add some stock? Could it use more acidity, more vinegar, maybe? Like I said, you have to engage. And little by little, you'll get to something that pleases you, that makes you beam.</div>
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So what I like about making these rillettes is that it's very physical, very involving. It's all about <i>you</i> feel and what <i>you</i> taste. This is no dump-and-stir exercise. There's no crossing your fingers, hoping that things have turned out. How things go is on you. It's a little scary, for sure. But it's also utterly liberating. I don't cook like this very often. I lean a lot on good cookbooks, regimented quantities. And on most days, that's all I feel I have the time for. But once in a while, I think, this is just the sort of thing you need to do.</div>
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<b>Smoked Ham Hock Rillettes</b></div>
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Adapted from the <i>Mission Street Food Cookbook</i></div>
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Note: <i>About the seasoning. </i>I stuck with fairly traditional seasonings, but you shouldn't feel limited to these. Look at other rillettes recipes for guidance. It'll be hard to go wrong. For example, I flat-out forgot to add mustard. My feeling is that juniper might be a nice addition. <i>About the pork fat.</i> There's no need to spring for anything as fancy as <a href="http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9B01E6DC173EF936A25752C1A9609C8B63&smid=pl-share">leaf lard</a> for these rillettes. Save the good stuff for pies. But do take the trouble to find yourself some good, unprocessed fat. Try your favourite butcher. <i>About the quantity of hocks</i>. I got away with using just over 3 lbs of hocks but only because one of them was extra meaty. It would probably be wiser to use closer to 4 or 5 lbs. <i>Shelf life</i>. Sterilizing your jars will help the rillettes keep for longer in the fridge. Both <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/oct/31/nigel-slater-classic-rillettes-recipe">Nigel Slater</a> and Jane Grigson advise pouring a layer (half an inch or so) of melted pork fat over the rillettes if you're not planning on eating them within a few days.</div>
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3-5 lbs meaty smoked ham hocks (see above)<br />
2.5-3 quarts chicken stock, pork stock, dashi, or water<br />
1-2 cups rendered bacon or pork fat, plus more to cover (see above)<br />
2 tablespoons or so sherry vinegar<br />
1 tablespoon thyme leaves<br />
1 1/2 tablespoons or so quatre épices<br />
1 large clove garlic, crushed<br />
Salt<br />
<br />
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Gently simmer the ham hocks in the chicken stock, pork stock, dash, or water.</div>
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After about 4 hours, the meat should be very tender. Cool the entire pot until you can handle the hocks. Drain and reserve the stock. (At the end you'll have plenty of stock left for cooking greens, or just for sipping.)</div>
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Pick the ham hocks apart by hand. Separate the meat from the skins and soft collagen. Reserve both. (The edges of the ham hocks can become dried out and tough from the smoking process or from not being fully submerged in liquid. Move the hocks around periodically as they simmer, and discard any parts that may be too tough to rillette. Discard any tough skin, bones, and weird gristle.)</div>
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Blend the skins and collagen with just enough stock to get the mix going (probably about 1/4-1/2 cup), creating a gelatin purée. Strain the purée through a fine sieve, using a lade or spoon to push it through.</div>
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Combine the meat and some of the purée, fat, vinegar, and spices in a stand mixer. (The ratios of fat-to-meat-to-gelatin will vary, depending on how you prioritize richness (fat), unctuousness (gelatin), and moisture (stock). Taste as you mix; add the salt, vinegar, mustard, and your spices, herbs, or garlic until you reach the desired balance.) Mix using the medium-low setting and the paddle attachment of your mixer. For best results, mix the rillettes at the temperature it will be served.</div>
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Store in glass or ceramic jars and chill in the fridge until ready to serve. Serve with good bread, pickles, a sharp salad, or even some tart fruit preserves. Consider stuffing any that remains in baked potatoes, as <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/oct/31/nigel-slater-classic-rillettes-recipe">Nigel Slater</a> suggests.</div>
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(In addition to the ham-hock stock, there'll be lots of leftover gelatin purée, which you can use to enrich anything from meatballs to gravy. If you're not quite ready to jump into another meat-centric project, it's okay to freeze the purée for later use.)</div>
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<i>Serves 12-16 as an appetizer</i>. <i>(Fills about four 200 g jars.)</i></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2809435229390094618.post-9126293039677754782013-02-04T13:48:00.000-06:002013-02-04T14:56:39.529-06:00This is it<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8441797461/" title="Parsley and barley salad"><img alt="Parsley and barley salad" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8364/8441797461_3f2c78d000_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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If in the past year or so there was a cookbook that I reached for most, one whose pages caught the spatter of sauce and oil and cream more than any other, it was definitely Nigel Slater's <i>Tender</i>. I cooked from it <i>a lot</i>, and we ate really well, all year long. But this year, it's my feeling that things will be a little different. This, I think, might just be the year of <i>Jerusalem</i>. And, as I'm sure you've already heard, this cookbook is one that dazzles, one that overflows with colour and stories and bold, brilliant flavours. So I won't say much more about it. I'll just say this--I cooked from it all weekend, and, friends, this is a cookbook rich in small splendours. It is one hard to pull away from. I can't wait to cook from it again.</div>
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8442894356/" title="Parsley to be chopped"><img alt="Parsley to be chopped" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8076/8442894356_1cfcb6e6bd_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8442892336/" title="The rest"><img alt="The rest" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8237/8442892336_e55ef8c9ed_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/76441954@N03/8442889894/" title="Salad again"><img alt="Salad again" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8213/8442889894_373cf7fc2e_z.jpg" width="600" /></a>
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The dish from this past weekend that I want to share with you is one, I think, that between dishes like <i>roasted chicken with clementines and arak</i> and <i>burnt eggplant with garlic, lemon, and pomegranate seeds</i> is easy to overlook. <i>Parsley and barley salad</i>. It sounds about as uninteresting as can be. But it isn't. This salad is bright, bold, and vibrant. The parsley, with its peppery, anise notes, definitely leads, but then there's the creamy za'atar-marinated feta, the crunchy bits of sweet green pepper, the delicate barley, the crushed, roasted cashews, the sharp scallion. I don't know about you, but come February, I'm starved for clean, bright, simple foods. I need something to counter the inevitable heaviness of winter, the rich stews, the parade of roasted root vegetables. I need something that will <i>wake me up</i>. This salad is it. Confetti for the parade. Let it fall on your plate, and you'll see.</div>
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I've made this salad a couple of times now and have eaten it just on its own as a late dinner and alongside a number of other things. I think it went particularly well with roasted, cumin-spiced cauliflower. But it's pretty versatile. Think of it as a sort-of wintery tabbouleh, (for those months when tomatoes are just unthinkable).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>Parsley and Barley Salad</b></div>
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Adapted from Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi's <i>Jerusalem</i></div>
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Note: <i>About the barley</i>. This salad is all about the parsley. Even so, I do like to add a little more barley than is called for, but do what you will. <i>About the za'atar</i>. Za'atar is a blend of dried thyme, sumac, and roasted sesame seeds. The blend I <a href="http://www.thespicehouse.com/">bought</a> also has oregano and hyssop in it, which I'm not sure I'm all that crazy about, but it's easy enough to <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/zaatar-recipe.html">make your own</a> at home. <i>About the feta</i>. It's really important to get a good, creamy feta for this salad. It serves as a counterpoint to the sharpness of the salad's other ingredients. None of this insipid, watery stuff.<br />
<i><br /></i></div>
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40-55 g / scant 1/4 - 1/3 cup pearl barley (see above)</div>
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150 g / 5 oz good, creamy feta cheese</div>
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5 1/2 tablespoons olive oil</div>
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1 teaspoon za'atar</div>
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1/2 teaspoon coriander seeds, lightly toasted and crushed</div>
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1/4 teaspoon ground cumin</div>
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80 g / scant 3 oz flat-leaf parsley (2-3 bunches), leaves and fine stems</div>
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4 green onions, finely chopped</div>
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2 garlic cloves, crushed<br />
40 g / 1/3 cup cashews, lightly toasted and coarsely crushed</div>
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1 green pepper, seeded and cut into 3/8-inch dice</div>
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1/2 teaspoon ground allspice</div>
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2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice</div>
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Salt and pepper to taste</div>
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<br /></div>
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Place the pearl barley in a small saucepan, cover with plenty of water, and boil for 30-35 minutes, until tender but with a bite. Pour into a fine sieve, shake to remove all the water, and transfer to a large bowl.</div>
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Break the feta into rough pieces, about 3/4 inch / 2 cm in size, and mix in a small bowl with 1 1/2 tablespoons of the olive oil, the za'atar, the coriander seeds, and the cumin. Gently mic together and leave to marinate while you prepare the rest of the salad.</div>
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Chop the parsley finely and place in the bowl with the green onions, garlic, cashew nuts, pepper, allspice, lemon juice, the remaining olive oil, and the cooked barley. Mix together well and season to taste. To serve, divide the salad among four plates and top with the marinated feta.</div>
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<i>Serves 4</i>.</div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02728857878966566813noreply@blogger.com12