Skin and All

The silver lining I’m forcing myself to see about Hurricane Irene is that it forced me to do the annual re-learning how to shop for produce during peak harvest season. Normally, by the time my farm stops delivering, all that’s at the greenmarket is potatoes and apples, which means I go back to spending my entire paycheck at the Italian market up the street, where I have my pick of all kinds of non-seasonal and exotic fruits & veggies. But this year, I have spent a lot of time (and money) at the Union Square Greenmarket, opening up my kitchen to a much wider variety of local, seasonal things to cook with. Not that Stoneledge’s harvest is a monoculture by any means, but we typically get one variety of potato, 2 alternating kinds of Swiss chard, a few tomatoes, maybe some funky heirloom eggplants in addition to the more usual Italian. And it is all wonderful. But they don’t grow yellow carrots*, or purple potatoes, or red kuri squash, the key ingredient in a very tempting soup from Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table: More Than 300 Recipes from My Home to Yours.

Red kuri is a funny beast. It is a variety of winter squash that can grow quite large. It can be lumpy and kind of intimidating, but it has a couple of secrets, revealed to me by Dorie. One, it tastes a like chestnuts. And two, the skin is edible.

I abandoned the French Fridays with Dorie project after about 6 months, because that was about as much time as I was willing to have other people guide my choice of what to make for dinner (even just two or three nights a month). Also, I felt I had gotten a pretty good idea of the book we were cooking from, and I was just as happy to keep exploring it at my own pace, and at my own direction. Or to retread some ground. (I made her poached spiced pears for dessert just last night, I’ve done several varieties of the savory cheese quick bread, and I really enjoyed the tomato variation on the mustard tart.)

So I don’t know if the group has done this recipe yet, and it’s not Friday, but even so, this soup is worth some attention. There are very few ingredients, usually a good sign to my mind, so do try to find the highest quality available to you if you decide to make this for dinner. The squash needs to be washed thoroughly–dirt can very easily sneak into the funny crevices, and you’ll be eating the beautiful red-orange skin, so really give it a scrub. Then cut it in half:

and scoop out the seeds & membranes. Kuri seeds are awfully hard & thick, so they are not really the best for toasting, but give it a try if you want (I did not). Then cut it all up into big chunks. The color contrast between the skin and the flesh is much more striking in person than on a computer screen.

Wash and cut up a couple of leeks, too (though possibly not in that order, depending on your preferred leek-washing method). Also big chunks.

Toss the veggies in a big pot with equal parts milk & water, and a good bit of salt.

It’ll need to simmer for about a half an hour, until the squash is soft enough to mash up. But instead of mashing it up, run it through a food mill, or puree it in a blender, or with the brand new emersion blender your mom got you as a birthday gift (thanks, mom!). I recommend not blending it TOO much, though, because it’s so lovely to be able to see the flecks of dark skin mixed into the lighter base of the soup.

Dorie’s suggestion for serving is to add diced apple, toasted walnuts, and a little creme fraiche, and as with so many of her suggestions, it is excellent and flexible. Asian pear would probably be great, or try some other varieties of nuts. And as always in my kitchen, sour cream is a good creme fraiche alternative for this kind of thing. Some other suggested variations are on Dorie’s own post about this (along with the complete recipe).

A bit of good bread, toasted and spread thinly with some blue cheese, is also quite nice.

*When I was up at the farm to help with a garlic planting this fall, the farm explained to us that some heirloom varieties just don’t grow as well for them, and require a lot more attention–especially the weird colored veggies.

Salted Butter Break-Ups

I made Dorie’s salted butter break-ups several weeks ago, for a friend’s engagement party. Her roommate (my girlfriend) had picked the recipe out of a few suggestions I made, part of our contribution to the spread that would be laid out for the occasion. We were both pretty intrigued by the salty/sweet combination, and by the fact that it is a giant cookie. I also liked that it was called a “break-up” cookie, which was so antithetical to an evening of celebration for a new couple. Sugar and salt, break-ups and engagements. It felt like a good balance of opposites.

The recipe is really quite simple, with just a few basic ingredients blitzed in the Cuisinart, then chilled and rolled out in one big slab. Next time, I will use salted butter, and add even more sea salt, because I don’t like to be subtle with the contrast of sweet and savory. And I will use a little more force in making the lovely cross-hatching, because in the baking, the dough puffed up and sort of erased half of my work. The taste is wonderful, a lot like my mom’s traditional Christmas butter cookies, which we ice with a classic buttercream frosting.

Also pictured are some candied orange peels, which were the aftermath of the orange-almond tart I made back in February. Some of them got tossed in sugar, and some of them got dipped in chocolate. C. also made red velvet cupcakes, and these awesome paint chip cookies, in a veritable rainbow of Pantone colors.

Design-Your-Own Quick Bread

Wow, February was kind of unpleasant. In between bouts of illness, I managed to strain my Achilles tendon and break a toe. Those sorts of health issues are the kind that prevent a girl from cooking the way she would really like to, because hauling groceries and standing at the stove when both your feet are iffy isn’t very pleasant, and neither is eating much of anything when you’ve got a stomach bug or a terrible fever. But now it is March, and we need never speak of the previous month again.* Moving on.

This week’s French Fridays with Dorie recipe was for a savory cheese and chive bread. She says that in France, it’s thought of as a cake more than a quick bread, which makes sense. Quick breads can generally be baked as muffins instead of a loaf, in which case they verge on cupcakes. But here’s the thing: I’m not wild about chives. I love garlic, onions, shallots, leeks, scallions, ramps (it’s almost ramp season!), but chives are somehow always wrong. 

Lucky for me, the header and marginalia on this recipe explain clearly that it is meant to be tweaked. Swap in other kinds of cheese, or some sundried tomatoes, different herbs, bacon, olives–whatever. My craving this week led me to figs. And then walnuts. And then blue cheese. Which led me to create this bread:

Start with some flour. I used a mix of all-purpose and whole wheat, because that’s how I roll. Whisk in the baking powder, salt, and pepper.

In another bowl, whisk together 3 eggs. Mix in some milk and olive oil. I found it easier to measure both in the same Pyrex together, with the added bonus that these gorgeous bubbles formed between the two layers.

Pour wet into dry and mix until just combined, then add in the add-ins. As Dorie says, you can use really whatever you like. The original recipe calls for both grated AND diced cheese, but I thought the volume and moisture of the fruit would compensate for ditching the grated, plus, even I don’t need THAT much blue cheese in one dish.

Mix it all up and then dump it in a buttered loaf pan. And then bake until it’s done, really. I wish I could say that I just ate this one slice and then ran out to share the rest with my neighbors or coworkers or the deshi at New York Aikikai or something, but that would be a blatant lie. I ate three slices and am not optimistic that the rest will survive until C. returns from her sojourn upstate. So I will just have to make it again.

*Truthfully, there were many good meals in February, including my latest turn hosting Cook Club (post tk), a dinner at Momofuku Noodle Bar with S., and, as previously mentioned, a wonderful Valentine’s Day dinner with my very own valentine. But I like to pick and choose my anecdotes in order to tell the story I’ve chosen.

Fig-Walnut Bread with Blue Cheese

adapted from Dorie Greenspan

Makes one loaf or probably 10-12 muffins

1 c all-purpose flour

3/4 c whole wheat flour

1 Tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp white pepper

3 eggs

1/3 c milk

1/3 c olive oil

1 c dried figs, chopped

2 oz blue cheese, crumbled or chopped

1/3 c toasted walnuts, chopped

Preheat the oven to 350F and butter a loaf pan. (8 x 4 1/2 or 9 x 5, either is fine. Or a muffin tin, greased or lined.)

Whisk together the flours, baking powder, salt, and pepper in a large bowl. In a medium bowl, whisk the three eggs for a full minute, until they are foamy. Pour in the milk and olive oil and mix to combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the bowl with the flour and stir together. Add in the figs, cheese, and nuts, and stir just until everything is about uniformly distributed in the batter. Careful not to overmix.

Pour the batter into the loaf pan, smooth out the top, and bake for about 40 minutes. (Start checking earlier if your loaf pan is bigger. And if you’re making muffins, give them 20-25 minutes.) The loaf is ready when a thin knife comes out clean. 

Remove from the oven, let cool briefly, and then turn out onto a cooling rack. When it’s come to room temperature, it can be stored wrapped in foil or plastic wrap. Eat it within a few days or else freeze it.

V-Day

C. and I were in agreement that Valentine’s Day should be a low-key affair, which meant staying in and cooking dinner together. I know the nature of the holiday is to celebrate being a couple, but I took the liberty of planning the meal on my own. Since one half of the couple is participating in French Fridays with Dorie (and the other half is frequently enjoying the results), it made sense to incorporate this week’s pancetta green beans. And then let the rest of the menu follow naturally.

The rest of that menu being:

pan-seared scallops with wasabi butter sauce (using about 2/3 of the butter that’s called for because, seriously)
roasted garlic mashed potatoes (red potatoes, skins on, so we had something festively pink on the plate)

And for dessert, meringue cookies with toasted cocoa nibs. (We had to do SOMEthing with all the egg whites I amassed making ice cream for the upcoming cook club. And C. had never made meringues before.)

Hope you all had equally lovely nights this past Monday!

Tart d’orange

Today, I met Dorie Greenspan. She and her son were running a pop-up cookie store (or, rather, CookieBar) in a salon on Park Avenue. Today was the last day, and I decided that I needed to jet uptown (all of 2 subway stops) on my lunch break. Sadly, they were totally sold out of cookies by the time I arrived, but still had some samples to munch on. So I got to try the espresso-chocolate shortbread, and the chewy chunky blondies. And I got to meet Dorie, and tell her how much fun I’m having with FFwD, and get a hint of what her next book is going to be (French pastries, anyone?), so on the whole, it was time well spent.

This week’s French Fridays with Dorie recipe is an orange-almond tart. I decided to make this as dessert a couple of weeks ago, served after the chicken b’stilla. It was a a very round meal, and a delicious one.

As with many of Dorie’s recipes, it was much simpler in practice than it seemed on the page. As long as you have a food processor. I did a little prep work the night before, cutting out the orange segments, but with a good knife, it doesn’t take long. And then you wind up with a pile of orange peels that just cry out to be candied and dipped in chocolate (inspiration for that courtesy of Vanilla Garlic), so really it’s a win-win.

The crust is a snap–no rolling pin needed, even. I just pressed it into the tart pan and called it a day (after silently expressing gratitude, again, that I have a set of pie weights). I might press it in a little more thoroughly next time, though, because it was a bit thick around the edges. I made my own almond flour by blitzing some raw almonds in the food processor, and the filling came together very quickly.

If I were really smart, I’d have let J. arrange the orange slices. She’d surely have done it in a more meticulous fashion, though I think it turned out pretty well in any case. 

I do owe her for reminding me to dust the finished tart with powdered sugar. And I owe C. for splitting that second piece with me…

Fear of Filo

Several months ago, Moody Food asked me if there were any elements that would instantly turn me off from a recipe. There’s not much I don’t like to eat (except smoked fish, and caviar), but I said that I do shy away from deep-frying anything, because it’s such a hassle to clean up. (Guests at my 2006 Superbowl party might not be aware that, after making up some wings from a pretty amazing Emeril Lagasse recipe, I proceeded to spill the–thankfully cooled–cooking oil all over my kitchen floor, while trying to dispose of it responsibly.) And recipes that call for gelatin (though I do love Jell-o). I also will generally skip past anything that calls for puff pastry or phyllo dough. Partly this is because, if there’s crust involved, I want to make the dough myself. And partly it’s because phyllo is notoriously a pain in the ass. 

This week’s French Fridays with Dorie recipe, a Moroccan kind of pot pie called chicken b’stilla, helped me get over my issues with phyllo. 

Chicken b’stilla is not a simple recipe. Most of the dishes we’ve made from this book so far have caused me to think, “Wow, that was much easier/faster/less complicated than I was expecting.” Not so here. The chicken thighs must marinate for an hour. Then they simmer for another hour. The cooking liquid must be reduced enormously, and then turned into a kind of savory custard with beaten eggs. You’ve got to shred the chicken. And then there’s the phyllo to deal with. Thankfully, you can take care of the inside part a day or two beforehand, which I did. So when C. and J. were coming up for dinner on Friday, I just had the assembly portion to manage. 

I know I have cooked with phyllo before, because I have memories of ripping the stuff and getting cranky that it was all smooshed together in the package, and probably throwing some kind of tantrum that the finished dish wasn’t beautiful. It was probably a baked brie, and I probably got over it as soon as I took a bite, because, honestly, it’s baked brie, and you can’t really do it wrong. This time, I took a lot of internet advice and let the package defrost in the fridge over the course of 2 days. Then I unrolled the sheets, placed a sheet of plastic wrap on top, and then a kitchen towel on top of THAT. All of which seemed to do the trick, because the sheets came apart nicely and I had very few rips as I brushed melted butter onto each individual one and laid it into the baking dish. So the answer to phyllo, it seems, is patience and butter. Words to live by, truly. 

Then it was a matter of spooning in the filling, and topping with another 4 sheets, also buttered, stacked on top of each other, and cut into a circle. Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar, and bake until browned. I served it with an arugula salad from Bon Appetit, to which I forgot to add the mint. 

C.’s response: “There are no words.”

J. went back for thirds.

So in the end, I think this is not something to make very often, but only because of the prep time on the filling, not because of the dreaded phyllo. Bring on the puff pastry.

Ceci n’est pas un gnoccho

Gnocchi are, traditionally, little dumplings made with potato, categorized in the pasta section of any menu. They are often thought of as being heavy, but made properly they are fluffy and wonderful. Well, even when they’re heavy and kind of dense, they’re still wonderful if you ask me, you just can’t eat as many.

These are not gnocchi, to my eye, though they are fluffy and wonderful, even if the photo doesn’t show that.

Dorie calls them gnocchi a la parisienne, which is fine, because they are not your Italian grandmother’s gnocchi. I never had an Italian grandmother, or a Parisian one, but I had a Viennese one. And truthfully, these dumplings remind me a lot of her farina dumplings, which she traditionally served in chicken soup.

Except that, then again, the finished dish is kind of like macaroni and cheese. So really, you’re not going to go wrong, no matter what you call it.

The dumplings are made by boiling butter and water together, then mixing in some flour, and then some eggs. Let the dough rest (or not), and then boil teaspoonfuls in salted water, in smallish batches.

Make a bechamel, butter & cheese* a shallow baking dish, cover the dumplings with sauce and grated cheese, and stick it in the oven. Delicious buttery cheesey gooiness will ensue. It doesn’t matter so much if your bechamel is perfectly smooth. It doesn’t matter what cheese you use (I went with a mix of parmesan and comte, which was one of Dorie’s suggestions). There is so much butter in this that it’s going to be amazing. Don’t skimp on the salt (at any step), and double up on the cheese if it makes you happy, which it should.

Things I learned making this recipe:

• my large-ish Corningware dish is approximately half the size of a 9″ pie plate
• next time I make farina dumplings, I’m going to use this same method

*by which I mean, coat the dish with butter and then sprinkle with grated parmesan, the better to prevent sticking. Many recipes refer to buttering and flouring a cake pan. This is better. Also good, for some recipes: sesame seeds.

Soup and Salad

The year 2010 was one big crescendo* for me. Very gradually, but steadily, the year improved, from starting in a Very Bad Place (not literally–January 1st was spent in Colorado with my nephew E. and not much can top that) to ending in a very happy one, with many small and large steps along the way to get me there. I know a lot of people were happy to see the end of this past year, and while I’m glad to be starting the new one, I look back on 2010 very fondly. November and December in particular were decadent months to say the least. There was a very quick trip to Zurich, a very grand 30th birthday party, a wonderful Thanksgiving, a series of holiday parties, friends visiting, lots of cookies, actual Christmas, and New Year’s. All of which left me with the feeling that I could really use another detox week. And not just because I have a perpetual craving for carrot-ginger dressing and miso soup.

It’s not destined to happen this week, though. I’ve had dinner at Sushi Yasuda with P., dinner at Momofuku Ssam Bar with S. (and, yes, dessert at Milk Bar), and there’s another round of cook club coming next weekend. So until I can find 7 eventless days in a row, I will be grateful that my fellow French Fridays bloggers voted to start 2011 with Dorie’s Paris Mushroom Soup. It is simple, savory, delicious, and (importantly) not overly rich.

After sauteing some onions and garlic in a small (no, really) amount of butter, add some sliced mushrooms, and then fresh herbs and chicken broth. Simmer for, oh, a while.

The tricky part is the pureeing. I have found that my food mill is not the miracle “stop spattering hot soup all over my kitchen” tool I was hoping it would be, unless you’re working with something that basically falls apart on its own, like winter squash. So I pulled out the blender, doing an eensy bit at a time, and holding down the lid with a tea towel, which makes all the difference in the world.

And then while the soup was heating back up, I assembled the “salad” portion of the meal, which conveniently goes in the same bowl. A bit more sliced mushrooms, some chopped scallions, chives, and parsley, and then pour the soup right on top. (I did not go for the optional creme fraiche, on account of I didn’t have any and I’m pretending to inch away from holiday decadence.)

The soup is delicious, if not especially pretty. It should not come as a surprise that the photo accompanying the recipe is of the ingredients, not of the finished product.

*I’ve been sneaking musical terms into my everyday speech lately. Not sure exactly why. I’ve described my rock-climbing sessions as a sforzando, though I’m hoping as my stamina improves, that’ll shift to a decrescendo.

French Fridays, Christmas Edition

My introduction to speculoos was through the Belgian waffle truck. Or should I say the Wafels & Dinges truck. It’s one of the many new(ish) gourmet food trucks in New York that have sprung up and invaded my twitter feed. They make two different kinds of waffles (I like the liège) and offer all sorts of toppings like Nutella and fresh fruit and whipped cream.

And speculoos spread.

The best I can manage to describe this concoction is to say that it tastes like liquid graham crackers. It is about like Nutella in its consistency, so it melts when you spread it on a hot waffle, and if you add some sliced strawberries, you might well decide that you could survive on nothing else for the rest of your life. Good god, it is delicious.

And then I learned that speculoos are actually a kind of Belgian cookie that is traditional around Christmastime. Sort of a cross between a traditional American-style gingerbread cookie and a Moravian Christmas cookie. And of course, because she’s brilliant, Dorie includes a recipe in Around My French Table. So I was very excited that it was selected as one of the December recipes, because I wanted to try it out anyway.

I only have one cookie cutter in my kitchen, it turns out–a starfish–but it more or less works for a Christmas cookie. They are thin and crispy and really quite light. And my favorite cinnamon (from Penzeys) is wonderful in them, along with some ginger and cloves. It should be noted that these cookies are delicious dunked in coffee.

And as a bonus Christmas gift, this recipe taught me the best way to roll out cookie dough: between two sheets of parchment paper. It means that you can easily flip the circle of dough over when you need to, and you don’t need to dirty your counter or roul-pat, or even your rolling pin.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Glazing Over

I grew up in a raw vegetable household. If absolutely necessary, things would be steamed (barely) or, in summer, grilled. But as often as possible, the vegetables on our plates were not much more than crudite. And that was just the way we liked it.

As I’ve grown up, though, and started exploring actual recipes for vegetables. And not just the vegetarian entrees that so often inhabit my kitchen. I mean the vegetable part of the meat/starch/vegetable plate, where there’s actual cooking involved. I am as big a fan as anyone of the theory that good food comes from taking good ingredients and doing as little as possible, but I am always up for trying something new and slightly more complicated than “heat olive oil, saute until slightly brown, pour onto plate.”

And that’s what this is: Dorie’s Spiced Butter-Glazed Carrots. (Mom, you are excused from reading this post.) Carrots, onion (shallot here), garlic, ginger, and cardamom.

Cook it all up in a pot with butter, salt, and white pepper.

Pour in some chicken stock, cover and simmer.

And then cook it down until the butter and chicken stock have formed that titular glaze. I don’t usually think of ginger (or cardamom) as a key ingredient in French cooking, but they are excellent with the carrots. Another winner courtesy of French Fridays with Dorie.