Two Beets

We got two deliveries of early beets this summer, Red Ace and Chiogga, aka Candy Stripe. It was so hot for most of July that my agenda for using both of them was, “How can I eat these without having to turn on the oven?” A cold soup seemed appropriate both times.
The first was a gazpacho from Patricia Wells. Steamed beets, peeled and blended up with onion, garlic, mustard, and vinegar. Wells describes the flavor as “liquified pickled beets.”

The result was beautiful, but too intense for a large serving. I only had a half a pound of beets, and therefore only made what she considers a single serving, yet I couldn’t finish it. I should have tried lightening it with a little creme fraiche, or having much smaller servings. I can imagine it working very well in shot glasses as a passed hors d’oeuvre.

So when the second delivery of beets arrived, I decided to make David Tanis’s cold borscht recipe, which I made once several summers ago. Borscht is a funny word, and slightly unappealing sounding to my ears. It was not something I grew up eating, and in fact I was subtly trained to dislike it without even knowing much about it. The result is that I haven’t a clue if this version is in line with any authentic Russian recipes, but I absolutely love it, and I can’t imagine why I haven’t made it since that first time. My suspicion was that C. would like it just as much as I did, and so borscht became the plan for dinner, with the greens blanched and sauteed on the side.

First, peel the beets, and cut them into thin slices. You can use any color beets you like. Red ones will produce a much more vibrantly pink soup, but yellow beets or these candy stripe ones are much less likely to leave beet-blood spatters all over your kitchen.

Put them in a pot with garlic, sliced shallot, a bay leaf, coriander seeds, cloves, a bit of cayenne, sugar, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and salt. Cover everything with water and bring to a simmer. Cook it until the beets are tender, 15 minutes or so. Check the seasoning, and then blend everything up–cloves, bay leaf and all.

Strain the soup through a fine sieve, and chill it until it’s refrigerator cold, or until you are too hungry to wait longer. Whisk in some plain yogurt (full fat, ideally), and top with chopped dill and scallions or chives.

It’s sweet, tangy, a little spicy, and utterly delicious. It makes an excellent light summer dinner alongside the greens and some good toasted bread. Glass of wine optional.

Keeping it Crisp

This has not been the Summer of the Zucchini so far. We’ve been getting only a pound or at most two each week. I don’t feel overwhelmed. I haven’t even resorted to zucchini bread yet. (And no, I don’t ACTUALLY need the excuse of too much zucchini to make that.) The result is that I haven’t needed to be very creative with my squash cooking, even when it comes to getting C. to enjoy the stuff.* I’ve made this pasta salad for dinner twice now. It’s essentially a very simple Ottolenghi recipe from Plenty, tossed with penne. I also swapped in walnuts & walnut oil, because cob nuts (British hazelnuts, basically) are not in my kitchen lexicon.

Start with smallish squash. Not the kind that is as big around as your arm. (Especially not if you’re this guy.)

Slice them on the bias, about a half-inch thick, and toss them with olive oil, salt, & pepper. Grill them over very high heat, just a couple of minutes on each side.

You’ll want to get grill marks, but not really cook all the way through, because no one (especially C.) likes soggy zucchini.

As soon as you remove them from the grill, toss them in a bowl with a splash of balsamic vinegar. Let them sit and come to room temperature, more or less. If you didn’t listen to me and used giant squash anyway, now is also the time where you cut them into bite-sized pieces.

Then, cook up a pot of pasta (penne works pretty well, I think), and toast some walnuts. Drain the pasta and toss with the squash. Add the walnuts, chopped, some thinly shaved parmesan, and a big handful of fresh basil. The original recipe was via Ottolenghi, meaning you should replace the word “big” with “preposterously large” handful of basil. My only source that day was my window box, which I did not feel like decimating, so I used considerably less. You should follow the requirements of your own palate & supplies. Toss it all together, drizzle in a bit of walnut oil, and add a little extra salt if you like. 

*Truthfully, she’s starting to enjoy zucchini quite a bit, as long as I keep it practically raw. Not sure if I’ll be able to make any headway with broccoli, though.

Penne with Grilled Squash, Walnuts, and Basil

serves 3-4

8 oz. penne

1 oz walnuts, toasted and chopped

1 1/2-2 lbs small summer squash

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 tsp balsamic vinegar

1-2 oz parmesan, shaved thin

1/2 oz fresh basil leaves (aka a huge handful), torn

1 tsp walnut oil

salt

pepper

Cook the pasta according to the instructions on the package. Drain and rinse with cool water.

Cut the squash on the bias into 1cm thick slices. Toss with 1 Tbsp olive oil, salt, & pepper.

Heat a grill (or grill pan) over very high heat, and cook the squash for no more than 2 minutes per side, just into there are grill marks. Toss with a little balsamic vinegar and let sit.
When the zucchini has cooled somewhat, mix in the cooked pasta, the chopped walnuts, the parmesan shavings, and the torn basil leaves. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and the walnut oil. Taste for salt & pepper.

Couscous

About a year ago, a reader suggested that I check out a recipe in Yotam Ottolenghi’s book Plenty for something he calls Ultimate Winter Couscous (also available on his blog on the Guardian). Well, it took a while for me to get around to it, but I finally made it for dinner a few weeks ago. It should come as no surprise at all that it’s another winner. I admit, the ingredient list is a bit long. But if you are someone who cooks a lot, chances are most of these things are in your pantry anyway. And if they’re not, then this is an excellent excuse to go out and buy some saffron and preserved lemons, and to make up a batch of harissa. 

Start with a roasting pan, with chopped carrots and parsnips, peeled shallots, cinnamon sticks, star anise, bay leaves, ginger, turmeric, paprika, and chili flakes. Toss with olive oil and salt, and roast in a moderately hot oven for 15 minutes.

Add some cubed winter squash, and stick it back in the oven for another half hour or so, until the veggies are tender.

While that’s doing its thing, get the couscous ready. Mix the dry couscous with a pinch of saffron, salt, and olive oil in a big bowl. Pour boiling water (or veggie stock, if you’ve got it) over it, stir it up, and stick a plate on top of the bowl until the water is absorbed, about 10 minutes. Stir in a little butter and put the plate back on top until you’re ready to serve.

Add some chopped dried apricots, cooked (or canned) chickpeas, and some water (or the chickpea cooking liquid) to the roasting pan and cook another 10 minutes. 

Just before serving, stir in some harissa paste and chopped preserved lemon skin into the veggies. 

Serve a couple of big spoonfuls of the vegetables over a plate of the couscous, and top with a lot of fresh cilantro.

It’s a very flavorful dish without being overwhelming, and filling without being too rich. It may no longer be winter, technically, but the pickings are still pretty slim at my greenmarket, so a dinner based on root vegetables and legumes isn’t out of the question just yet.

Frittering Away

The CSA season for Stoneledge is over. Nevertheless one must eat dinner. Capitalism may stop for inclement weather, but I do not. Even as the storm was coming in, a similar one was being cooked up in my kitchen (sorry–some puns are too easy to pass up). While essentially housebound, I had homemade pizza with oven-candied tomatoes, and some molasses-buttermilk muffins from a Deborah Madison recipe, and a few other things, some of which might show up here eventually.

But I was really just waiting to get to the store so I could replenish my parsley & cilantro and make a couple of Ottolenghi recipes I’d been lusting after, the second of which is these leek fritters. The header note on the first recipe (tk) suggested them as an excellent accompaniment, and as always, Yotam knows what he’s talking about. Except that he says you can skip the sauce, which is idiotic, because it is very very easy and so amazingly good. Even if you don’t make the fritters, you should make this sauce. But you should also make the fritters.

All you need for the sauce is a blender (a stick blender would probably be fine). Into it go equal parts Greek yogurt & sour cream, a couple of cloves of garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and lots of parsley and cilantro. 

My only complaint about having the UK edition of Plenty is that so many quantities are done in weights instead of volume. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my kitchen scale but WEIGHING fresh herbs does not seem to be the most efficient way to go about things. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pile up 30 grams of cilantro leaves? Long enough that the scale’s energy-saver mode will kick in and it will turn itself off. But don’t be put off by that. You just need a big handful of parsley, and a bigger one of cilantro. Whiz it all up, and give a taste.

Then onto the fritters. Cut up some leeks into biggish chunks, and clean them (or do it the other way around, though I find that it’s easiest to get them clean after cutting, using a salad spinner). Finely chop some shallot or red onion, and saute in olive oil until everything is soft.  

While they are doing their thing, measure out even MORE parsley, and toss it in a bowl with a sliced hot chili pepper, coriander, cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, sugar, & salt. When the leeks & onions are cooked, mix them into the herb/spice mixture and let it cool down some.

Mix together some flour, baking powder, salt, milk, an egg, and a little melted butter. Whisk up an egg white, and when the leek mixture is cool enough, fold it in. Then stir in the flour mixture. And now you are ready to make your beautiful fritters.

4″-5″ across seemed to be about right, frying 2-3 minutes on each side, in olive oil over medium heat. They are surprisingly fluffy, given all the leeks, and they are indeed excellent with the bulghar pilaf pictured below. Just try not to drink the sauce straight from the blender before the fritters are ready.

And although they are certainly best eaten piping hot straight out of the pan, it turns out they heat up quite well in your office’s toaster oven the next day, wrapped in foil.

Playing with Fire, part 1

A couple of weekends ago, a friend visiting my apartment noticed a postcard on my fridge, with a picture of a fire dancer. “Is this from Hawaii?” she asked. “Yes, my sister sent it to me.” “Funny,” she said, “my sister sent me the same one. It must be the designated postcard to send your sister from your Hawaiian vacation.” “Or maybe,” I suggested, “both our sisters know we’re obsessed with fire.” “True.”

It follows, then, that a recipe in Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty that specifically instructs you to burn an eggplant over the open flame on your stovetop (or, as he says, your “gas hob”), is going to have some appeal. The recipe in question is called burnt aubergine with tahini. I made it the first time just as a dip, but for dinner with C., the second time around we added the optional cucumber and tomato, which makes it into a really lovely summer salad. 

NB: if you don’t have a gas stove, this method of cooking the eggplant is not really an option to you. He suggests an alternative for electric “cookers,” putting them “directly under a hot grill for 1 hour, turning them a few times.” I’m not really sure that’s such a good idea–an hour under the broiler is going to turn anything to charcoal, but maybe “cooker” doesn’t mean what I think it does in British english. So either use your best judgment, or hunt down the US edition of Plenty and see how this recipe was translated for us Americans.

Start with an eggplant, or two if they’re small. Mine were the oriental variety, which are long and narrow and usually kind of curved. Set them over a flame. The official advice is to line the surrounding area with foil, but I decided not to bother because, as my mom says, I know who cleans the kitchen.

For this size eggplant, it takes maybe 8-10 minutes to get them to the appropriate level of charred, but if you’ve got a big Italian one, go a little longer. Either way, you’ll have to keep turning and moving them, so they are more or less evenly burned all over. 

You want the skin to be pretty well blackened, and the eggplants should be very squishy. If you’ve done it right, the skin will either flake off, or peel off in strips. Try not to think of the last terrible sunburn you got while you’re doing that.

Then you set the naked eggplants in a colander for about a half an hour. You can cut them into big chunks if you want, to help with the draining process (the idea being that you want some of the liquid that’s cooked out to go away). Then you chop it up into smallish bites and dump it in a bowl with some tahini, pomegranate molasses, lemon juice, minced garlic, parsley, and salt and pepper. And some water. And yes, I know you’re asking, “Why would I want to water this mixture down again after I just spent half an hour watching Frazier while we got RID of the water?” but Ottolenghi knows what he’s doing, so just let him make the rules, ok?

You can stop here if you like. You’ll have a really delicious, rich eggplant dip, a little sweet and a little sour, and even a little spicy if you minced the garlic very finely. Or if you’ve got a cucumber and some cherry tomatoes, keep going. You’ll be glad you did.

Halve the tomatoes and chop up the cucumber and mix them in. Drizzle the whole thing with some good olive oil, and if you are super prepared or have the best stocked kitchen in the world, sprinkle some pomegranate seeds on top. 

We had this with some ciabatta from Orwasher’s, and a glass each of sauvignon blanc and cucumber water–excellent complements both. 

And then there was dessert, of course, but that is to be saved for another post.

Soup Out of Season

Yes, I made this sweetcorn soup with chipotle and lime a while ago. It’s been a busy couple of months, and the CSA Files has taken a back seat. I’ve made a lot of great meals that won’t be featured on this blog anytime soon, unless I make them again and manage to take some pictures. Which I just might, because that polenta with sauteed mushrooms and tomatillo sauce was really kind of amazing (especially garnished with some pickled jalapenos and onions, courtesy of M. and S.). And there was a rhubarb crisp that C. and I made, mostly sweetened with honey, and flavored with coriander, that was quite good–and even better with some Greek yogurt on top. And there was a really lovely, simple frittata that resulted from my inability to resist ramps, asparagus, and green garlic at the little farmer’s market near my apartment.

Truthfully, though, I haven’t been cooking as much as I’d like to lately. My office has moved right near the greenmarket, but shopping there is so much more expensive than the (often superior) produce I get through Stoneledge, so I haven’t taken as much advantage as I’d expected. Though what I keep forgetting is that eating out isn’t really much cheaper, unless you live on falafel sandwiches and mediocre Chinese food. 

So to fill in some blanks before deliveries start again in two weeks (!), here’s something from a few months ago, back when it was cold enough that winter squash soup was a very welcome prospect. Ottolenghi is always welcome in my kitchen, but I’m going to have to dig into some of the faster cooking recipes in the coming months, if this weekend’s weather is a sign of heat & humidity to come. 

Start with some shallots, celery, garlic, and spices in a pot with olive oil. Saute over low heat until they soften.

Add pumpkin (I think I used some of the pureed butternut squash we got over the winter–it seemed to work fine, though the recipe calls for chunks), bay leaves, lime zest (an acceptable substitute for lime leaves), water, and a softened, chopped chipotle chile. Simmer a bit and then add corn kernels (frozen is fine, especially if it’s late winter). 

Cook another five minutes, and then puree the soup as much as you feel like. M. and I did not feel like it at all, so we just removed the bay leaves & lime zest and served as is. 

Serve with sour cream, fresh lime juice, and cilantro. 

Tamarind

The last time I was at Kalustyan’s, I bought myself a little container of tamarind paste. Or possibly tamarind concentrate. Or extract, maybe. I had no idea what I was going to do with it–and apparently no idea what was actually inside the little plastic tub–though I had definitely flagged a few recipes that were likely suspects. It also shows up a lot on the menu of one of my favorite take-out joints, Cafe Mingala. And mostly it just seemed like a good idea. But then it sat in my fridge, unopened, for ages, while I got distracted.

Ottolenghi to the rescue! I stumbled across an older post on his blog, a recipe for swiss chard, chickpea and tamarind stew. Score!

Like many recipes from everyone’s favorite Cordon Bleu-trained London-based Israeli chef, there are some unusual ingredient combinations. And it’s not a “let’s throw everything in a pot and see what happens” kind of stew, either. I suspect that it could work with that technique (one of my favorites) but I decided for this maiden voyage, I’d stick to the playbook. Mostly.

So I blanched and drained some Swiss chard.

And I sauteed some onions with caraway seeds.

I may have forgotten to add the tomato paste to cook before the chickpeas, canned tomatoes, and spices, but I don’t think any serious harm was done. I also realized that whatever the form of the tamarind in my fridge it was not the same as what Ottolenghi is asking for. Mine is thickly runny, a bit like pomegranate molasses. But after searching around online a little, I made a somewhat-educated guess and swapped in about 2 teaspoons of the concentrate for the 4 tablespoons of watered down pulp.

And then I let it simmer while I made some rice (short grain, like I was told to do).

To serve, spoon the stew over the rice and top with a big spoonful of Greek yogurt, a drizzle of good olive oil, and a pile of chopped cilantro.

It is rather tart (thanks to the tomatoes and the tamarind) but with a good amount of sweetness, and then the occasional zip of a caraway seed. And it is delicious. I should probably find some other recipes that call for tamarind, because I have a lot of it now, but I might just wind up making this weekly until it’s all gone.

Rice Cake

I am becoming a little obsessed with Yotam Ottolenghi. This is one of three (3) posts I have saved as drafts that come from his recipes. And I don’t even have his cookbook yet, because the US edition doesn’t pub until April and the UK one was out of stock at Christmas. (It ought to arrive soon, though–thanks to my lovely cousin Kate.) But what I do have is his column in the Guardian in my Google reader, which is how I have discovered things like this beetroot saffron rice upside-down cake.

Let me just come out and say that I had no idea how this was going to go. The flavor combinations seemed pretty safe, but the actual construction of the thing looked like it might turn into a small disaster in my kitchen. But I had these beets lying around. Beets can lie around in the fridge practically forever and still be ok, but not literally forever. I had to use them eventually and this was the first recipe that caught my eye.

First step, sautee some spinach with a little garlic, just until it’s wilty. Then transfer it to a colander while you get the other pieces together.

Other pieces being, for one, rice. It needs to be parboiled, strained, and then seasoned with salt, pepper, and lemon zest.

Then you deal with the beets. They should be peeled and sliced kind of thick. Sear them in the pan with a butter/oil mix, but don’t flip them.

Layer on top some rice, some water, the spinach, and the rest of the rice. Stick a lid on it and cook for a while, before adding some more water, and also some boiling water that was used to bloom (as they say) a pinch of saffron.

Lower the heat and cook, tightly covered, for another 45 minutes. Then comes the tricky part: flipping this “cake” onto a plate. You will want a plate that is at least 2 inches bigger in diameter than your pan. Put the plate over the pan, upside down, palm the plate, and flip the pan over, squeezing together as you do so you don’t wind up with rice and spinach all over the floor.

Thankfully, that did not happen to me, but what did happen was some of the beets stuck to the pan, because my Calphalon was getting old. Never fear, though: Calphalon has what is possibly the best warranty policy in the entire world. Ship them your old pot, with the flaking teflon that never gets properly clean anymore and that certainly doesn’t act as non-stick, and they will send you a BRAND NEW POT. It’s like magic. I swear I’m not being paid to say that.