The First Grader is quite an artist. Lately, he’s been coming up with cartoon characters and writing stories to go along with them. I was putting away some of his drawings when I came across this:
And this:
Hmmmm. I don’t want to read too much into this, but is it possible that I’m not as charming as I think I am?
As there is currently an ocean in our basement, let’s do a sea-based soup today. Just because your once-watertight dwelling has sprung a giant leak or twelve doesn’t mean you can’t indulge in fancy shrimp bisque. Remember the black-tie orchestra that continued to play as the Titanic sunk? It’s like that, only slightly less romantic because of the lack of music and empty litter boxes floating past.
We had so much shrimp in our freezer from our Cape Ann Fresh Catch seafood share that I began desperately searching for recipe ideas that used shrimp still in their shells, because, seriously, I can’t be peeling that many shrimp. Then I remembered a soup from my brief time at Cook’s Illustrated. It was a delicious shrimp bisque—one of the best bisques I’ve ever tasted if you disqualify the lobster bisque from the Brewster Fish House down the Cape, which is the best for sure, but really more of a chowder.
This version is just as rich as lobster bisque, but much more economical. It's saturated with shrimp flavor, but a hint of tarragon and three kinds of alcohol give it surprising complexity. Creamy and coral-colored, it would be a stunning appetizer for any kind of elegant dinner you might have planned as we wait with bated breath for spring vegetables and solid ground to arrive. The only problem I can foresee is that you really need a chinois to strain the soup and most normal people don’t have one. It’s a conical fine-mesh strainer that gives you a really smooth, silky texture in bisques (and crystal-clear broths). You could probably do okay with your finest strainer lined with a double-layer of damp cheesecloth. Or you could borrow mine. I’ll just float it down the river to your house. Bon voyage!
Shrimp Bisque
Here’s a time-saving tip: Instead of finely chopping the vegetables by hand, chop them all together in the food processor, set them aside, and then don’t bother cleaning the processor bowl before you grind up the shrimp mixture. It’s all going to get cooked together later anyway.
2 lbs. Maine shrimp, shells on
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/3 cup brandy or cognac, warmed
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 small carrot, chopped finely
1 small rib celery, chopped finely
1 small onion, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
½ cup all-purpose flour
1½ cups dry white wine
4 cups shrimp stock, fish stock, clam juice, or water, warmed if cold
14-oz. can diced tomatoes, drained
1 small sprig fresh tarragon
1 cup heavy cream
1 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
Pinch or two of ground cayenne
2 Tbsp. dry sherry or Madeira
Set aside ½ lb. shrimp in a small bowl to peel later. Blot the rest dry with paper towels. Heat a 12-inch heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or other large pot over high heat until very hot. Add 1 Tbsp. olive oil and heat until shimmery. Add half of the big bowl of shrimp and sauté until pink and the shells are lightly browned, 3-4 minutes. Transfer to another bowl and repeat with the remaining oil and the rest of the big bowl of shrimp. Once the second batch is browning, return the first batch of cooked shrimp to the pot. Pour the warmed brandy over the top. Make sure all children are clear of the stove. Wave a lit match over the pot until the brandy ignites (Warning: the flame is huge!) When the inferno has subsided, transfer the shrimp to the bowl of a food processor and grind into a fine meal. Ten seconds should do it.
Wipe out the pan. Heat butter in Dutch oven over medium flame until hot. Add chopped carrots, celery, onion, garlic, and the ground shrimp. Cover and cook, stirring frequently, until the veggies are slightly softened, about 5 minutes. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute. Slowly stir in the wine, then slowly stir in stock (or clam juice or water). Add the tomatoes. Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring frequently, until thickened and flavors meld, about 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, peel the remaining ½-lb. of shrimp and cut them in half. You can add the shells to the pot (which I would recommend if you’re using water instead of stock) or save them in the freezer for future stock. Set the cut shrimp aside once again. Patience, my little shrimp. Your day will come.
Strain bisque through chinois or cheesecloth-lined strainer, into a large bowl, pressing on the solids with the back of a big spoon to extract all the liquid. Wash and dry the Dutch oven, then return the strained soup to the pot. Over medium-high heat, stir in tarragon sprig, cream, lemon juice, and cayenne. Bring to a simmer (but don’t boil), then add the cut shrimp and cook about 2 minutes until pink and tender. Discard tarragon sprig, stir in sherry, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serves 6.
Source: Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated.
Local Ingredient Sources:
Shrimp: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Butter, cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Carrot, onion: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA
One thing I learned last week is that if you want to see some Canadians get all opinionated, just try to muscle in on their butter tarts! And to think that diplomatic relations between our two countries hinged not on trade or other mutually beneficial economic factors, but on the enforcement of clear pastry boundaries. Sure, we can filch all of the Canadian comic talent and then fake a vacation in order to burden their generous healthcare system, but hands. off. the butter tarts.
Just kidding, Elisabeth et al! But I have to warn you that I did revisit the butter tarts. I couldn’t help it. I was sooooo close, and I had extra pie dough plus a couple of egg yolks I needed to use up. So I tinkered further with the recipe for what I think we can all agree wasn’t really a butter tart at all, aside from the butter. What I came up with will hopefully restore faith between the two nations and narrowly avert a third World War.
First item of business: lose the butter. Well, not all of the butter. I haven’t gone mad. Just half of it. I wanted the predominant flavor of the filling to be honey, not butter, and only enough to bind the nuts together. The answer: egg yolks. Next step: change the name. We like to do that over here. Change something nominally, then call it our own. It’s the American way.
Behold: American Honey Tarts. Wait, now I’m pissing off the Mexicans. North American Honey Tarts. Well, North American (But Not Canadian) Honey Tarts And Now The Nuts Are Mad. I’m still working on the name. But these homely little tarts made me insanely happy. I loved them. The next time I throw a wine and cheese party (in 2018, by my estimation), I’m breaking them out. Only maybe I’ll try them with maple syrup next time!
Honey Walnut Tartlets
If you have a favorite pie dough, feel free to use that instead. Or you could use store-bought, though I’ll deny I ever said that. One of these days I’ll make a video on how to make an awesome pie crust. That day is not today.
Dough
1 cup flour
½ tsp sugar
½ tsp. salt
6 tbsp. cold, unsalted butter, cut into pieces
4-6 Tbsp. ice water
Filling
1½ cups walnuts, whole or pieces, but not diced
2 Tbsp. softened, unsalted butter
¼ cup sugar
2 egg yolks (remaining whites can be put towards this recipe)
¼ cup wildflower honey (stronger, more complex flavor than clover honey)
Fleur de sel
To make the dough, mix flour, sugar, and salt. Cut cold butter into flour mixture by hand or in a food processor (pulse about 10 seconds or until butter pieces are pea-sized, then dump into bowl). Add ice water and fluff until starting to clump together in a raggedy mass. Gently squeeze a bit in your hand and see if it holds together at all. If not, add more water. Tear off a large swath of plastic wrap and dump the dough mixture into the middle. Gather up the sides of the plastic wrap, and press the dough into a flat disk, wrapping tightly. Refrigerate at least a half hour.
Preheat the oven to 425°F. Lightly grease mini-muffin tins. On a well-floured surface, roll out the dough to ¼-inch thickness. Better to have too much flour on the counter than not enough. You can always brush off any excess—you don’t want the dough to stick to the counter at all. A word on rolling: Don’t crush the dough into the countertop. This will make the finished crust tough. Basically, you want to push the pin across the dough to smear the butter between the layers of flour as you go. Imagine buttering a piece of bread. Like that, only rolling. This will result in a light, flaky texture.
Using a biscuit cutter, a sharp paring knife, or, I suppose, a glass, cut circles out of the dough that are a bit larger than the diameter or the muffin cups. Cut a Pac Man mouth out of the side, then fit dough into muffin cup, pressing the cut sides gently to seal. You’ll have to experiment to get the perfect size. Repeat until you run out of dough. You can reroll the dough once more, but the more you work it, the tougher it becomes. I usually end up gently pressing the scraps into the cups in a free-form way towards the end. When you finish a pan, put it in the refrigerator so the gluten in the dough can relax while you do the rest.
In a medium bowl, cream the soft butter with the sugar with the back of a spoon. Stir in yolks and honey. Fill pastry cups with walnuts, breaking up pieces that are too large. Spoon filling over walnuts to cover, but don’t overflow the tops of the crusts. Add a few more walnuts. Sprinkle lightly with fleur de sel. Bake 12 minutes or so until walnuts are toasty brown and filling is bubbly. Let cool in pans for 10 minutes, then remove to wire racks to cool completely. Makes about 20.
Local ingredients:
Honey: Warren Farm & Sugarhouse, North Brookfield, MA
Eggs: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA
Butter: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Look what my sister just bought. Baby chickens! A half dozen, just in time for Easter. These are the newest additions to my sister’s organic piece of paradise perched on an active volcano in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. (sigh)
Aren’t they cute?
Can’t you just taste the fresh eggs? I can, and not just because I’m eating eggs right now.
My sister takes some pretty spectacular photographs, as you can see here. Can you believe we’re from the same gene pool? There are some other differences, too, like her willingness to pursue her dreams, wherever they may lead her, and my tendency to seize up at the slightest threat. I would do well to take a page from my sister’s school of bad-assery.
She has a nice little business, Trish Barker Photography, so if you find yourself on Maui for your wedding, for example, and need some pictures taken, that would be my highly unbiased recommendation. Let me also offer some other unsolicited advice. While you’re visiting the Hawaiian Islands, speak quietly and don’t anger the tectonic plates. That’s three major earthquakes worldwide in as many months, plus one tsunami narrowly averted. Enjoy the beaches, the fish, the lush vegetation, then get the hell out of there. Get out before it blows. Is all I’m saying.
I swore I’d never do it, but I did actually roast and peel chestnuts last Christmas. Not over an open-fire, but in the oven, as nature intended. Then I peeled them all until shell shards got jammed under my fingernails and I was all out of curse words.
I’m glad I tried it, though. It makes you appreciate how much hard work goes into shelling nuts. Plus, there are other sensory aspects of the process that are far more pleasurable than the aforementioned shards. The beautiful mahogany shells, for example, and the way the dry-roasting makes the whole house smell of shoes. Not stinky, old shoes. New shoes of the finest Italian leather. Then, of course, there are the sweet chestnut meats inside that can go into stuffings or cakes. But especially cakes.
Even though it feels like we’re on our way out of chestnut season, if it’s not already long gone, I have to mention this particular cake because it makes an elegant but manly dessert. Like if your dad, for example, has a winter-ish birthday. It’s super-easy to pull together, but makes a great impression. You can buy chestnut puree in a can at discerning markets (at Russo’s, it sits on a low shelf across from the eggs and cheese). The brand I bought was straight from France and contained chestnuts and water only, no surprising additives, so the recipe remains gluten-free. It makes for a somewhat expensive shopping list, but you will consider it money well spent when you’re sitting down eating cake instead of peeling a million goddamned chestnuts.
Chocolate Chestnut Torte
Unfortunately, the kids loved it, too.
1 15-oz. can chestnut puree
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
6 eggs
10 oz. semi-sweet chocolate (of the high-end variety), melted and cooled
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Two pinches of salt
¼ cup granulated sugar
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a 9- or 10-inch springform pan with a circle of parchment paper.
Add chestnut puree and softened butter to a large bowl and, using a mixer, beat until well blended. Separate the eggs using clean hands (crack an egg, pour contents into your hand, and let the whites fall through your fingers into a small bowl until only the yolk remains). One by one, add the yolks to the chestnut-butter mixture. One by one, dump the whites into a separate large bowl. (If the yolk breaks, set that egg aside for an omelet. Get another egg. A broken yolk will render the associated egg whites unwhippable). Set bowl of egg whites aside. Add melted chocolate and vanilla to chestnut-butter mixture along with the yolks, and mix well. Set aside.
With clean, dry beaters, whip the egg whites with the salt. Gradually add in the sugar. Continue whipping until stiff, glossy peaks form (but you don’t want them dry and Styrofoam-looking). Gently mix one third of the egg whites into the chocolate chestnut mixture to lighten. Then, add half of what’s left of the whites to the bowl and fold in until incorporated. Gently fold in the remaining egg whites. The idea is to deflate the egg whites as little as possible. Proper folding technique is important. Here’s a refresher.
Gently pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 35-45 minutes, until the top looks dry and slightly cracked. Cool in pan for 20 minutes, then remove to wire rack. Serve alone or with a dollop of whipped cream or crème fraiche.
Source: Adapted from A Treasury of Jewish Holiday Baking by Marcy Goldman, who adapted it from a recipe from Montreal’s Titanic Café.
