FOOD ON THE FOOD

Chicken Piccata

Don't worry, I'm not blogging about anything disgusting today. Let's try to get back on track with a recipe for a change.

Recently, I've been craving standard Italian chicken dishes. You know the ones: chicken piccata, chicken marsala, chicken cacciatore. You can find them on the menus of throwback Italian restaurants from the ubiquitous Olive Garden to more localized institutions like the Chateau in Waltham.

My cousin dropped me off an amazing book last month called Italy: The Country and Its Cuisine. That's mainly what I was reading in bed when I was sick. It's a giant, heavy 500-page hardcover cookbook filled with photographs of the food and landscape of Italy. It's pretty spectacular. No wonder I was starving half to death.

As soon as I was up and about, I was determined to make chicken piccata, a personal favorite of mine. I sliced the chicken breasts in half the flat way, dredged them in flour, browned them, and then smothered them in a pan sauce of lemon juice, capers, parsley, and butter. YUM! Next up was chicken marsala. (Sorry, kids, we're having chicken all week!) Same deal with the chicken cutlets: slice, flour, brown, remove. Then I sautéed up some shallots and mushrooms, deglazed with marsala wine, and maybe sprinkled a little marjoram on top. Yes, I did lick the pan the sauce was in clean. What of it?

The chicken cacciatore was something new for me. I don't think I've ever made it before. That may change since I learned that cacciatore means "hunter-style," so basically this stew is what the Italian hunters made on their campgrounds with whatever they had on hand. Think browned pieces of rabbit or fowl plus vegetables, tomatoes, wild mushrooms, herbs, and wine. I imagine the Italians carry bottles of wine with them everywhere they go, especially on hunting trips. If they don't, please don't spoil this image for me. The image of a dark-skinned Italian with a bottle of wine under one arm, truffles in his pocket, and a partridge slung over his shoulder. Yeah. The next time I go mushroom-hunting, you can bet I'll be making this, though my recent version relied on regular white buttons. I didn't want to tempt the Vomit Gods so soon.

I'm moving these three chicken dishes into the dinnertime rotation. They're classic for a reason.

Chicken Piccata

There are lots of variations on this theme that use garlic, shallots, and white wine. Experiment and find your favorite. This is ours.

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, skin removed
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4-5 Tbsps. olive oil
3/4 cup chicken stock
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (from 1-2 lemons)
1/4 cup capers
2 Tbsp. Italian flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

Wash and dry the chicken breasts in cold water. Take each breast and butterfly it, meaning hold the knife parallel to the cutting board and slice along its width. I cut all the way through to make two thinner pieces of meat, but feel free to keep the breast intact if you like bigger portions, opening up the two sides which are now held together by a meaty hinge.

Season breasts with salt and pepper, and dredge with flour. Shake off excess.

Heat 3 Tbsp. olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. In two batches, cook the chicken breasts until brown, about 3 minutes. Flip and cook until the other side is brown, 2-3 minutes. Remove to a plate. Add more oil to the pan as needed for the second batch.

To the empty pan, add the stock, lemon juice, and capers. Bring to a boil, scraping up the browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pan. Add the chicken breasts and their juices to the pan and simmer uncovered on low until sauce has reduced and chicken is heated through, 4-5 minutes. Remove chicken and whisk butter and parsley into sauce. Serve chicken over pasta and spoon sauce over the top.

2011 Holiday Raffle: The Flavor Bible

Okay, you guys, I think this is going to be the last raffle. This generosity thing is exhausting.

The Flavor Bible by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg is one of the most interesting and unique food books out there. It's a compilation of flavor matches for pretty much any ingredient under the sun, from achiote seeds to zucchini blossoms. Each ingredient is followed by a list of complementary flavors. The strongest matches are indicated in boldface and/or caps.

So, if you were to look up, say, figs, you would find a long list of ingredients that have an affinity for figs, like arugula, bacon, hazelnuts, and pears. In bold would be prosciutto, red wine vinegar, and mascarpone, indicating an even stronger partnership, and, in bold caps, the ultimate matches: BLUE CHEESE, HONEY, and WALNUTS. Ergo, an arugula salad with pears and figs sprinkled with crumbled bacon, hazelnuts, and blue cheese lightly dressed with a red wine vinaigrette might not be a shitty idea!

It's basically a food thesaurus. And now that I'm writing a cookbook, it's become a really useful reference tool. When I get stuck on a recipe (either because it's ill-conceived or my vision exceeds my talents), I simply read through the appropriate ingredient list before bed, and, when I wake up, I have some new recipe ideas fully formed and ready for testing. It's like magic!

But even if you're not under the gun in terms of recipe development, it's fascinating to flip through the lists. They were compiled not just from the minds of the authors, but from dozens of internationally renowned chefs, like Daniel Boulud, Rick Bayless, Lidia Bastianich, Mario Batali, Judy Rodgers, Vikram Vij, and Grant Achatz. There are suggested flavor pairings ranging from obvious to oddball, quotes from chefs about how they cook with specific ingredients, and actual menu items from famous restaurants. There are some pretty photos, too, but it's mostly a word book. Did I mention it won a James Beard Award?

Little, Brown has graciously agreed to donate one copy. To be considered, tell me how you would finish the following food equation, which was pulled directly from the book. In other words, what sort of dish would you make with:

sweet potatoes + apples + sage

I know, I know, you're busy with all of your holiday crap, and now I'm expecting you to be the next Iron Chef. If you're stuck, do what I do and sleep on it. Then comment with whatever your subconscious serves up. Involve as many other ingredients as you'd like—this is just a starting point. You don't even have to cook it for me. If it sucks, I'll never know! Comments will close Saturday 12/24 at 10 p.m. EST and Random.org will do the rest.

Happy Holidays!

2011 Holiday Raffle: Plate to Pixel

Next up for raffle is Plate to Pixel, a digital photography and food styling book by Hélène Dujardin. If you're familiar with her blog, Tartelette, then you know she's one of the best food photographers out there. Her photos are artful and elegantly composed without looking overdone. The focus is always on the food. Her work is a complete pleasure to look at.

Last summer, in the name of improving my photography skills, I checked out a bunch of books from the library for some light reading. In those particular books, it was recommended that mashed potatoes be used as a stand-in for ice cream to eliminate any melting issues. Grill marks could be painted on with eyeliner. And dish soap bubbling on the surface of a beverage would make it look freshly poured. I nearly hurled right there on the beach when I learned of all the food-styling fakery that seems to be the industry standard. And, yet, it was strangely satisfying to discover that my eye had been right all along. Ever wonder why that turkey on that magazine cover looked so unnatural? It's because it was half-raw and sprayed with hair spray for that "just-roasted" look. Yummy! The weird-looking milk on that cereal box? Elmer's glue. *dry heaves*

I quickly returned all of those books and bought Plate to Pixel instead. The food is real. It actually gets eaten afterwards. And it looks delicious! She has one photograph of brightly colored crabs on newspaper that is a gorgeous study in contrast, and another of a pomegranate bleeding onto a white plate that breaks my heart a little. Instead of fakery, there are tips for keeping things fresh-looking and practical advice like staging the shot before the food even comes out. There's technical camera stuff, too, like the different kinds of light and how to bounce it, and ISO and depth-of-field and hoobity ha. I picked up a few tips, I swear, but mostly I just eyeballed the food porn. That kind of artistry is hard to learn, and I'm not a dedicated student. Still, I would highly recommend the book to bloggers with an interest in photography, photographers with an interest in food, and foodies with a little extra time on their hands (and possibly some disposable income since you will undoubtedly develop a hankering for expensive camera equipment).

To win this book, comment on this post with a link to your worst food photo. I'll start: here's mine (the ginger cookie recipe is good, though). Or, if you don't have a blog or any other evidence of your photographic failings, just tell me why you want this book. Comments will close at 10 p.m. on Sunday 12/11 and a winner will be chosen by Random.org. And if you don't win, console yourself with the knowledge that you can always read her beautiful blog for free everyday!

Many thanks to Wiley for donating a copy of this book!

2011 Holiday Raffle: The Apple Lover's Cookbook

To kick off a month of atypical non-Grinchy behavior, I will be raffling off some of my favorite books to you, my loyal readers! If you've recently arrived here after reading the Edible Boston article on local food blogs, and you aren't sure you have what it takes to be a loyal reader, I'm hoping free stuff will convince you. I have a lot to give away and there are only three weeks until Christmas or something crazy like that, so check in often if you don't want to miss your chance to win. Once the clock strikes 12 on Christmas Eve, I'm keeping whatever's left like some sort of greedy Cinderella who misses the point of Christmas entirely.

Starting us off is Yankee Magazine lifestyle editor Amy Traverso and her great new cooking tome and apple encyclopedia, The Apple Lover's Cookbook. Think apples are all the same? Oh ho ho, you are so wrong. So wrong! Let Amy show you the error of your ways with a primer of 59 apple varieties, from quirky heirlooms to newfangled hybrids. Then be grateful that she was the one that had to do all that research and not you.

Moving on to recipes, there's literally not a single dish contained in this book that I don't want to eat. Apple crisp? Don't mind if I do. Apple pie? You bet! Cider doughnuts? Hell, yeah. Apple-gingersnap ice cream? STOP TORTURING ME!!! It's not just sweet stuff, either. There are recipes for sausage, apple, and cheddar strata, sweet potato and apple latkes, and apple cider-braised turkey with applejack-sage gravy. I made the braised pork shoulder with hard cider, Calvados, and prunes a few weeks ago, and it was so good that I refused to eat anything else for a whole 18 hours so as not to taint the memory. (That's a personal record for me, by the way.)

Quite simply, this is a book everyone needs to have. I mean, unless you hate apples. Is it even possible to hate apples? I might argue you're just confused. Maybe it's scrapple you hate? Anyway, to be entered to win, simply leave a comment on this post with your favorite variety of apple and/or apple preparation, and a commenter will be selected at random by one of those Internet-based number generators. Comments will close at 10 pm EST on Monday, 12/5. And if you don't win this raffle, there's still plenty of time to put the book on your Christmas list. That's the second best way to get free stuff!

Many thanks to W.W. Norton for donating a copy of this beautiful book!

Henpecked

Does anybody know what this is?

Bet you weren't expecting a pop quiz on wild fungi first thing in the morning, but I'll make mushroom foragers out of you yet. You've seen this before on this blog. It's a hen of the woods. Not a chicken of the woods. That's different. A hen of the woods is a ruffly mass that grows at the base of oak trees. It has pores on the underside instead of gills, and has no poisonous look-alikes. It usually grows back year after year in the same place. It is also amazingly delicious and doesn't make me vomit. In other words, A-list material.

Ever since a kind stranger bestowed upon me a hen of the woods last year (when I made that amazing celery root and wild mushroom lasagna), I've been trying to find one of my very own. I thought I found such a specimen over the summer, but it was growing on protected land (and people were looking), so I couldn't take it home. Then, a few weeks ago, I went on a group mushroom walk with Lawrence Millman. He just came out with a new mushroom book, Fascinating Fungi of New England, which is beautifully illustrated and written with a certain amount of wit. He brought us around the woods of Drumlin Farm and pointed out all kinds of fungi I hadn't seen before, like stinkhorns and white pine splotch. He seemed to have a particular fascination with slime molds, which I did not share.

On our way back, though, something caught my eye. I nearly peed my pants on the spot because some distance off the path was the most beautiful hen of the woods I've ever seen. It looked like two hens nestled together and it was pristine. Pristine, I tell you! I got out my trusty camera and proceeded to fumble around with the controls, including white balance, ISO, and the critical equilibrium between aperture and shutter speed, during which time the battery died. I shit you not. It died at that very moment. Meanwhile, people must have noticed that I found something camera-worthy because they made a beeline straight for it. A few of them started ripping pieces off of it to get a better look at the pores. I had to stab myself in the leg with my pen to keep from shrieking STOP!! DON'T MANGLE IT, GODDAMNIT. LEAVE IT ALONE!!! (Sheesh, Tammy, possessive much?) Finally, I flung myself on top of it using my body as a human shield. At this point, someone took note of the emotional pitch and I was politely reminded that this, too, was protected land and the mushroom should not be removed. But it's a farm, I said! A farm! And that's when a team of horses was harnessed to my belt loops and dragged me away, limp and pouting. Oh, Drumlin, you big tease!

Luckily, a nice young lady snapped a photo of the mushroom before it got too mangled and she sent me the link. See how pretty? You can tell somebody else took that photo because it's sharp and well lit. It takes more than battery power to take a photo like that.

Anyway, I've been on a mission these past few weeks to find a hen of the woods I can actually bring home and cook. In fact, I found two! BUT one was well past its prime, and the other, pictured above, was way too maggoty for me to actually eat. I considered it, I really did, but even I have some standards. Oh well. At least next year I'll know to return to the coordinates of those exact locations. And this time, I'll be all decked out in camouflage with my pocketknife in my teeth and a wild look in my eyes and no one will dare stop me!!!

Reaching for Summer: Broccoli Rabe Pesto

Man, have I been in a dinner rut lately.  Anyone else?  I think it's the time of year: I'm mentally done with winter, but spring is still teasingly out of reach.  And I don't want to put down any groundhogs with regard to weather predictions, but I'm not sure I agree with their scientific method.

Happily, I came across some frozen broccoli rabe pesto I made with last year's CSA bounty from Waltham Fields.  I'm a big proponent of making pesto out of any and all green things: basil, mint, parsley, cilantro, garlic scapes, garlic mustard growing wild in our yard.  However, broccoli rabe had not been a pesto ingredient in our kitchen until last year, when I saw a recipe in Food & Wine's cookbook Reinventing the Classics.  It's a cookbook I'm really enjoying and will likely reference again--lots of sprightly seasonal dishes as well as some good recipes for the shiitakes I grow.  The recipe for delicata squash stuffed with quinoa salad was a particularly good find, and you know I have little patience for squash and/or quinoa. 

I'm happy to have another use for broccoli rabe since it's one of my favorite greens (I say greens because the kind I get from my CSA tends to be leafy and short on florets).  This pesto was delicious the first time around with prosciutto and ricotta ravioli from DePasquale's Pasta Shoppe in the North End.  It was also super tasty the second time around on thin spaghetti with sweet Italian sausages from the unrelated DePasquale's sausage shop in Newton and some broccolini of unknown origin.  (If your kid sees broccolini in the store and wants some because he likes the name, well, by god, buy the broccolini!!!)  Earthy and bright, this pesto was a little bit of summer sunshine after what I hope will be the last snowfall of the winter. 


Broccoli Rabe Pesto

1/3 cup walnuts
1/2 lb. broccoli rabe, trimmed
1 garlic clove
1/3 cup plus 1 Tbsp. olive oil
Pinch crushed red pepper
1/3 cup Pecorino
Kosher salt and black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350 F.  Spread walnuts in a pie plate and toast for 8 minutes until golden and fragrant (or toast them in a dry pan over low heat, tossing frequently, about 4-5 minutes).  Let cool.

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the broccoli rabe until tender, about 3 minutes.  Drain and let cool under cold water.  Squeeze out excess water and coarsely chop.

In a food processor, mince garlic.  Add walnuts and pulse until coarsely chopped.  Add broccoli rabe and crushed pepper and process until finely chopped while adding oil slowly through the feed tube.  Add 1/3 cup Pecorino and pulse until just combined.  Scrape into bowl and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Freeze or serve by boiling 3/4 to 1 lb. pasta in salted water.  Drain, reserving 3/4 cup of the pasta water.  Toss pasta with pesto and reserved water until well coated.

Source: Adapted from Reinventing the Classics by Dana Cowin and the editors of Food & Wine.

Finally: Primal Picnics

Guess what just arrived in my mailbox today?  A copy of Primal Picnics, that food fable anthology I mentioned way back when, which features a story by yours truly.  It represents the first time I've been published in a book.  Hopefully, it won't be the last. 

For those of you who pre-ordered the book oh about a year ago, all I can say is patience truly is a virtue.  If you didn't, I hear there are more copies available right now.  Go get one if you want it.  If you buy it through this link to Amazon, 6% goes to my kid's school, but I'll understand if you'd rather order it through your local independent bookstore like Back Pages Books in Waltham where the old Jordan's Furniture used to be (pssst...Alex).

Anyway, if you read it, do report back with comments on the book as a whole and your favorite stories.  And don't say mine.  If you say mine, I'll know you're just trying to increase your odds of winning the next raffle.  However, if you were to, say, write a review of the book on Amazon, preferably positive, I'm not going to say it will help you win any raffles, but it certainly couldn't hurt!

Eat Tweet Winner

Sorry for the delay in announcing the Eat Tweet winner, but I had a hard time reaching a decision.  Not to mention the fact that I had to count all the characters in each entry to make sure no more than 140 were being used.  Rules are rules.  But even though we had rather few entries for this contest (way to make it look like I have no readers in front of a big publisher, guys!), the entries themselves were very good.  Shall we meet the contestants?

First, there was Jennifer of Palavering who was hoping to harness spring with bright yellow sun-shaped macarons.  I don't know about the Netherlands, but she sure summoned some sunshine over here!

Sft 225g pwdsug+125g almd ml/Bt 100g egwht+28g sug til ~stf pks/+clr/fold almd+sug til ~taffy/pipe1cmOs/rest 30min/bk@300 15min/fill w/gnche

Then there was this lovely potato leek soup by Kendra:

Saut3clvgar1yelOn3slcd lksTil crmlzd ad 6Cvgstck+7pot, cvr, whnboil smmr adS+P+dill or Tsp liqsmk Whn potRsoft blnd w/stckblndr srvw/SrCrm

A wonderful red lentil soup by Louisa:

1c splt red lentils + 2c water : boil. + ~1c chppd kale, simmr 10-15 min, smash w/spoon, +salt/pepper/juice of .5lime/.5 c coconut milk

Stuffed dates by Dena of Oh! You Cook!:

Mix 8ozs. whipped cream cheese, 2T powdered sugar & 2t lemon j, spoon into pitted dates, decorate w/4T sliced or whole almonds.

Spicy squash soup by Colleen:

Sauté 2C onion+4T oil/Add 2t coriander,1 paprika&cumin,½ turmeric,¼ s&p, 4C chx broth, 2lb peeled squash/Simmer&Puree/Finish w/¼C honey.

And, finally, CookieCrumb from I'm Mad and I Eat shared her saucy recipe for SpagBol:

Make spaghetti; make sauce. Put sauce on spaghetti.

Each of these micro-recipes had their charms so, in the end, I left it up to chance.  And the winner is...Louisa!  Congratulations and thanks to all who played with me.  As for the rest of you, I suggest you make some soup!

Eat Tweet and Lamb Tagine

I think it's reasonable to be skeptical about a cookbook based on Twitter.  After all, 140 characters would barely even cover the ingredient list of the most basic recipe.  But that is the beauty and the charm of Eat Tweet by Maureen Evans (known as @cookbook on Twitter).  Not only does she convey the ingredients and amounts for more than 1,000 recipes, but she is able to work within that space constraint to communicate the techniques as well, albeit in their simplest, most condensed form.  An example:

Honey Tagine
Brwn lb choplamb/2T buttr/t dryging&turmeric&cinn&s+p; +2c onion&carrot 9m; +c Stock/3T honey/9pitdprune. Cvr~h@400F 

We made this for dinner the other night.  I browned a pound of chopped lamb in 2 Tbsp. of butter and a teaspoon each of dried ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, salt, and pepper.  Then I added 2 cups each of chopped onions and carrots and cooked for 9 minutes or so.  I added a cup of chicken stock, 3 Tbsp. of honey, and 9 pitted prunes, and then braised the whole thing in a 400°F oven, covered, for an hour.  The result was tender, succulent lamb in a sweet, warmly spiced sauce, fabulous over cous cous with cucumber raita on the side.  (The prunes are delicious here, adding sweetness and depth, so don't omit them—just maybe don't eat all 9 in one sitting if you know what I'm saying.)

Evans' training as a poet shows in her thoughtful use of language, as does her range in the kitchen.  Recipes for pot roast and pizza lie alongside Irish colcannon, Mexican migas, Italian fennel pie, Indian brown dal, pad Thai, even Julia Child's famous boeuf bourguignon—worldly recipes communicated with surprising clarity.  Part of the fun is figuring out the code.  I love a good puzzle (as evidenced by the nearly 400 Twitter cryptograms I've created at codeSparrow), and this book makes me want to convert all my recipes to 140-character shorthand just for fun. 

But why is this useful?  Well, for one, you can fit a lot more information into a small space that way.  Eat Tweet is like three cookbooks in one, and a small one at that.  Spending a weekend at a remote cabin with no internet access?  You have the inspiration of a thousand practical recipes in your back pocket.  It's a handy guide for cooks like me who like to flip through for ideas or to remind myself of ingredient ratios.  Plus, without all those extra words, you can really get to the heart of a recipe.  You see all the essential parts in tight focus—the rest can be improvised. 

Of course, space limitations have their cons.  Many novice cooks will likely find the lack of detail frustrating.  How big of a pot do you need?  Do you chop the onions or slice them?  But if you look at cooking as an adventure, you will find that you gain confidence in the kitchen through experience.  Most recipes can work lots of ways, not just one.  Think of the format as the scaffolding on which to develop your own cooking style.  In fact, I think this book would make a fun (and inexpensive) graduation present for hungry college seniors about to be unleashed upon the world.  Note to college seniors: you should have plenty of time to cook!

In that spirit, Artisan has graciously agreed to gift one copy of Eat Tweet to a lucky FotF reader.  Here's how to win: condense a favorite recipe into 140 characters or less and post it in the comment section (spaces count as characters).  How you condense it is up to you, as long as it's comprehensible.  See example above.  Recipes will be graded on clarity, potential deliciousness, and creativity.  You don't have to be on Twitter, like Twitter, or even know what Twitter is to win.  Good luck.  You have until Wednesday.

Local Ingredient Sources:
Lamb: Chestnut Farm, Hardwick, MA
Onions, carrots: Red Fire Farm, Granby, MA
Honey: Reseska Apiaries (Golden Meadow), Holliston, MA

Cookbook Winner and Consolation Cupcakes

Wow, guys, you don’t make things easy for a ruthless dictator, do you?  So many great stories about Flour Bakery, from weddings saved by doughnuts and brioche, to a cross-continental flight undertaken in the name of sticky buns, even a brush with celebrity.  In the end, and after much deliberation, I declare Manasi the winner of the Flour cookbook for demonstrating a deep and long-abiding love for the bakery, which remains as such despite the fact that she is now stuck in med school out in Worcester.  A worse fate, I cannot imagine.  Get this girl some sticky buns stat!

As for the rest of you, I have the recipe for Flour’s popular chocolate cupcakes, which I hope will distract you from any coups.  I let the 5YO select today’s recipe since he is the keeper of all of my dessert cookbooks in a stack next to his bed.  That is actually how he learned to read—by flipping through cookbooks with me, learning the correct pronunciations for “ganache,” “brioche,” and “meringue” (though, for the latter, I much prefer his own interpretation, “mangaroo”). 

The 5YO was particularly taken with the photo of these cupcakes and what was billed as “crispy magic frosting.”  I’ll admit, I was, too.  They turned out fantastic and they have since superseded all others as our go-to cupcake and frosting recipe.  I have a feeling this is going to make at least one of my readers (hi Marika!) very happy!


Flour Bakery’s Chocolate Cupcakes with Crispy Magic Frosting

Cupcakes
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, chopped
¼ cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 cup granulated sugar
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/3 cup water
½ cup milk
1 egg
1 egg yolk
½ tsp. vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. kosher salt

Frosting
2/3 cup granulated sugar
2 egg whites
1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into chunks
1 2/3 cups confectioner’s sugar
¼ tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. milk
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

In a small heatproof bowl, combine the chocolate and cocoa powder.  In a small saucepan, heat the granulated sugar, butter, and water over medium-high heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the butter is melted and the sugar is dissolved.  Pour the hot butter-sugar mixture over the chocolate-cocoa mixture and whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture is homogenous.  Whisk the milk, egg, yolk, and vanilla into the chocolate mixture until thoroughly combined.

In a bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until well mixed.  Dump the flour mixture on top of the chocolate mixture.  Whisk until are totally combined.  Let the batter sit for at least 1 hour at room temperature (or transfer to an airtight container and store in the fridge for up to 3 days).

Heat the oven to 350°F.  Butter and flour a standard 12-cup muffin tin, or line with paper liners.  Spoon the batter into the prepared muffin cups, dividing evenly and filling the cups just shy of the rim.  Bake 25-30 minutes, or until the tops spring back when pressed.  Let pan cool completely on a wire rack.

Meanwhile, in a small heatproof bowl or the top half of a double-boiler, whisk together the granulated sugar and egg whites to make a thick slurry.  Place over a saucepan of simmering water (not touching the water) and heat, whisking occasionally, for 3 to 5 minutes or until the mixture is hot to the touch.  Remove from heat and scrape the mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment (or use a handheld mixer).  Whip on medium-high speed for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the mixture becomes a light, white meringue and is cool to the touch.  Turn down the speed to medium and add butter, a few chunks at a time, beating for 3 to 4 minutes or until the butter is fully incorporated.  Add the confectioner’s sugar, salt, milk, and vanilla, and continue to beat on medium speed until the mixture is smooth and satiny.  You should have about 3½ cups.  Use immediately, or transfer to an airtight container and store at room temperature for up to 3 days, or in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.  (If storing, beat with a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment for a few minutes until smooth before using.)

Remove the cupcakes from the muffin tin.  Spread the frosting on the cupcakes with a spatula or fit a pastry bag with a small round or star tip, fill the bag with frosting, and pipe frosting onto the cupcakes.  They are best eaten immediately, but can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature for 2 days.

Source: Joanne Chang’s Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston’s Flour Bakery + Café. 

Flour Power

Guess what I have in my hot little hands?  A copy of Joanne Chang’s recently released, much-anticipated cookbook, Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston’s Flour Bakery + Café.  I think I can speak for all of Boston when I say, yahoooooooo!!!!  Or whatever the hip, young people are saying these days.  W00t?

I have a soft spot for Flour Bakery having worked in the vicinity of the South End for several years.  I had a friend from culinary school who was employed there when it first opened and so I was treated to a mini-tour.  The space was not large—the tour took about two minutes, but it was just as charming as you might expect: heavy-duty mixers running at full throttle, neat, young apprentices painting things with chocolate, the smell of fresh baked bread warming the morning air.  Joanne was always as sweet as could be, odd given that new bakery businesses require early mornings and long hours.  Must have been all the sugar coursing through her veins.  Since then, two other Flour outposts have been opened in the Fort Point Channel (well, not actually in the channel) and Central Square.  Chang’s talents are also on display at Myers + Chang, the Asian diner she opened in the South End with her husband Christopher Myers.

This cookbook is substantial, heavy with the calories of nearly 150 of Chang’s favorite recipes.  Much has been made of her sticky buns, which emerged victorious when pitted against Bobby Flay’s version on the Food Network’s Throwdown!  Don’t worry—her secrets are well documented here.  So are scrumptious recipes for éclairs, cream-filled doughnuts, focaccia, croissants, brioche, tarts, muffins, cakes, and cookies galore.  I hope you like butter!

Chronicle Books was kind enough to send me two copies of this cookbook.  However, I’m keeping one for myself since the library says I need to give their copy back.  So, I’m raffling off one copy to a lucky reader.  Actually, we’re doing the raffle thing differently this time.  I’m going to pick the winner based on my favorite comment instead of leaving it up to random chance.  This blog is the only power I have and I’m going to wield it like a despot.  If I can’t decide between several excellent comments, I’ll randomly select a name from within that group with my iron fist briefly unclenched.  But only briefly.  To be considered, please leave a comment about a memorable experience you had at Flour or a story that revolves around something delicious you ate from Flour or, failing that, a story about flour.  I realize this gives local people an edge, but I figure those of you who know the bakery well will enjoy this book the most.  As a consolation prize for the rest of you losers, I’ll post a recipe from the book when I post the winner later this week. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  Go!

Raffle: Poor Girl Gourmet Cookbook

I promised to give you more background on that wonderful fall harvest salad I featured in my last post, and so I shall.  It came from a great new cookbook called Poor Girl Gourmet: Eat in Style on a Bare-Bones Budget written by local blogger and fellow poor girl, Amy McCoy.  Given the current economic climate, I can’t imagine a more timely and relevant topic.  McCoy knows that cutting back doesn’t have to mean eating poorly.  It might mean eating less or eating differently, but it shouldn’t have to mean eating crap food. 

On the contrary, McCoy makes cooking on a budget look like great fun, which it is, as well as downright classy (note the back section on budget wines).  She convincingly demonstrates that by planning and cooking your own meals, you really can save money and eat better (read: healthier and more enjoyably).  She even breaks down the estimated costs for you.  Orzo, sun-dried tomato, and walnut salad with feta: $2.61 per person.  Chicken, sausage, and kale soup: $3.28 per person.  Honey mustard- and cider-marinated pork spareribs with thyme-roasted carrots and buttery mashed potatoes: $3.05 per person.  She also offers realistic pointers for conserving some coin, like buying meat on the bone, shopping at ethnic markets, and buying fresh vegetables in season.  Warning: She seems to really like squash.

Poor Girl Gourmet is one of my favorite new cookbooks of the year and, as such, Andrews McMeel has agreed to donate two copies to be raffled off to you Food on the Foodies.  Can I call you that?  No?  Not even if I give you a free cookbook?  Okay, fine.  To be considered, simply leave a comment on this post about your own favorite “poor girl/boy” meal.  Doesn’t have to be fancy—peasant food is welcome, encouraged even.  And if you don’t win (and, let’s face it, most of you won’t), it’s a solid gift idea for any upcoming birthdays or end-of-year holidays that shan’t be named.  In the meantime, you have until Wednesday or whenever I feel like shutting this down.

Ready, set, go!

Autumn Harvest Salad

We spent the long weekend in New Hampshire and, yup, it’s definitely fall.  As if you couldn’t tell by: a) the calendar; b) the leaves; and c) the mounting winter squash situation.  Gourd after gourd after gourd after gourd…

I know you’re sick of hearing me complain about squash every fall, but, the truth is, I’ve developed a bit of a soft spot for squash.  Call me sentimental.  The secret, of course, is to find some recipes you really like.  I’m partial to my super-simple butternut squash bisque I contributed to Yankee Magazine some years back.  But in case you’re not willing to give in to soup season quite so soon, here’s a nice salad that eases the transition between summer and winter.  Not only does it use the last of your local lettuce and the beginnings of your winter squash, but it also features nuts, cranberries, blue cheese, bacon, and a tangy honey-sweetened dressing, making it possible to source most of the ingredients locally around here.

More about the fabulous cookbook from whence this recipe came in my next post.  But I’ll give you a hint: the local author writes a great food blog called Poor Girl Gourmet!

Harvest Salad with Honey-Balsamic Dressing

I substituted local blue cheese for the Gorgonzola and locally foraged black walnuts for the hazelnuts (more on the black walnuts later).

Squash
2-lb. acorn squash
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 Tbsp. packed brown sugar
Kosher salt
Black pepper

Dressing
¼ cup honey
2 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar
¼ cup plus 2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Black pepper

Salad
3 cups (5 oz.) mixed baby greens, lettuce, or arugula
½ cup hazelnuts
¼ cup dried cranberries
4 slices of bacon
¼ cup Gorgonzola, crumbled

Preheat the oven to 375°F.  Cut the acorn squash in half lengthwise, pole to pole.  Remove and discard the seeds, and then cut each half crosswise into ½-inch-wide slices such that you have a lovely ripple effect from the ridges of the squash.  In a large bowl, mix together ¼ cup olive oil and brown sugar.  Add the squash and toss to coat, seasoning with salt and pepper. Transfer squash to 9 by 13-inch rimmed baking sheet, and bake, turning halfway through cooking time, about 30 minutes or until easily pierced with a fork.  Let cool 5-10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together honey, mustard, and balsamic vinegar.  Whisk in ¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil until well blended.  Season with salt and pepper and set aside.  Fry bacon until crispy, let cool on paper towels, and crumble.  Toast hazelnuts in dry frying pan 5-10 minutes, tossing frequently to prevent scorching, until lightly golden and fragrant.  Remove to plate to cool.

To arrange salad, place one quarter of the mixed greens on each of four plates.  Divide up the squash, nuts, cranberries, bacon, and cheese among the four salads, and drizzle a tablespoon or two of the dressing on top.  Serves 4.

Source: Adapted from Poor Girl Gourmet by Amy McCoy

Local Businesses Supported:
Squash, lettuce, arugula: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Honey: Reseska Apiaries, Holliston, MA
Dijon mustard: Raye’s Mustard, Eastport, ME
Bacon, black walnuts: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Cheese: Jasper Hill Farm, Greensboro, VT

Pickling Cookbook Winners

Wow, I learned so much about you guys (and pickles in general) from your comments on the last post.  For example, there seem to be a lot of us in love with pickled beets. I dare say we have good taste.  Calamity Jane of Apron Strings writes of the pickled fiddleheads and wild cucumber she made in her Alaskan kitchen.  Gillis raves about the Grillo’s Pickles cart on Boston Common (2 spears for $1 all summer at the Park St. T stop).  Bobbie fondly remembers the giant pickles on a stick at the Wisconsin State Fair.  Pengwenhsd once had a man propose to her upon tasting her homemade bread and butter pickles.  And the favorite jarred brand seems to be Claussen dills (a recipe for a homemade version is here).

But where people got downright poetic was talking about Jewish deli pickles. Fellow blogger Aimee of New To Farm Life writes:

“I'm a pickle fanatic and it is hard to pick just one. But as I was thinking about it, a pure and perfect memory came back to me. I'm about seven years old, and we've gone to New York to visit my grandparents. Mom has dragged us kids around museums all day and we are ravenously hungry. We go into a real old-fashioned New York delicatessen to pick up food to eat on the train home. I've never been in a place like this (West Coast child) and am stone cold fascinated by the deli case with its bright salads, slabs of fish, a hundred kinds of cheese. Up on top of the counter, above my head, is a gigantic glass crock full of equally gigantic pickles. I point it out to brother and sister and we set up a ruckus, clamoring for pickles. The pickles, when we get them, are so big we can't close our fists around them, and they are so briny and crisp and delicious my mouth fills up with water. I can remember everything about those pickles - the snap they made when we bit into them, the warty cool skin of them, the cloudy brine in the jar swirling with garlic and spices. Most of all I remember the feeling of being small and curious, wide-eyed in a new place, with my mother beside me, teaching me, showing me, interpreting the world for me.”

What a fabulous pickle story! 

Reader Ashley writes of her grandmother’s pickles:

“My grandma made the best dill pickles. They were left in their brine on the porch of her bungalow in the Catskills, the center of summer life for Jewish New Yorkers escaping the city heat. The pickles had much of the old country in them, with a garlicky bite and ultra-satisfying crunch. The perfect refreshing summer snack, though I often ignored my mom's warnings, gorged on the salty treats, and woke up in the middle of the night parched.”

Mmmmmm.  Can anybody else use a drink right now?

There were even some requests for other readers’ pickle recipes (some of these requests are my own):

1. Millie’s carrot and daikon radish recipe;
2. The refrigerator half-sour recipe from Pickledbeets; and
3. The pickled shiitake recipe from the Momofuku cookbook that Louisa mentioned (though I just helped myself to that recipe from this fine blog).

So good work, people.  I wish I had 30 cookbooks to give out.  Do we have 30 cookbooks to give out, Storey?  Just kidding.  (Unless we do.) 

In order to be fair, and instead of writing names on pieces of paper and making Husband pull them out of a box like I’ve done in the past, I used a random number generator to pick the number of the winning commenters.  And the winners of a copy of Put 'Em Up by Sherri Brooks Vinton are:

16. Pickledbeets

26. Kate

Winners, I will be in touch.  For the rest of you, don’t worry, there will be other raffles in the future.  I won’t rest until everybody’s won something good.

Get Your Pickles On!

Okay, people, I’m feeling generous again.  Now that school is out and it’s officially summertime, I have pickling on my mind.  Even more so since I started flipping through the new book Put ‘Em Up by Sherri Brooks Vinton, a charming ode to canning, pickling, and other methods of putting food by.  An excerpt:

“…Home food preservation is a natural progression of the Real Food Revival—our increasing demand for food that is grown the way it should and used to be.  We want food that’s good for the farmer, the environment, and ourselves.  Putting up food is part of this passion.  It’s part of coveting the harvest so much that you can’t let it slip through your fingers so fleetingly.  It’s part of cherishing the work of local growers or your own toil in the backyard and wanting to hold on to some aspect of that even when fields lie fallow.”

Well, not so much my own toil.  I prefer to cherish other people’s toil, but I get her point.  Plus pickling is like tasty time travel.  Not only does it yield a healthful, homemade snack, but it also allows you to return to a moment, a place, a memory—whether it’s the sunny spot where you picked your own summer beans or the rainy morning when you finally decided to bite the bullet and boil some jars.  You get to remember those simple pleasures many months down the road while eating something delicious that you thoughtfully put aside for yourself.

This book is a great introduction to the art of freezing, drying, brining, canning, and otherwise storing your bountiful summer produce for later enjoyment.  Included are recipes for quick and fermented pickles, like dilly beans, pickled beets, and sauerkraut.  Other recipes that had me daydreaming: cherry and black pepper preserves, spicy peach salsa, sweet pepper marmalade, charred chili barbecue sauce, fennel and onion jam, rhubarb jelly, roasted pepper ketchup, and watermelon granita.  Plus it has such cute pictures of hand-labeled jars.  Adorable!

So here’s the deal.  Storey Publishing, a nice little publisher out in western Mass., will give away two cookbooks, one to each of two lucky readers.  And all you have to do is regale me with a story about the best pickle you ever had in the comment section.  That’s right, one more homework assignment before you’re off for the summer.  But if you win, you have to promise you’ll actually make something out of the book.  No entering yourself in the lottery and then letting the book sit on a shelf.  I’ll walk over there and take it back.

Okay, enough with the empty threats.  You have until sometime on Sunday.  Ready, set, go!

Weird Heirloom Vegetables

Today, I have a special guest blogger for you: author Novella Carpenter.  She’s an urban farmer based in Oakland, CA, where she raises vegetables, fruit, chickens, honey bees, rabbits, and dairy goats in the middle of the city.  Novella will be reading from her book, Farm City (now out in paperback), at Porter Square Books in Cambridge this coming Monday, June 7 at 7 p.m., so be sure to stop by for some funny farm stories and a seed give away.  Take it away, Novella…

I can’t help it, I like weird stuff. Like boyfriends who lie in the middle of the floor at a dinner party. Like cats with white paw pads. Like weird fruits and vegetables not available in fine stores. I’ve made it a point to collect strange fruit. I have a Seville orange tree (it’s small and I’ve still yet to get a nary a sour orange off of it). I have a sour cherry tree (we got enough cherries last year for one mind-blowing pie). Every year I graft some antique apple variety to my poor overburdened apple tree (this year it was a Winter Banana).  

Vegetables are no different; I will often wander around ethnic farmers markets with my tongue hanging out. “What is this?” I’ll ask the old ladies nearby, and they will patiently explain about taro root or chayote tendrils. A friend from Los Angeles came to visit and brought seeds for the famous giant radish of Oaxaca. I was so excited, it was as if she had brought me a suitcase full of money. This spring has been a busy one, and I’ve planted some weird vegetables that I wanted to share with you. 

Crapaudine beets (Beta vulgaris)

My sister, who lives in France, was laughing her ass off about this one when she sent me some seeds. We’re into that kind of toilet humor, and she thought maybe the etymological roots signaled that these beets were a, um, stool causer. My sister is always sending me some ancient Roman vegetable information, and these beets were apparently the original beet back in those days, before they became all rounded or striped inside.

Of course, I planted a whole bed of them. After 60 days, the leaves were looking amazing and strong so I went to harvest some for my little farm stand. This is what came out.

So that’s where the name comes from: crappy. No one bought the beets at the farm stand, and so I was left to deal with them. Being thrifty, I recognized the value of those leaves. So I made some beet chips out of them. It was easy, I just tossed the leaves in olive oil, put them in an oven at 350 degrees and cooked them for 7 minutes. They get all green and flat, perfect for tossing with salt and nutritional yeast.  

Next, I had to deal with the pathetic beetroot. I just dropped them into boiling water for a few minutes. I had very low expectations. Turned out, the thin-yucky skin slipped off to reveal a gorgeous mini-carrot-like thing.

The crapaudine beets actually tasted great! Very sweet, more like a carrot than a beet. They had a velvety texture and were lovely in a green salad tossed with boiled eggs. Thanks, Sister! I’ll never grow them for market, though.  

Bleu de Solaise leeks (Allium porrum)

Someone dumped two flats of leeks on my boyfriend. He fixed her truck, and the truck had the leeks inside—and she asked, “Does Novella want them?” Yes, Novella does. She likes free things, especially when they are heirloom leeks. These leeks, true to their name, are blue. Like that violet-y blue that is almost hallucinatory next to the dark earth. Two trays of leeks is a lot of leek. I had enough to sell at my farm stand—and enough to make leek confit.   

Confit always sounds so fancy. But in the leek confit case, it just meant that I braised the leeks in butter in a low oven for an hour. The leeks just fall apart and become gooey and caramel-y sweet. I like to use them to make leek soup (just add stock) or a leek tart (make a crust). Baby! What’s great about heirlooms like the Bleu de Solaise, is you can save the seeds and you’ll get the same beautiful blue leeks year after year.

Rampicante zucchini (Cucurbita moschata)

There’s a seed company called Baker Creek that is perfect for novelty freaks like myself. The catalog did lead me astray with a couple orders—like the Southeast Chinese cucumbers or the Thai Tigger melons that are never going to grow in foggy Northern California. Still, I love Baker Creek’s line-up. So far, I have one freak that is thriving: the rampicante zucchini.

I was drawn to it because the ad copy promised that I could eat the young squash like zucchini, and if it got older, I could eat it like winter squash. This would really solve the problem of too-far-gone zucchini, right? I also liked the name, but later heard rampicante is synonymous with the more well-known tromboncino, which I think I grew four years ago. It was just okay. Fooled again.  

Alrighty, I’m off to scan the nurseries for weird heirlooms like white tomatoes, padrone peppers, and some freaky perennial spinach.

You can read more from Novella on her blog, Ghost Town Farm. 

We Interrupt These Cookies

If you’re expecting a good post today, you can forget it.  I’ve already eaten all of my cookies, and now I’ve moved on to decimating one or more rhubarb pies, so I’m not to be disturbed.  Still, I wanted to say thanks for all of your nice comments.  Don’t tell the others, but you guys are my favorites!

One thing I’ll mention is that the food fable anthology I was telling you about, the one in which I take colonial American history into my own hands, is available for pre-order through Amazon.  Sometimes I think that pre-ordering a book that hasn’t been released yet can smack of desperation, so if you need to wait three days before placing your order, I’ll understand.  Or just buy it when it’s actually on sale, whenever that's going to be.  I’ll put a link over there in the sidebar so you don’t forget.  Because sometimes, if books sell well, and people like them, they let you write one all by yourself! 

Hope you’re having a nice Memorial Day weekend!

Maple-Stout Marinated Brisket

Ever wish there was a cookbook out there with seasonal recipes and sprawling, high-quality photographs that pay homage to your favorite local growers?  I’m sure there are thousands of these kinds of cookbooks that revolve around California farms, at least one cookbook per farm I imagine, but not so here in Massachusetts.  Here, there’s just one.  (So far.)  (That I know of.)

I’m talking about Fresh & Honest, a beautiful collection of recipes and seasonal sources from Peter Davis, chef of Henrietta’s Table in Cambridge.  The focus is on simple, traditional New England fare with fresh, local ingredients, but he takes that a step further by introducing us to the fishermen, cheesemakers, and farmers that supply his restaurant, including Pat Woodbury of Wellfleet, Bob Stetson of Westfield Farm in Hubbardston, and Steve Verrill of Concord’s Verrill Farm, among others.  Recipes include roasted pumpkin soup, strawberry-rhubarb compote, lobster chowder, red flannel hash with poached eggs, and grit cakes with mushrooms.  It’s such a pretty book (it recently won a New England Book Festival award), that I kind of wish I wrote it myself.  But former Boston Magazine colleague Alex Hall wrote it with Davis, so that’s close enough.  The point is that such a book exists and is available for such greedy little hands as mine.

I’ve been agonizing over which recipe to share with you, and I’ve finally settled on one: maple-stout marinated brisket, one last hearty, meaty dish before we move into summer’s lighter fare.  I know I’m in a minority among the Boston-area, beer-loving public, but I don’t love drinking stout (I’ve discussed this before).  I find its meatiness offensive in a beverage.  But I do like to cook with it, so I planned to use Moody St. Stout from Waltham’s own Watch City brewery to continue the local theme.  But, of course, they ran out right before I got there, so I had to quickly formulate a backup plan.  Twenty minutes later, their Chocolate Thunder Porter caught my eye.  Come to find out, it’s made with local Taza chocolate!  And the fact that it’s a porter, which I do like, AND it contains chocolate, meant that I had no problem helping Husband polish off the rest of the growler alongside this rich, tender, dark-chocolatey brisket.  Win-win.  

 

Maple-Stout Marinated Brisket

This is not a weekday meal.  It requires marinating, browning, and long, slow cooking for 6 hours.  Start early the day before you need to eat it. 

1 4-lb. beef brisket
1/3 cup Dijon mustard
½ cup maple syrup (the darker, the better)
2 cups stout (or chocolate porter!)
½ cup red wine vinegar
2 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
4 bay leaves
2 tsp. Tabasco sauce (I used way less because that much Tabasco scares me!)
1 cup onion, finely diced

In a medium saucepan, whisk together the mustard and maple syrup.  Add the beer, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, bay leaves, Tabasco, and onion, and mix well.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer 2-3 minutes.  Let cool completely.

Soak the brisket in the marinade for 24 hours in the fridge.  Heat grill and brown over low heat on all sides, being careful not to burn it.  This can also be done in a hot, oven-proof skillet with a thin film of oil.  Preheat oven to 275°F.  In a tightly covered pan, cook brisket in the oven for 6 hours or so, basting with the marinade every hour.  When tender, remove from the oven and let rest tented with foil for 30 minutes.  Slice brisket across the grain and drizzle with pan drippings.  Serve with mashed potatoes and, I don’t know, maybe something green!

Source: Adapted from Fresh & Honest by Peter Davis and Alexandra Hall.

Local Food Sources:
Beef brisket: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Mustard: Raye’s Mustard, Eastport, ME
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA
Beer: Watch City Brewing Company, Waltham, MA

Toast: An Excerpt

So about that food anthology I’m in, Primal Picnics, which is being released by Whole World Press this spring, I thought you might be interested in sampling one more essay.  Barry Foy, author of The Devil’s Food Dictionary: A Pioneering Culinary Reference Work Consisting Entirely of Lies, generously offered to share an excerpt from his piece on toast.  I think you’ll find it to be far less idiotic than my Indian pudding contribution!

BARRY FOY 

An excerpt from
“Pioneering the ‘Spread on Toast’ Concept:
A Conversation with Louis-Émile Tartine”

Good afternoon, Monsieur Tartine.
Good afternoon. Is that chair comfortable enough?
It’s perfect, thank you.
May I offer you a drink?
I wouldn’t turn it down!
I’m in the mood for a Campari-soda myself. How does that sound?
Make it two.
Here. I hope that’s strong enough.
I’m sure it’s just right. Say, how about a “toast”?
I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, “toast,” I see. Haha, very droll. You Americans! Cheers, then.
Cheers! Well, should we start?
Whenever you’re ready.
All right. Unesco has declared 2008 “The International Year of Toast.” But frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I mean, it’s only toast.
Get out of my house!

[Unfortunately, M. Tartine abruptly terminated our interview at this point, and within a month he was dead. The following is the conversation as I imagine it, had things worked out as planned. It combines questions I intended to ask with answers that, based on my reading of various other interviews, I feel confident M. Tartine may well have provided.]

Hello again.
Oh, it’s you.
What a handsome ascot! Where did you get it?
I don’t know. Something my wife picked out. She chooses all my clothes.
I see. Well, where should we start? Maybe you could begin by describing the toast of your childhood.
Certainly; I remember it as if it were yesterday. In those days, bear in mind, the word “toast” referred merely to plain, roasted bread.
Any particular type of bread?
It varied. Given a choice, obviously, everyone would have eaten fine white loaves, but in reality only the upper classes could afford them. Working families such as mine ate darker, heavier breads made of rye and other coarse flours.
Was it always eaten toasted?
Oh, my, no! Who would have had time for that?
I don’t follow you.
Don’t forget that this was long before the home kitchen was a showroom for all manner of gadget and appliance, as it is now. When I was young, only the rich had a ready means of toasting bread at home.
So how did you do it?
We didn’t. That was the baker’s job. His oven was the only reliable source of heat in town.
You mean you bought the bread already toasted?
No. It worked like this: You’d buy a loaf from the baker and take it home. Then, when you wanted toast, you’d cut off the desired number of pieces and take them back to him to be toasted. Being the youngest child, I was usually assigned this errand. As the bread toasted, I and dozens of other children waited in a cluster outside the bakery door.
So then you’d take the toast home?
Yes. But one had to run as fast as possible, before it could cool. Unluckily for me, I wasn’t a particularly fast runner, and I received many brutal beatings from my father for bringing him lukewarm toast. My father was a remarkable man.
Tell me more about your father.
Get out of my house!

[TWO DAYS LATER]

Hello.
I’m sorry—have we met?
Yes, I was here two days ago. You were telling me about bringing toast from the bakery as a child.
I’ll take your word for it.
I’m curious as to why people wanted their bread toasted in the first place.
Why? Goodness knows. I’ve never given it any thought.
Were the breads of that era more flavorful toasted, maybe?
Not really. In fact, they were far tastier fresh. Come to think of it, I suppose it was a matter of texture.
Texture?
Good toast has a very pleasing crunchiness about it, wouldn’t you agree?
I guess so, but...
People today have no idea how rare crunchiness used to be! It seems as if everything’s crunchy now: potato chips, cookies, candy bars. There’s crunch everywhere you look. But in those days, yes, we had crispness, plenty of crispness—celery, apples, that sort of thing—but real crunch was a scarce commodity, and toast was about the only affordable source of it for the common man. It was one of our few real pleasures in life. That and worshiping Satan.
Huh?
Haha, my little joke!
I see.
I had you there, didn’t I?
For a moment, I guess...
Hahaha. You Americans!
May we continue?
Be my guest.
So, with your discerning palate, I gather the toast struck you as quite bland.
Not really.
I picture you thinking, “Something’s missing here. Surely there’s a way to make this more flavorful.”
I can’t say that occurred to me, no.
But such drab food...
Good Lord, man, it was only roasted bread! How delicious was it supposed to be? Let’s not get carried away.
Well, then...
Yes? Spit it out!
What about the innovation you’re internationally famous for?
Which one?
You know, spreading stuff on toast.
What about it?
It wasn’t for the sake of flavor?
It had nothing to do with flavor—it happened by accident!
It did?
You Americans!
With all due respect, Monsieur, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop insulting my nationality.
What?! Get out of my house!

***

To read the rest, well, you’ll just have to buy the book!

Hot Stacks

Oh my god, you guys, I have to tell you about this awesome place I discovered. They let you pick out books to borrow, as many as you want, FOR FREE. No kidding. I mean, assuming you return them on time or miniscule charges will accrue. It’s called a “public library” and there’s one pretty much everywhere. There are free slow computers with even slower Internet access, too. Why haven’t we heard anything about these “public libraries” before?

Now that we’ve cancelled our Netflix account, discontinued our magazine subscriptions, and slashed every area of our budget besides mortgage, utilities, and food, I’m starting to explore all of the areas of the public library, not just the book section. Like the public restrooms. Just kidding, but did you know that you can rent DVDs? It’s true! Cookbooks? Of course. Magazines. Well, you can at least flip through them on-site and write out your freelance ideas onto note cards that will later be formulated into query letters that will be systematically rejected by every one of those publications because everyone has cancelled their magazine subscriptions. Apparently, I’m shooting myself in the foot with this whole library thing, but that’s okay because the building has these large, low buttons that, if you aim your cane just right, activate these automatic doors that open right in front of you. AMAZING!

Anyway, I’ve been reading a lot of books lately. First, I read all of the breast cancer memoirs that have been published, both to help me sort out some of this emotional baggage that’s been packed away for six months, and also to see if all of the cancer-related writing that I diverted away from this blog and into a folder in the dank basement recesses of my hard drive could be turned into anything useful. Maybe something that might help somebody else. But no, according to my formal queries. Apparently, cancer’s not funny. Really? It’s not? Thanks for telling me. Also, it’s overpublished. Call us back when you have a more obscure, deadlier disease. Okay. I’ll keep my fingers crossed! Also, nobody reads essays anymore. Are you sure about that? Short-form writing is dead. (cough) Twitter.

But that’s okay. I didn’t want to write about cancer anyway. Cancer doesn’t deserve it. So I’m back to reading food books, and, my oh my, do I love them. Here are some of my favorites:

• Cod by Mark Kurlansky. Doesn’t this sound like the most boring read ever? About a fish. Well, it’s not. The history and plight of the cod are fascinating and still very important today. If only my high school social studies teachers were able to convey history so enjoyably. Kurlansky also wrote Salt about the humble mineral that changed the world.

• Farm City by Novella Carpenter. A UC Berkeley grad moves to Oakland and starts a small urban farm amid the gangs and crackhouses. First it’s just vegetables, but soon she’s raising poultry, bees, rabbits, and pigs. From dumpster-diving for pig chow to navigating the transition from life to their inevitable death, her writing is full of dry humor and a passionate love of food.

• A Platter of Figs by David Tanis. Written by the co-chef of Chez Panisse, this cookbook is full of relatively simple, seasonal menu ideas that will put your farm vegetables to good use. The photography is absolutely gorgeous and makes you yearn for in-season cherry tomato crostini with ricotta and Vietnamese cucumbers. The Preschooler was fascinated by this book and made me help him read the recipe names over and over and over again. I didn’t mind a bit.

• The Jungle Effect by Daphne Miller. Possibly my favorite so far (though I haven’t finished it), this book examines how certain indigenous diets evolved, from Mexico to Cameroon, and how they relate to low incidences of diabetes, cancer, and heart disease in those same populations. The idea is to examine how some of these concepts can be applied to our diet today to help counteract the negative impacts of a modern, industrialized diet. Fascinating stuff, I tell you. Very interesting psychological insights as well. There are a couple of copies available at the Lexington and Medfield libraries, if you’re interested (you can also request that a copy be sent to your own branch if you’re part of the Minuteman Library Network).

So, what else have you guys been reading lately?

Last Raffle Winner

And the winner of The Devil’s Food Dictionary is…Alexis!

Wow, I couldn’t have rigged that any better if I tried. Alexis is the reigning champion of codeSparrow so far, and I was worried that I’d have to come up with some kind of prizes for that site, too. And I’m running out. We’re down to just my sauerkraut at this point and, given how tasty it came out this time (finally), I’m hard-pressed to share. Plus, is it gross to eat somebody else’s sauerkraut? I hope not since we had our neighbors over last weekend for a sauerkraut bake with pork chops and brats and, now that I think about it, I haven’t heard from them since. Hello?

Anyway, thanks to everyone for participating. I wish I had something for each of you. And thanks to Husband for policing the whole raffling process. He’ll make an honest woman out of me, yet. Maybe.

Suddenly UnScrooge-Like, Part 3

Up for grabs in our next and final raffle is a brand new (dare I say autographed?) copy of one of the best food books out there, if truth and factual accuracy mean nothing to you. I’ve written about The Devil’s Food Dictionary: A Pioneering Culinary Reference Work Consisting Entirely of Lies before, and I likely will again. I will continue to write about this book until it takes its rightful place on shelves alongside (maybe even in front of) Ruhlman and Bourdain and Fisher. An excerpt:

fig Known as "Nature's racy metaphor," the fig is a luscious tree fruit that, at its ripest and most succulent, has a disreputable air of wantonness and sensuality. Figs can be dried into a tasty, durable snack food or incorporated, either dried or fresh, into works of fiction. Adam and Eve are said to have employed fig leaves to "cover their shame" after their expulsion from Eden. Sometime later, their son Cain murdered his brother Abel after the latter publicly joked that a whole leaf was not necessary to cover Cain's shame, but merely a single fig.

See? It’s good, wholesome fun for the whole family!

You may remember author Barry Foy as the guest poster extraordinaire who introduced us to his canned bean CSA over the summer. I came along to his Toot Hollow Farm CSA pickup last fall down a long, long, very long asphalt road in the middle of nowhere, pepper spray hidden in my pocket and firmly in my grasp the whole time, and, let me tell you, it was a delight! Really, you smell it before you see it.

Anyhoo, he just did a book signing thing out in Seattle as well as a radio interview that was pretty funny. If you’d like a chance to win this book, I’ll meet you down there in the comment section.

Misunderstanding Michael Pollan: The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Chapter 7

It's been a while, so let's recap.  So far, Michael Pollan has advocated unlimited unprotected sex, bombing the shit out of as many countries as possible, bringing back the pre-Prohibition days of public drunkenness, and reinstituting enforced busing into our white, white, cowless suburbs.  Now I can understand why he’s earned his reputation as a radical. 

After all this, and on our seventh date, the last place I expected him to take me was McDonald's.  But okay, Michael Pollan, if you're buying.  A large fries, please.  Oh, and a strawberry shake.

In the last chapter of the corn section, Pollan drives home the point that corn is in everything we eat (remember the two-bit ho?).  From the meat that has been fattened on corn, to the corn syrup used as a sweetener, to the cornstarch and corn flour used to bind and bulk, to the fat used to fry.  Whether you're buying a prepackaged meal at the grocery store or grabbing a quick bite at a fast food joint, you can count on about 60% of the calories, on average, to come from corn.

Still, even Michael Pollan admits he isn't immune to corn's cunning charms:

"I ate a lot of McDonald's as a kid....  I loved everything about fast food: the individual portions all wrapped up like presents...; the familiar meaty perfume of the French fries filling the car; and the pleasingly sequenced bite into a burger—the soft, sweet roll, the crunchy pickle, the savory moistness of the meat."

You're really speaking my language, Michael Pollan.  Keep it coming.

"Well-designed fast food has a fragrance and flavor all its own...this generic fast-food flavor is one of the unerasable smells and tastes of childhood—which makes it a kind of comfort food.  Like other comfort foods, it supplies (besides nostalgia) a jolt of carbohydrates and fat, which, some scientists now believe, relieve stress and bath the brain in chemicals that make it feel good."

Uh-huh, tell me more.

"...but after a few bites I'm more inclined to think they're selling something more schematic than that—something more like a signifier of comfort food.  So you eat more and eat more quickly, hoping somehow to catch up to the original idea of a cheeseburger or French fry as it retreats over the horizon.  And so it goes, bite after bite, until you feel not satisfied exactly, but simply, regrettably, full."

Well, that was downer.  Note to Michael Pollan: if you're trying to sex me up, use more descriptors like "meaty perfume" and "savory moistness."  Still, I know what he means.  It’s like eating cheap chocolate.  I can eat 25 Hershey bars and still hanker for more, but give me a single, well-made truffle and I'm good.  (Congratulations, Hershey.  I guess you win.)

Anyway, this concludes the Corn section, thank god.  It’s only been six months.  Now we can move on to the section we've all been waiting for: Grass.  (Pass the French fries.)

The Devil Is In the Details

Rejoice Devil’s Food Dictionary lovers, your prayers have finally been answered.  The complete Devil’s Food Dictionary by Barry Foy is out in book form, just in time for my birthday and the birthdays of other more prominent religious figures. 

What do I need another food dictionary for, you might ask?  I already have the Food Lover’s Companion by Sharon Tyler Herbst, and she ROCKS. 

She does rock.  No question.  But let’s see what she has to say about cannibals:

Actually, she seems to have forgotten to include an entry for cannibals.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  But not Barry Foy.  Let’s see his definition:

“Cannibal: A person who engages in the culinary equivalent of incest, that is, a hunter-gatherer who hunts and gathers other hunter-gatherers, usually while they are out gathering, because they tend to be less alert at that time than when they are out hunting.  Cannibals often consume particular parts in hopes of magically improving their own corresponding parts.  For example, a warrior might eat an admired rival’s heart so as to increase the boldness of his own heart.  In a similar spirit, he might make a meal of his neighbor’s nubile and attractive wife.”

I’m sorry, what were we talking about? 

Oh yeah, buying this book.  If you know anyone who loves food, or hates food, or has a love/hate relationship with food, then this is the book for them.

I’ll leave you with one more to ponder:

“Love: The universal nutrient, adaptable to all human cuisines.  This affordable, easy-to-use substance enhances the nutritional value of virtually any dish.  Dissolved easily in water, wine, milk, oil, gravy, mayonnaise (store-bought or homemade), soy sauce, lard, ghee, or even Vegemite, it can be added either during or after food preparation and has an extremely long shelf life.  Significantly, love’s beneficial effects operate without regard to the skill level of the cook; in fact, many people look back fondly on dishes—sometimes whole meals—in which love was the only appealing or even palatable ingredient.  Best of all, love does not stain saucepans or kitchen countertops.”