FOOD ON THE FOOD

Summertime Crab Cakes

Wow, you guys. What a great response to my last post! Part of the fun of these giveaways is reading all of the comments from readers who share their brilliant ideas, like Melissa's beehive peaches, Gail's strawberry basil gimlet and grilled peach smash, and Erin's baked stuffed tomatoes with goat cheese fondue (thanks for the link, Martina!). What I'm trying to say is that with a community like you guys, we're ALL winners.

Cut the crap, Tammy, and just tell us who won.

Okay, fine. The winner of Home Made Summer is commenter number 19: Jill. Congratulations! I'll be in touch.

And now for the consolation prize: a crab cake recipe from the book! These crab cakes are probably the best I've ever made. The kids complained that the vegetable pieces were too big, so be sure to chop your onion and celery very finely if you want your "crabby patties" to go over well with the SpongeBob contingent.

Enjoy!


Crab Cakes with Paprika Mayo     

The mayo recipe makes a lot, so be prepared to find other uses for it, like spread on cubanos or other sandwiches or served with fried fish.

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 yellow onion, finely diced
2 ribs celery, finely diced
6 ounces fresh crab meat (or 1 small can, drained)
1-1/2 cups plain bread crumbs
1/2 cup crème fraîche
1 large egg, beaten
A few fresh basil leaves, chives, and parsley, minced
Salt and black pepper to taste
Oil for frying

Mayo
1 large egg yolk
Juice of 1 medium lemon
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
2 cups vegetable oil
2 tomatoes (canned are fine), seeded, chopped
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika (plain is fine, too)
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a skillet over medium heat, melt the butter and sauté the onion and celery for about 4 minutes, until translucent. Transfer the vegetables to a bowl and let cool. Flake the crab meat into the bowl with the veggies and add 3/4 cup of the bread crumbs (save the remaining bread crumbs for the coating). Add the crème fraîche, beaten egg, and herbs. Season with salt and pepper, and stir well to combine.

Shape the mixture into 8 equal balls slightly smaller than a baseball and flatten them (about 3/4-inch thick). Dredge the patties in bread crumbs until coated all over. In a nonstick pan, heat about 1/4 cup of oil over medium heat. Fry the patties for 2 to 3 minutes per side, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels.

For the mayo, combine the egg yolk, lemon juice, and mustard in a food processor. Process until foamy. With the motor running, pour the oil through the feed tube in a thin trickle until the mixture becomes a thick mayonnaise. Add the tomatoes, paprika, and salt and pepper at the end and process until incorporated. Serve with the crab cakes. (Store the remaining mayo in a jar in the refrigerator.)

Source: Adapted from Home Made Summer by Yvette van Boven

Rhode Island-Style Calamari

It occurred to me that in just a handful of years, my oldest son will be a teenager. A teenager!! This doesn't seem possible, and yet I would be lying if I said it felt like only yesterday when there was a 10-pound butterball turkey in my belly (well, 9 lbs. 12 oz. once he peed all over the OR staff). It doesn't feel like yesterday at all. But certainly not double-digit years before yesterday. Already he eats more than me and has the same size feet. I'm a little bit scared about the amount of food he's going to require once he doubles his weight and towers over me like his dad—and his little brother isn't far behind. I'll be cooking morning, noon, and night!

Nevertheless, my oldest is a joy to cook for because he likes so many of the same things I like, doesn't mind a little spice, and will eat any kind of seafood you throw at him. He particularly loves the Rhode Island-style calamari at the Chateau in Waltham. "Rhode Island-style" means the crispy fried rings and tentacles are tossed with thin loops of pickled hot peppers. The combination is utterly addictive. I knew it couldn't be that hard to make at home, and I planned to wing it using a jar of pepperoncini and some cherry-red peppadew peppers I had in the fridge. Then I found a Jasper White recipe from The Summer Shack Cookbook that tossed the whole shebang with garlic butter, and I couldn't find a single thing wrong with that.

According to White, Rhode Island has the largest squid-fishing fleet on the East Coast. You'll start to see local squid from Rhode Island in the spring, throughout the summer, and into the fall. I request half bodies and half tentacles because I love the fried tentacles best (more surface area for the crispy batter!). Banana peppers are traditional, but use whatever pickled hot peppers you desire. This was a hit with the whole family. Sure, the little one picked out the hot peppers—more for us. At this rate, the kids won't be getting any smaller, but I guess that's the whole idea behind this parenting thing.

Rhode Island-Style Calamari

The real trick is not to cook them too long or they will turn out as rubbery as a bicycle tire. A minute or less is all I needed. Cook a few and test for tenderness before proceeding with the rest. The original recipe doubled the garlic butter (which you may feel free to revert to), but I think it's plenty flavorful with half.

1 lb. cleaned medium squid (bodies and tentacles)
3/4 cup cornstarch
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne pepper (or 1 tsp. paprika)
Canola or peanut oil for deep-frying (about 6 cups)
1 cup buttermilk
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup sliced pickled peppers (like banana peppers, pepperoncini, or peppadew), drained

Cut the squid bodies into rings. Leave the tentacles whole unless they look ridiculously large. In a medium shallow bowl, combine the cornstarch, flour, cornmeal, salt, pepper, and cayenne/paprika. Pour buttermilk into another bowl. Line a rimmed sheet pan with paper towels.

Heat a heavy, medium, high-sided saucepan with 3 inches of oil until it reaches 375°F on a candy thermometer. Meanwhile, soak a few rings and tentacles in the buttermilk. With a slotted spoon, transfer to flour mixture and toss to coat. Scoop back up with the slotted spoon, shake off excess batter, and drop gently into hot oil. Cook 30 seconds to 1 minute until batter is golden but calamari is still tender. Transfer to paper towels to drain and sprinkle with salt while still hot. Repeat with remaining calamari in 4-5 batches. If the oil drops below 350°F, let it heat up again between batches. Transfer fried squid to serving platter.

In a small frying pan, melt the butter. Add the chopped garlic and sauté just until golden, 1-2 minutes. Add the sliced hot peppers and toss to coat. Drizzle calamari with garlic butter and peppers. Serve immediately with marinara sauce on the side if you like.

Source: Adapted from The Summer Shack Cookbook by Jasper White.

Ribfest Hush Puppies

Ribfest is a tradition of ours that started about 10 years ago with our next-door neighbors, and is somewhat legendary among our friends. 

It began as a potluck barbecue free-for-all with 40 people and three grills full of spicy, sticky ribs.  Because there was always a major extended downpour regardless of the date we chose, tarps were hoisted up between the two houses to keep the grills dry and the people around them slightly less dry.  Dining tables and card tables were pushed together like mismatched train cars winding their way around the first floor of our neighbor's house.  In later years, we all crammed ourselves onto our newly rebuilt front porch, piles of orange-streaked, wadded-up napkins littering the tables, rain pouring all around us.  It was fun, but a little crazy.  Turns out manning three grills at a slow, smoldering pace for 6 hours in the rain while keeping small children at bay is harder than it looks.

Over the years, the festivities have become scaled back to include mostly just ourselves and a few others.  The basic menu has remained more or less the same: our neighbors' spectacularly tender and flavorful ribs and their similarly amazing grilled beans.  My contribution has always involved hushpuppies, the deep-fried cornmeal fritters I fancied as a kid when we lived in the Chesapeake Bay area.  Depending on the year, I might also make collard greens, coleslaw, or fried okra.  Often, one or the other of us provides potato salad or cornbread or a green salad.  I always make a dessert. 

The main attraction, however, are the ribs.  Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to share the rib recipe.  I'm sorry to be a gigantic tease.  There's something magical about those ribs and I'm afraid if I learn the secret, the magic will be lost.  I can, on the other hand, share my recipe for hushpuppies—and I think you will find them to be completely irresistible.

 

Hushpuppies

For best results, use the finest ground cornmeal you can find.  Fry these right before you're going to serve them, as they don't improve upon sitting.  Give yourself a good 15-20 minutes to fry them all.  The recipe makes about 2 dozen, but you can double (or triple) the recipe as needed--just allow more time for frying and bring them out in installments.  Serve with corn and cayenne mayonnaise for a spicy kick.

2 cups yellow cornmeal, finely ground
1 Tbsp. flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 Tbsp. granulated sugar
2 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. garlic powder
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped scallion
1/2 cup frozen corn kernels, defrosted (optional)
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 cup buttermilk, plus an extra Tbsp. or two if necessary
Canola or peanut oil for frying

In a large mixing bowl, stir together the cornmeal, flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, sugar, onion powder, and garlic powder.  Add the onion, scallion, corn kernels, egg, and buttermilk and mix well.  I often add another 1-2 Tbsp. of buttermilk if it seems too thick, but much more liquid than that may cause painful oil splatters to occur while frying, so use caution.  Let batter rest 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat two inches of oil in a large heavy pot.  Use a candy thermometer to monitor the heat.  The ideal temperature for deep-frying is 375°F, but it will fluctuate as you take things in and out of the pot.  Adjust the heat as necessary.  Usher small children out of the room due to aforementioned splatters.  Fry hushpuppies 4 or 5 at a time until they turn a rich terracotta brown, then flip and fry on the other side (about 3 minutes total, but this will vary with temperature).  Remove from oil with tongs or slotted spoon.  Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with kosher salt.  Eat immediately.  (The small crispy bits rescued from the hot oil are the cook's reward!)


Corn and Cayenne Mayonnaise

This recipe makes about twice as much as you need for a single recipe of hushpuppies, but it's also delicious with cornmeal-crusted catfish.  Can be made a day ahead of time if kept refrigerated.

1 cup canola or vegetable oil, plus 1 Tbsp. to fry corn
1 cup corn kernels
1 clove garlic, peeled
2 egg yolks
2 Tbsp. vinegar
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4-1/2 tsp. cayenne
Lemon juice to taste

In a medium frying pan, heat 1 Tbsp. oil until hot and fry corn until nicely browned, about 2 minutes.  Let cool.

In a food processor, puree the cooled corn and garlic.  Add the egg yolks, vinegar, mustard, salt, sugar, paprika, and cayenne (start with 1/4 tsp.), and blend well. Through the feed tube, slowly add the oil with the machine running until fully emulsified. Taste to adjust seasoning, adding a little lemon juice or more salt and cayenne if necessary. 

Note: If your mayo should break, meaning separate into a curdled, disgusting mess, have no fear.  Separate another egg and add the yolk to a medium bowl (reserve the white in the fridge for another use).  Very slowly add the broken mayo to the egg yolk while whisking to incorporate until they are fully combined.  The new mayo should be smooth and more stable this time.  Dilute with water if too thick, whisking well.

Source: Adapted from The Cambridge School of Culinary Arts.

Local Ingredients:
Eggs: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Scallions: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Buttermilk: Kate's, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Mustard: Raye's Mustard, Eastport, ME

Lemony Asparagus Hummus

 Have you gotten your hands on any local asparagus, yet?  I did.  At Verrill Farm.  Where else have you guys found it? 

Regardless of where your asparagus came from, have I got a treat for you.  I mean, besides roasting the spears with little more than olive oil and some salt and pepper.  Lemony asparagus hummus.  I can’t stop eating this stuff.  Luckily, I don’t have to because it’s just asparagus and chickpeas and a few other little things that aren’t bad for you at all. 

Just try and stop me.  I dare you.

 

Lemony Asparagus Hummus

Serve with simple olive-oil-brushed, salt-and-peppered pita chips.  Or try the dukkah-spiced pita chips that accompanied this recipe in Yankee Magazine.

2 cups fresh asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 15-oz. can chickpeas, drained and rinsed well
2 medium cloves garlic
2 Tbsp. tahini, sesame paste
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of same lemon
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Bring a large pot of water to a boil.  Meanwhile, fill a large bowl with ice water and set aside.  To the boiling water, add a generous pinch of salt and the asparagus.  Return water to a boil and cook about 4 minutes, until spears are tender and bright green.  Drain asparagus and submerge in the ice bath for a minute or two to stop the cooking.  Drain and set aside.

In a food processor, puree the chickpeas, garlic, tahini, lemon zest, lemon juice, and asparagus.  With the machine running, slowly pour in olive oil and process until combined.  Season with salt and pepper.  Serve with pita (bread or chips) and vegetables.

Source: Adapted from Yankee Magazine in an article by Annie Copps. 

Cookbook Friday: Stuffed Mushrooms

Let’s talk about mushrooms!

I have a love/hate relationship with mushrooms.  I love to eat them, but sometimes they make me vomit.  Same with wine (why, God, why?) and, in an unexpected twist this week, sometimes summer squash.  But, like I said, I LOVE mushrooms and will choose to eat them based on how convenient it might be at that moment to vomit spontaneously.

What’s that you say?  It’s never convenient to vomit?  Well, you would be right, sir, but have you ever tasted mushrooms?  They’re delicious.  This is the dilemma of my life.

On the other hand, my dad, Freddie Donroe, has a hate/hate relationship with mushrooms.  Unlike all of the other things my dad claims to hate when he really just doesn’t realize he likes them, my dad really does hate mushrooms.  Here’s why.

When my dad was much, much younger, his father, Albert Donroe (my Poppi), used to take him to forage for mushrooms.  I assume, since Poppi’s family was from Naples, that this was in his blood, or, at the very least, he had some tutelage.  Poppi had a special place they always went, some woods near a quarry in Hamden, Connecticut (maybe East Rock, maybe Sleeping Giant).  There, according to my dad, Poppi would go over every rotting stump he could find and gather mushrooms of every shape and size.  To hear my dad tell the story, Poppi never turned one down, food poisoning be damned. 

After about 45 minutes, and what I can only imagine was my dad’s constant whining, they returned home so Poppi could cook them.  And this is where things got really ugly.  Sometimes, he cooked them in a sauce for spaghetti, but usually they were just sautéed.  The smell was so bad, my dad remembers, he’d completely lose his appetite.  I believe “hellacious” was the word he used to describe it.  Nobody else in the house would touch the stuff, so Poppi just cooked them for himself.  Meanwhile, my dad would make himself scarce for as long as the smell lingered.  To this day, he can’t stomach them.

Now, the question I have is, was Poppi really that bad of a cook?  Perhaps, not a very discriminating hunter/gatherer?  Or were they, in fact, delicious, but my dad just hates mushrooms?  Anyone else ever taste them?  Because I’m willing to bet I would have been smacking my lips, even as they were wheeling me to the ER.  (Poppi, by the way, is a whopping 93.)

The following recipe is Nonni’s Marchigiano recipe for stuffed mushrooms.  They have never made me vomit. 

 

Stuffed Mushrooms

The secret to these is long, slow cooking in a cool oven.  Don’t rush them.

10 oz. package button mushrooms
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. garlic, minced
¼ cup fresh bread crumbs
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 300°F.  To the bottom of an 8”x8” pan, add 1 Tbsp. of the oil. 

Using a damp towel, wipe dirt off of mushrooms.  Gently, pull out the stems and chop them finely.  In a medium bowl, combine chopped stems with garlic, bread crumbs, cheese, salt, and pepper.  Working over the bowl, mound stuffing into hollowed out mushrooms.  Set in oiled pan.  Drizzle with remaining 2 Tbsp. of oil.  Bake uncovered for 1 hour or longer (Nonni cooks the hell out of them and that’s how I like them). 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
Hamden, Connecticut
1918 -

 

Next: Baseball Cards

     (Previously: Squirrel Surprise)

Cookbook Friday: Fried Artichokes

               

This is my grandmother, Dora Barbaresi, posing on her wedding day with her mother-in-law, Margarite Donarumo.  I like the contrast between the New World and Old World in this picture, and the way Nonni has scooped up her veil so casually. 

Dora remembers how different the Italian cooking was between her northern Italian family and that of her Neapolitan husband.  She especially remembers the fried artichokes.  Margarite used baby artichokes.  Old, dried out ones were fine because you would only keep the hearts and throw away everything else (whereas, stuffed artichokes demand very fresh, large artichokes since eating the edible parts of the leaves is half the fun).  Though the recipe for fried artichoke hearts wasn’t written down, Dora watched Margarite make them many times.  This is how she remembers it.

 

Fried Artichoke Hearts

Prepare to eat all of these right away.  Restraint is utterly foolish.

8 baby artichokes, 4 regular artichokes, or a bag of frozen (or canned) artichoke         hearts (not marinated)
1 lemon
1 egg
½ cup flour
Salt, to taste
Vegetable oil for frying

Frozen or canned artichoke hearts are ready to use as is (you know, after defrosting or de-canning/draining them), so skip to the last paragraph.

To clean and trim fresh artichokes, snap off the dark, tough outer leaves at the base and trim the stem.  Cut artichoke in half and scrape out the fuzzy choke with a spoon, leaving just the heart and the tender inner leaves.  (Sam of Becks & Posh has a lovely pictorial guide that shows how to get to the heart of an artichoke).  Cut in half again so the baby artichoke heart is now in quarters (cut larger artichoke hearts into eighths).  Place the wedges into a bowl of water with the juice of one lemon. 

In a deep pot, pour oil to a depth of 2 inches.  Heat oil to 375°F.  Beat egg in a small bowl.  Mix flour and salt in another bowl.  Drain, rinse, and pat dry artichokes.  Dredge them in beaten egg and then flour.  Fry the artichokes, several at a time, and remove when golden brown.  Let drain on paper towels and season with salt.  Serve immediately.  And, now they're gone.

Margarite [Avallone] Donarumo
Naples, Italy - New Haven, Connecticut
1877 - 1956

 

Next Recipe: Clam Sauce

     (Previous Recipe: Zeppole)

Cookbook Friday: Friselles

The Barbaresi family in 1925.  Clockwise from left: Dora, George, Jean, Eva, Anne, Lydia, Edith, Septimina, and Dava Barbaresi.  According to Dora (my grandmother), she is pouting because she didn’t get to sit in a chair like her younger sisters.  Septimina died of pneumonia within months of this photograph.  Gerry, the only surviving son, was born two years later.

In Italy, there is a saying: “Better a corpse in the house than a Marchigiano at the door.” 

They couldn’t be more right.  Marchigianos are my people.  Northern Italians who hail from the often-overlooked Marches region of Italy, just across the tracks (in this case, mountains), from Tuscany.  I say northern Italian, but really it’s about five paces north of the Italian equator, if there were such a thing, but somehow this makes a big difference to my grandmother.

Anyway, the reputation Marchigianos had, as I understand it, was due to the fact that they comprised the vast majority of tax collectors at one time in the Old Country.  If the taxes weren’t paid, then there would be hell to pay instead.  And I can believe it. 

But my relatives weren’t tax collectors; they were farmers in the little town of Castelvecchio.  And they cooked in the true peasant style.  Suffice it to say that there wouldn’t be a corpse in the house if there were a Marchigiano in the kitchen.

George Barbaresi and Lydia Belbusti, in the photo above, were both born in the Marches and immigrated to the U.S. independently of each other by way of New Haven, Connecticut.  In some pre-Internet, trans-Atlantic feat of communication that only Italians could pull off, they were set up on a blind date/arranged marriage in this country by their families back in Italy, or so it goes.  When they met for the first time, George reportedly offered Lydia the following proposal: “Will you have my babies?” 

It appears that she agreed.  They were married in 1910, and raised seven children (two others died very young).  They lived in a rented flat in New Haven during the Depression.  The daughters went to school until about age 14, when they were old enough to work in the dress factories to help support the family.  Their everyday dresses were made from flour sacks.  Only the youngest child, a son, was able to go to college.

Most of the recipes I have came from the little girl on the left, Dora (my grandmother, who I’ve always called Nonni), who learned the dishes from her mother, who learned them from her mother.  I’m not sure of the extent to which these recipes have diverged over time from the original Marches recipes, but they have not changed much over the lifetimes of my relatives who grew up on them. 

They would never let that happen!

Friselles

These peppery little biscuits are an acquired taste to many.  But once you’re bit, they’re addictive.  We keep bags in the freezer (courtesy of Nonni) and wash them down with non-Italian beer.

3½ cups flour
3 Tbsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1½ Tbsp. black pepper, coarsely ground
1 cup water
¾ cup oil

Preheat oven to 300 F.  Grease a large sheet pan.

In a large bowl, mix flour, baking powder, salt, and pepper.  Make a well and add water and oil.  Mix well (the dough will be soft and oily).  Form dough into several thin logs (about the diameter of a nickel) by rolling against the countertop.  Slice into pieces about 1/4-inch thick and set on pan.  Press thumb into the center of each coin to form a large indentation.  Bake for 25-30 minutes, flipping once halfway through before bottoms start to color.  Cool. 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
New Haven, Connecticut
1918 -

Next Recipe: Chicken Soup

Ana Sortun’s New Book: Spice

Okay, poultry week is officially over.  It’s time to move on to more serious business.

Last Wednesday, I went to a cookbook signing and demonstration by Ana Sortun (James Beard Award-winning chef of Oleana in Cambridge) at the CSCA.  Her book, Spice: Flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, is a fascinating introduction to the herbs, spices, and cooking techniques of Turkey and its Middle Eastern neighbors.

What’s unusual about this cookbook is that the recipes are arranged by spice rather than by course.  She introduces you to three spices in the same general flavor family, like Aleppo, Urfa, and paprika (all chiles), and provides recipes that use those spices.  That way, if you’re fresh out of Aleppo and have to buy a whole container just for a couple of teaspoons, you don’t have to look far to use up the rest.  Assuming you like it.  And you will. 

Many of the spices covered are fairly common (cumin, oregano, nutmeg), but the way in which she uses them is not.  Fried haloumi cheese with pear and spiced dates; roasted beets with toasted orange aioli and pine nuts; squash kibbeh with brown butter and spiced feta.  I have one word.  Yum.

Other spices she showcases are still shrouded in a bit of mystery in this part of the world.  Take her recipe for chicken lamejun with roasted peaches, pistachio, and sumac.  If you’re starting to feel itchy all over, it’s not the same sumac.  This one is made from the berries of one of the non-poisonous varieties.  It’s subtle and lemony, without the pesky rash.

She brought in samples of sumac to taste, as well as za’atar (a wild herb that reminded me of marjoram) and fenugreek leaves (maple syrup in a surprising leaf form).  Sortun predicts that za’atar will be the next big thing in spice, with traces of it showing up on plates by Daniel Boulud and Jean-Georges Vongerichten.  There have also been murmurs that Frito-Lay is hard at work on their next ad campaign for Doritos with a Hint of Za’atar (how can we make this Arabic word seem less threatening?  I know, it rhymes with guitar!). 

To stock your spice cabinet, Sortun recommends Sevan Bakery in Watertown and Christina’s Spice Shop in Cambridge.  I would also add the Syrian Grocery in the South End.  But outside the city, you can’t beat mail order: www.kalustyans.com.

So, here’s what you’ve been waiting for: a sneak peek.  This recipe for whipped feta with sweet and hot peppers is tried and true (she gave it to me years ago for another story and, since then, I’ve made it approximately 453 times).  It features in the cookbook, except smoked paprika has been substituted for smoked black pepper because it’s easier to find.  I’m keeping the original, though, because I couldn’t make it any other way.

Whipped Feta with Sweet and Hot Peppers

3 red bell peppers, roasted*, peeled and seeded
2 cups French sheep’s milk feta
1 tsp. Aleppo chiles
½ cup olive oil
1 tsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. Urfa chiles
½ tsp. smoked black pepper

In a food processor, puree the roasted peppers and add the rest of the ingredients until it’s smooth and creamy. Pour into a bowl and chill for at least a half hour.  Sprinkle with more Aleppo and Urfa chiles.  Serve with cucumber or pita.

*To roast the red peppers, preheat the oven to 400˚F.  On baking pan, roast the peppers for about 8 minutes or until they collapse.  Put them in a bowl covered with plastic and let steam for 5 minutes.  Peel off the skin.  You can also cook the peppers over the flame of your gas burner.  Char on each side, about 3-4 minutes.  Let steam in bowl for 5 minutes and then peel.  Alternatively, you can set fire to them in your backyard.  When the flames subside, they’re done.)

Source: Ana Sortun (except for the backyard bonfire part.  That was me).  Used with permission.