FOOD ON THE FOOD

The Next Chapter

Well, hello, dear readers. Fancy seeing you still here. I know I’ve been a very bad food blogger lately. My posts are sporadic and not very interesting, recipes are few and far between, and there’s hardly any swearing at all. What gives?

OK, I’ll come clean. I’ve decided to retire Food on the Food.

I’ve been wrestling with this for a while. This is my 10th year blogging, and that’s an eternity in internet years. In fact, it’s the longest job I’ve ever had. It was also my favorite job. Sure, the pay stunk, but what else is new? Instead of raking in the dough, I raked in the doughnuts. There’s something to be said for alternative currencies.

When I first started FotF, I was a brand new parent grappling with my untested role as a mother while trying to conserve a piece of my pre-mom psyche. This blog was my sole creative outlet, a place to experiment with my writing, my food, and myself. It always made me feel free. Writing is a somewhat selfish act for me, so I was surprised when other people starting reading too. I really enjoyed this newfound audience—any writer would—but the truth is I still would have written for an audience of one.

Over the years, the blog saw me through some tough times. It also brought incredible opportunities my way, like the chance to write a cookbook, which I enthusiastically embraced (and then another book). I got to be on NPR's All Things Considered. And I wrote a cover story for Fine Cooking magazine. It also brought me the chance to be on a Food Network reality show, which I declined. (That's just not me no matter how you slice it.)

Now I find myself in the role of a more experienced parent, author, cook, teacher, and, against all odds, gardener. More things are competing for my attention now, and I feel like I need to let go of some of the old in order to experience more of the new. And I know this is weird coming from the girl who hates change, but change is coming whether I like it or not. It’s time.

I’m excited to find out what’s next. I hope to write lots of new stories in new ways. Maybe not about food. Maybe further afield. I don’t have any idea what the future holds, but I’m going to keep an open mind. I was very lucky to be able to do what I love for 10 years, and there’s no reason to believe I won’t continue to do what I love for 10 more. I’ll keep the blog up and searchable for the foreseeable future, so don’t panic if you haven’t printed out your favorite recipes yet (but don’t wait too long!).

Thanks so much for reading, whether it was for all 10 years or just the past 10 seconds. I enjoyed sharing my life with you (from a safe distance). I hope you all continue to cook, read, and live joyfully. Maybe drop me a line sometime and let me know how you’re doing. Life is short. Make it count. And eat well!

 

Smoked Bluefish

Earlier this summer, we were hanging out at Nickerson State Park by one of the kettle ponds. Husband’s brother was in town from Colorado, and the men were fishing while the boys and I swam. When we reconvened on the beach, an older man noticed the fishing poles and started talking to us. He’d brought his family to that campground every year for the past 20 years, and they liked to smoke trout, salmon, bluefish, whatever they could get their hooks or hands on from the nearby waters. Then he proceeded to outline his entire smoking process in great detail. An old Russian recipe, he said.

You can imagine how excited I was by this point in the conversation. Forget salmon, my head was swimming with notions of smoked bluefish. I had no note-taking apparatus apart from my feeble brain, but I wrote down as much as I could remember once we got back to our cottage rental. This is exactly the kind of puzzle I like to solve. A bunch of clues to work with, some mysterious unknowns, and the vague promise of dinner.

Back home with my charcoal grill, I got right down to business. The recipe below is what I did. It’s not an exact replica of that old family recipe, but a close accounting of what I remember from the conversation, plus some smoking tips from the Internet (specifically Dave’s Cupboard, Barefoot Kitchen Witch, and Hunter Angler Gardner Cook), and my own personal additions. No smoker necessary. The technique is for a regular old charcoal grill. The resulting fish came out so well, I couldn’t even believe it. Neither could Husband. It was great smoky fun for an afternoon (and evening, as I found myself outside in the dark at 9 pm with a headlamp unsure of how to tell when the fish was done).

A hearty thank you to the man on the beach. I hope he will forgive me—I don’t think we ever exchanged names, but I owe him a bottle of vodka.


Smoked Bluefish

This works for salmon, trout, or whatever other fish you feel like smoking. For wood chips, my source recommended alder, but I couldn’t find it so I used hickory instead.

Brine
1 quart cold water
1/2 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup sugar
2 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. black peppercorns
2 bay leaves

1-lb. fillet of bluefish (or more!)
Freshly ground black pepper
4 cups wood chips (like alder, hickory, or apple), soaked in water

In a large baking dish or gallon-size resealable storage bag, stir together all the brine ingredients until the salt dissolves. Rinse the fish well and submerge it in the brine. Refrigerate 4-48 hours until ready to smoke. The brine adds flavor and keeps the fish moist during the smoking process, not to mention helping with preservation.

Pat the fish dry and let it sit in the refrigerator for several hours so the surface dries out further. This step enables the smoke to adhere to the outside of the fish forming a flavorful pellicle. That’s what they call the shiny, dark, lacquer-like surface of properly smoked fish. I’ve read that you know your fish is dry enough when the surface feels slightly tacky, but mine never felt more than just dry and it came out fine. The point is, you don’t want to smoke a wet piece of fish or it won’t turn out as smoky as you want.

Smoke the fish at 200°F for the first hour, then 150°F for the next 2-3 hours until done. For a charcoal grill, you need to get your coals started at least an hour ahead of time, maybe two, in order to give them time to cool to the right temperature. I filled my chimney starter less than halfway up, lit them, let them ash over for 20 minutes, then spread the ashy coals on one side of the grill. I replaced the grate, adjusted the bottom vent so it was halfway closed, and replaced the lid, making sure the top vent was fully open. I inserted a thermometer through the top vent to keep track of the temperature, and when it was 225°-230°F, I added 6 or 7 more coals, and a handful of wet wood chips over the top. Then I sprinkled black pepper over the fish and put it on the other side of the grate away from the coals for indirect heat, skin side down, and closed the lid.

I watched the temperature creep slowly back up to around 200°F. Then I’d check the heat every 15 or 20 minutes. If it went over 200°F, I’d close the bottom vent a bit. If it got too cool, I’d open the bottom vent a bit. (If you close the bottom vent entirely, you’ll put the fire out, so open up the lid and double check that the vent is still partly open if you're not sure.) When the smoke stopped coming out of the top vent, I added a handful of wood chips on top of the coals. Every hour or so, I added more new coals to the pile to keep the heat going. Oh yeah, and you want to do all this while opening the grill lid as infrequently as possible to prevent the giant influxes of oxygen that stoke the heat. There’s an art to this, and I’m still learning, but this worked for me. The heat stayed between 150°F and 220°F for four hours, until the fish felt firm but not dried out like jerky. For food safety reasons, you want the internal temperature of the fish to reach 160°F at some point in the cooking process. Consider that my disclaimer.

Smoked fish will last up to 2 weeks in the fridge, but ours was gone long before then. Eat it on toasted baguette with goat cheese, red onion, capers, and dill. Flake it onto salads. Make a sandwich. Or paté. Mix it with pasta. Serve it over curried rice. It’s delicious!

Ridiculously Good Fried Chicken

I hope everyone’s hungry for some Saint Paddy’s Day fried chicken!

Okay, you got me. We’re not really having fried chicken tonight—we’re having Irish boiled dinner, just as Husband’s Irish ancestors intended. But I have a big backlog of posts and none of them has an Irish theme, so fried chicken it is! We’re very loose with the schedule around here. You can still drink your green beer, though, so pipe down.

This recipe is based on my Southern grandmother’s version of fried chicken, with a few twists to make it my own. While you can deep-fry the chicken pieces until shatteringly crisp in a Fry-o-later or Dutch oven full of oil, I tend to use her shallow pan-frying technique instead, which uses far less oil. It still yields a crispy product, though I don’t fully understand how. It seems like covering the pan to finish the cooking would trap steam and make the coating soggy, but somehow it still stays plenty crisp. Huzzah! The kids love it.

Use a great-tasting, local-farm-raised chicken if you can for the best flavor. Then there's no need to brine the chicken ahead of time. Mashed potatoes and braised collard greens complete the meal. (See? I snuck some green in at the very end!)


Southern Fried Chicken  

My grandmother dipped the chicken pieces in beaten egg, but I like to use buttermilk. Or, if we’re out of buttermilk like we were last week, I thin some yogurt with milk. The spices are all to taste. Use what you like. I never make it the same way twice.

1 medium whole chicken, cut up, or 2-3 lbs. of your favorite parts, bone in, skin on
1/2 cup buttermilk (I use Kate’s)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. dried thyme
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1/4 tsp. dried sage
1/4 tsp. black pepper
Dash of cayenne
1/4 cup vegetable oil

Rinse and dry the chicken parts, and sprinkle them with a little salt and pepper. Pour the buttermilk into a small bowl. In a medium shallow dish, combine the flour and all the seasonings. You can either use this bowl to bread the chicken pieces, or you can toss the mixture into a clean brown paper bag. I usually do the latter so I can shake them around. Two at a time, dip the chicken parts into the buttermilk and then dip them in the flour, moving the pieces around until they’re fully coated. Shake off the excess flour, then set them on a large plate until ready to fry.

In a large cast iron or other heavy bottomed frying pan, heat the oil until shimmery hot, but not smoking. Make sure the pan has a lid nearby, or borrow one from another similarly sized pan. Fry the chicken in two batches, about 4-5 minutes per side, until golden. Return all the chicken to the pan in one layer if possible, or stacked if necessary. Cover and reduce the heat to low. Cook for about 15 more minutes until cooked through to the bone. Transfer the chicken to a plate lined with paper towels and season with salt. Serve immediately. If there are leftovers, and there probably won’t be, don't heat them up in the microwave—use the oven or toaster oven instead to maintain the crispness.

*I’m not much of a gravy girl, but if you want gravy, here’s what my grandmother used to do. Pour off all but 1 Tbsp. of the oil from the pan. Over medium heat, whisk in 1 Tbsp. of any leftover flour mixture (or 1 Tbsp. new flour) and cook it for a minute. Then whisk in about half a can of evaporated milk (NOT condensed milk), whisking constantly to scrape up the brown bits and simmering until it reaches the desired consistency. (You could also use 1/2 cup regular milk—it'll just take longer to cook down to the right consistency, maybe 5-10 minutes). Season with salt and pepper, and any other seasonings you enjoy.

Mexican Lime Curd

If you want to taste sunshine without leaving the frosty confines of your ice house, have I got a recipe for you: Lime Curd.

Maybe initially that doesn’t sound very enticing. Perhaps it conjures up images of congealed proteins bathed in sour juices. If so, that’s entirely the wrong idea. Think of citrus curd as a smooth, luscious pudding packed with tartness. The bright acidity hits you like a smack of cold air while the generous butter content swaddles your tongue like a warm blanket. Lemon curd is usually what people swoon over, especially when Meyer lemons are in season. But I love limes, and I’m here to tell you that lime curd can do battle with lemon curd any day of the week.

First, a bit about limes. Supermarket limes are typically Persian limes. You can make lime curd with these limes and it will be delicious (in fact, there’s a recipe for curd using regular limes in my cookbook). But I had the great fortune to end up with Mexican limes the other day. Mexico grows two kinds of limes, the ubiquitous Persian limes I just mentioned and a slightly smaller native lime, a variety that is better known as the famous Key lime. Here in the States, when limes are labeled as Mexican limes, you’re usually just getting Mexican-grown Persian limes. But every once in a while, you’ll end up with Mexican-grown Mexican limes. You probably won’t even know it until you leave them on the counter for a while and instead of staying green (or turning brown), they turn yellow like lemons. These limes are more acidic and have a bracing complexity that's hard to resist. They are widely considered to be the very best limes by the people in charge of limes.

You know how crazy people get for Key lime pie, right? Well, this Mexican lime curd is like Key lime pie without the crust. You can just spoon it out of the jar for a spontaneous burst of happiness. It’s also good on biscuits, scones, or coconut macadamia shortbread (WINTERSWEET, p. 92). Mexican limes tend to be larger than Key limes, so it doesn’t take as many or as long to juice them, but the two are interchangeable.

This curd is magical. It is delightful. And it is yours.

Mexican Lime Curd  

I’d recommend organic limes for this recipe since you’ll be using the outer peel. If not, you’ll want to scrub them well. Also, just a note that the finished curd is bright yellow, not green. That’s no mistake. The color is influenced more by the egg yolks than the juice or zest.

1 Tbsp. finely grated lime zest (shiny outer part only, not the bitter white pith)
1 1/4 cup granulated sugar
3 eggs, well beaten
3/4 cup freshly squeezed lime juice from 6 Mexican limes (or ~12 Key limes)
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter
Pinch of salt

Place a large bowl half-full of ice water near the stove. Next to that, set a wire-mesh strainer nested inside a medium metal bowl.

In a medium saucepan, rub the lime zest into the sugar with your fingers until moist and fragrant. Whisk in the beaten eggs and lime juice. Add the butter and salt, and set the pot over medium-low heat. Cook, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the butter melts and the mixture thickens, 5 to 10 minutes. Do not boil. Wait for when the mixture thickens to the consistency of a loose pudding. It should coat the back of a spoon, leaving a distinctive track when you run your finger through it. At this point, remove the pot from the heat.

Set the bowl with the strainer inside the ice bath, and quickly pour the curd through the strainer into the bowl, using a rubber scraper to force the curd through the sieve. (The ice bath halts the cooking and the strainer is insurance to remove any overcooked egg proteins that may arise. Be sure to scrape as much of the curd as possible off the underside of the strainer.)

Let the curd cool for a half hour before pouring it into small jars. The curd will thicken further and the flavor will intensify as it chills. Keep refrigerated for up to 2 weeks.

Posole (Spicy Pork and Hominy Stew)

Our friend B is from Albuquerque, New Mexico. That means not only does he recognize all of the landmarks in Breaking Bad, but he also makes a mean posole. He makes this spicy pork and hominy stew every year for the holiday caroling party that he and his wife host, and every year they have to tear me away from the crock, even the times when it’s so spicy that my eyes burn and turn bloodshot and I break out into hives. I may look like a meth addict, but, fear not, it’s just a pepper problem. Half of my taste buds say yes, and the other half (along with my entire immune system) say nooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

This is my toned-down gringo version of posole. It has all the authenticity of the traditional dish with none of the pain. I add half of the pepper paste in the beginning of the cooking time. Later, I taste and tailor how much more I add at the end depending on how potent my particular peppers are. Then I serve more pepper paste at the table for people to customize their own bowls. Feel free to increase the peppers even more if you enjoy the sensation of a thousand Africanized bees attacking your face.

This recipe has become a huge hit with the whole family. Perfect for these frigid wintry nights.

Posole  

Hominy is a type of hard-kernel white or yellow corn that is precooked in an alkaline solution to remove the hull. The resulting kernels swell up to the size of garbanzo beans and they're equally tender. They add a mild, tortilla-like flavor to the stew. You can buy hominy in cans (Goya is one brand) in the ethnic section of the grocery store. You can also buy it frozen or dried. If dried, you will need to soak it overnight and expect a longer cooking time.

8-10 dried New Mexico chiles (look for big bags in the ethnic aisle of the store)
2-4 cups hot water
3 Tbsp. vegetable oil
2 lb. pork shoulder (with or without bone)
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 Tbsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. dried oregano
3 cups chicken stock (or two cups plus one cup of beer)
1 bay leaf
1 29-oz. can hominy, strained and rinsed
Salt and black pepper to taste
Diced avocado, fresh cilantro, and sour cream for topping
(Other options: shredded cabbage, sliced radishes)

Place the dried chiles in a large bowl and cover them with hot water. Set a small plate on top to weigh them down if necessary. Let them soak 15-20 minutes until softened.

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large Dutch oven. Dry off the pork shoulder with paper towels and season it with plenty of salt and pepper. Brown the pork on all sides over medium-high heat, letting it sit on one side without moving until browned, then repeat on the next side, then the next, etc.

While the pork is browning, remove the peppers from the soaking water (reserve the water). Pull off the stems and remove most of the seeds from the hot peppers. Be careful not to touch your eyes or any other sensitive areas with your hands while working with hot peppers. You only have to learn that lesson once. Add the peppers to a blender and pour in enough of the soaking water to allow the mechanism to puree the mixture smoothly. You want a fluid reddish-brown slurry with no chunks. Pour the pepper mixture into a small bowl and set aside.

Remove the pork from the pot and place it on a large plate. Reduce the heat to medium and immediately add the chopped onion. Sauté until the onions are translucent, about 4 minutes. Stir in the garlic and sauté until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the cumin and oregano and stir briefly. Then add the chicken stock (and beer, if you like). Drop in the bay leaf. Stir in about half of the hot pepper paste. Add the pork and its juices back to the pot and increase the heat.  Add enough of the reserved pepper soaking water that the cooking liquid comes halfway up the side of the meat. Reserve the rest of the soaking water in case you need to add more later. Cover the pot and reduce the heat to medium-low to maintain a low simmer. Cook until tender, turning the meat occasionally, for about 3 hours.

Add the hominy and continue to simmer, uncovered, for another hour or until the pork is practically falling apart. Remove the bay leaf. Transfer the pork to a cutting board and pull it apart into bite-sized chunks. Return the meat to the pot. Taste to determine if it needs more pepper paste. Add as much as you want, reserving some for the table. If the broth is too thick, you can thin it with some of the pepper soaking water. Season with salt and pepper. Serve the stew with the toppings of your choice. I like cilantro, diced avocado, and maybe a bit of sour cream.

[To make this dish in a crockpot, you can brown the meat on the stovetop (or skip that part). When you get to the fourth paragraph, just add all of the ingredients to the slow cooker. Cook according to the manufacturer’s instructions, adding the hominy during the last hour or two of cooking. Pick up at the fifth paragraph where it says: Remove the bay leaf.]

Shrimp Tostadas with Lime Crema

Ladies and gentleman, I present the 11YO's dinner debut.

The other day, my eldest son asked me to teach him how to cook. Come again, I said? He repeated that he wanted to learn how to cook.

My first thought, of course, was drugs. My god, he's only been in middle school for two weeks and already they've recognized his knack for science and dragged him into some kind of peer pressure underground meth lab type of situation. My eyes must have gone all big and scary because he slowly backed over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and pointed to its stacked contents.

Oh, wait. He means food.

In order to understand my reaction, you need only take a quick glimpse into my childhood where you would find me pretty much anywhere else but in the kitchen. Did I want to help peel the carrots, shuck the corn, wash the potatoes? No, I did not. At the first sound of pans clanging, I was halfway across the neighborhood. It wasn't until late high school and into college that I realized, hey, wait a minute, who's going to feed me when I turn 18?

Now I have kids of my own. Ideally, I would have been teaching them how to cook all along so they don't end up in the same situation. Just make it part of the ole routine. And I did do that to some extent when they were younger, supervising the usual baking projects and such. But as the kids got older, homework and activities and, yes, their earned hour of screen time coincided with my dinner prep. They weren't clamoring to help and I wasn't going to force it. Let kids be kids while they still can, I thought. Plus, I enjoy cooking alone. It's my me time. What about all those hours that the kids are in school, you ask? Isn't that my me time, too? Well, aren't we cheeky today, Internet. Pipe down or I won't share this recipe.

I taught the 11YO how to make scrambled eggs over the summer. I'm not a morning person and this was a skill that was going to work out well for everyone. Now he makes scrambled eggs with cheese pretty much every weekend. Dinner is more of a commitment, though, and this was the first time he expressed interest in helping out. I was very excited. I was also afraid he'd change his mind.

Quick, to the stove! Let's make some shrimp!

The 11YO can eat his weight in shrimp. As luck would have it, shrimp is also very easy to cook, mere minutes. If you can make scrambled eggs, you can make shrimp. I made the first batch and he watched and helped. He did the second batch by himself while I fried the tortillas on the burner next to him. The 8YO hovered nearby offering to add pepper to anything that needed it. We already had some corn and bean salad left over from the night before. That just left the lime crema, a quick combination of sour cream, lime zest, lime juice, salt, and a couple of drops of honey.

This meal is absolutely delicious. I eat the tostada with my hands, breaking off shards of crispy tortilla and devouring everything that comes with it. The kids like everything separately, shrimp in a pile on the plate, crispy tortilla in hand like the world's biggest chip. My camera didn't pick up on the golden tones of my fried tortillas (jerk), but you want them to be golden brown, puffed, and crispy. Even if you don't have the patience to fry tortillas, the shrimp and the lime crema together are not to be missed.


Shrimp Tostadas with Lime Crema  

We made 2 pounds of shrimp for this recipe because we love shrimp. The recipe below is for a more virtuous serving size. Adjust as you see fit.

3/4 cup sour cream
1 medium lime, zested and juiced
1/2 tsp. honey
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. olive oil, plus 1 Tbsp. for shrimp
4 to 8 corn tortillas (I prefer local Cinco de Mayo brand)
1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. cumin
Pinch cayenne
1 large avocado, cubed
Chopped fresh cilantro
Salt and black pepper to taste

In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, lime zest, lime juice, honey, and salt. Set aside.

Line a plate with paper towels. In a small frying pan, heat 2 Tbsp. of oil. When shimmering hot, fry the corn tortillas, one at a time, until crispy, golden, and puffed, about two minutes per side. Drain on paper towels.

Heat the remaining 1 Tbsp. of oil in a large non-stick frying pan over medium-high heat. Meanwhile, sprinkle the shrimp with paprika, cumin, cayenne, salt, and black pepper. Add the seasoned shrimp to the hot pan and sauté until the shrimp have coiled and turned from gray to pink, about 4 minutes. Remove from the heat.

To serve, place a tortilla on a plate, slather with lime crema, top with shrimp and avocado, and sprinkle with chopped cilantro. Serve with corn and bean salad and additional lime crema on the side. Dig in.

Maple Balsamic Slow-Cooker Ribs

I was all ready to pack the slow-cooker away to prove that, yes, winter is finally over now that it's May, but then I remembered: We still have another month of baseball and soccer ahead of us. A whole month of practices and games, 80% of which eat into the weekday dinner hours. Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty. Crockpots aren't just for the winter, after all. With a little advanced planning, they can save us from the temptation to eat from the concession stand three to four nights a week instead of having a proper meal. Which is something I would totally do and then not tell you.

So here's one of those 8 o'clock post-game meals the kids loved. Serve these tender, sticky, sweet and sour ribs with leftover mashed potatoes and microwave peas (for example) and you'll have dinner on the table in under 20 minutes. That's enough time for both kids to emerge from the shower squeaky clean and willing to eat whatever you put in front of them. Especially when it's awesome.


Maple Balsamic Slow-Cooker Ribs    

Throw the ribs in the crockpot before work and then finish them in the oven right before dinner so you get the best of both worlds: the tenderness of long, slow cooking combined with high heat caramelization.

1 3-lb. rack of spare ribs, cut between the ribs into 4 slabs
Salt and black pepper to taste
6 garlic cloves, peeled, smashed
2 bay leaves
1 sprig fresh sage
1 cup water
1/3 cup maple syrup, preferably Grade B
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1-inch piece of fresh ginger, smashed
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Blot the ribs dry with paper towels and sprinkle both sides generously with salt and pepper. Arrange 4 of the garlic cloves in the bottom of the slow-cooker along with the bay leaves and sage. Set the ribs on top, overlapping slightly. Pour in the water. Cover the pot and cook on low for 6 to 8 hours or on high from 4 to 6 hours until the meat is very tender and threatening to fall right off the bone (times may vary).

Twenty minutes before serving, combine the maple syrup, balsamic vinegar, soy sauce, remaining 2 cloves of garlic, ginger, salt, and pepper in a small pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the mixture thickens slightly, 5 to 7 minutes.

Preheat your broiler on high. Carefully remove the ribs from the crockpot and arrange on a rimmed baking sheet. Brush one side with the sauce and broil about 2 minutes until glazy and caramelized but not burned. Keep a close eye on the meat as broiler times may vary. Remove the pan from the oven, flip the meat carefully, and brush the other side with sauce. Again, broil 2 minutes. If you have any sauce left, you can flip once more, apply the glaze, and broil for one minute longer, but you don't want to dry out the meat, so leave it at that. Let cool slightly. Serves 4.

Local Sources:
Pork: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Deerfield, MA

Dan Dan Noodles

During these cold, busy winter days, I've been gravitating toward easy-to-prepare comfort foods, preferably using ingredients I already have in the house.

Reader Don sent me this recipe for Dan Dan Mian, a spicy Chinese Sichuan noodle dish made with ground pork and chiles. I took the spicing way down for the kids so what we end up eating around here isn't exactly authentic, but the whole family loves it regardless. Warm and satisfying, it reminds me of an Italian Bolognese, but with Asian flavors.

Serve with pickled radishes or oil-cured ginger-sesame carrots on the side for a quick, crunchy veggie infusion.

Dan Dan Mian    

This is the original recipe with notes for how I modify it for the kids (I omit the chili oil entirely and use only 1 teaspoon of Sriracha). But some of you enjoy super-spicy food and/or intense facial pain, so have at it.

1 pound ground pork
2 tablespoons soy sauce, divided
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
1 medium onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons minced/grated fresh ginger root
2 tablespoons peanut butter
1 tablespoon chili oil (I omit)
2 tablespoons Sriracha chili sauce (I use 1 teaspoon)
1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil
1 cup chicken stock
2 scallions, sliced

Mix the ground pork with 1 tablespoon of the soy sauce. Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat and brown the pork. Remove to a plate and set aside.

Add the remaining vegetable oil to the pan and sauté the onion over medium heat until tender and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the ginger and garlic, and let cook for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the peanut butter, remaining 1 Tbsp. of soy sauce, chili oil (if using), chili sauce, sesame oil, and chicken stock. Simmer uncovered over low heat for about 5 minutes or until the sauce reduces and thickens. Add the ground pork and cook until you reach the desired consistency.

Remove the pan from the heat and serve over noodles (udon or rice). Scatter chopped scallions on top. Serves 3 to 4.

Local Sources
Ground pork, chicken in chicken stock: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Onion, garlic: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Cambodian Beef and Celery Stir-Fry

File this under "Dishes I Make All the Time But Never Write About." It's a great quick dinner to make when I find a surprise bunch of celery in our farmshare, not to mention all the great tomatoes this time of year.

Beef and celery complement each other very well, but what makes this stir-fry awesome is the fish sauce. That's the Cambodian influence. Fish sauce (often written as nam pla or nuoc mam on the bottle) is a southeast Asian condiment made from pressed fermented anchovies and used like you would soy sauce. Brands include Three Crabs, Golden Boy, and Squid (though no squid, crabs, or little boys are contained therein—that we know of).

A word to the wise: do not smell the fish sauce. If you do, there's little chance you'll willingly pour it all over your food. It smells awful. But somehow its pungent brininess adds amazing depth of flavor to meat and vegetables, and the resulting garlicky tomato broth is fantastic soaked into rice. Leftovers are even better the next day. If you do smell the fish sauce—and don't say I didn't warn you—you can always change your mind and sub in soy sauce instead (omit the sugar listed in the recipe in that case).

That's the beauty of stir-fries. Just use what you like. Don't care for celery? Sub in bok choy or broccoli instead. You're getting at least one of those in your farmshare, I just know it!




Beef and Celery Stir-Fry    

Don't throw away those celery leaves—they wilt down deliciously! Farm celery stalks are often skinnier than supermarket celery, which means you should cut the pieces larger than indicated to keep the cooking time the same.

1/4 cup vegetable oil
6 to 8 garlic cloves, peeled, smashed
1 lb. boneless sirloin, cut into 1/4-inch thick strips about 2 x 1.5-inches in size
3/4 lb. celery stalks, leaves included, sliced on the diagonal about 1/2-inch thick
3-1/2 tablespoons fish sauce
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 pound tomatoes, cored, cut into bite-sized chunks
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat and stir-fry the garlic cloves for 10 to 20 seconds until starting to brown. Add the beef and stir-fry for about 1 minute. Add the celery, and cook for about 2 minutes, tossing frequently. Stir in the fish sauce, sugar, and salt, and then fold in the tomatoes. Cook 3 to 4 minutes, stirring, until the beef is cooked through and the celery is crisp-tender. Season with black pepper to taste, and serve with rice.

Source: Adapted from the Elephant Walk Cookbook by Longteine de Monteiro and Katherine Neustadt

Local Ingredients:
Beef: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Celery, tomatoes: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Garlic: Our school garden, Waltham, MA

Magic

What was I up to this week besides being sad? Stuffing myself senseless with magic bars, that's what. I did a little Christmas shopping, too, in between binges (plenty of time for resolutions later). But what I didn't do were my Christmas cards. At this point, they'll never arrive on time even if Rudolph himself delivers them, so if you're wondering where yours is, that's where.

I'm rerunning this recipe for magic bars because I'm still not in a writing sort of mood, plus I've adjusted the recipe slightly since my original post five years ago. More people know these as magic bars, but I will always call them seven-layer cookies because that's what Nonni called them when she made them for Christmas every year. Whatever you call them, they continue to be a favorite, and who couldn't use a little more magic in their lives.

Magic Bars (or Seven-Layer Cookies) (print-friendly version)

This is probably the easiest cookie recipe there is, perfect for bake sales and gifts.

1-1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs (or 14 whole graham crackers crushed)
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
12-ounce package semi-sweet chocolate chips
12-ounce package butterscotch chips
2 cups walnut halves
2 cups shredded sweetened coconut
14-ounce can condensed milk

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter a 9x13-inch pan.

Mix the graham cracker crumbs with the melted butter and press onto the bottom of the pan. Pour the chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, and walnuts on top, distributing evenly. Sprinkle the coconut over the top. Drizzle the condensed milk evenly over everything.

Bake about 20 minutes, until some of the coconut develops toasty tips and the condensed milk along the edges starts to caramelize. Cut the hot cookies into squares no bigger than an inch and a half (they're very sweet), which will allow for easier cutting later. Let cool completely and refrigerate until ready to serve. Recut along the lines.

Labor Day Pulled Pork

Okay, people, I've been wanting to share this recipe with you for years, and I can't wait any longer! I had hoped to get better at barbecuing first. I've been waiting and waiting until I could competently maintain low, smoldering coals for six hours at a time without letting the fire go out. But it always goes out. Then I overcompensate by building a flaming inferno that rages on seemingly forever, until I grow bored and start doing something else, and then the fire goes out again. It would seem I don't have enough stamina for the slow-burning fire marathon that is southern barbecue. I can get the coals really, really hot or really, really cold. There is no in-between.

Cue crockpot!

I was skeptical the first time I made pulled pork in a slow cooker. Wouldn't it be a shadow of its barbecued self? But you know what? It's great! It's fantastic! On a scale of 1 to 100, awesome minus 2 is still awesome! Yes, it's not as wood-smoky as it otherwise would be. I added a little smoked paprika to the spice rub to help out with that. Yes, it still takes a looong time to cook, but you don't have to DO anything. No coals to tend, nothing. It cooks all day while the cook's away/at play/on the bidet.

This time, I cooked up two pork roasts at the same time. I knew we'd eat it all and we did. The 9YO is over the moon for this stuff, and ate three big piles of pulled pork after deciding the roll was interfering with the full meat experience. Then he threatened to sneak downstairs at midnight and eat some more. He won't get too far, though, because my money's on Husband to beat him there, hiding in a dark corner of the dark kitchen, hissing, eyes aglow like a startled raccoon. Me, I won't try to compete. I can eat all the pulled pork I want in my dreams and never have to leave the bed!

So, it's up to you this Labor Day if you want to cue up the BBQ and do some actual labor or cue up the crockpot and labor ironically. Either way, you're in for some good eating!

Cheater's North Carolina-Style Pulled Pork (print-friendly version)

Start the night before by applying the dry rub and shaking together the barbecue sauce for best results. However, I've thrown it all together that morning and it still comes out great. I'm partial to the vinegar-based barbecue sauce for which North Carolina is known, but if you have your own favorite sauce, feel free to sub it in. Serve on a roll with coleslaw!

Sauce
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup white vinegar
2 teaspoons light brown sugar
1/8 to 1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper

Rub
1 tablespoon paprika (I like to go half and half with sweet and smoked paprika)
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1/2 tablespoon black pepper
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne
3- to 5-pound pork shoulder or Boston butt, bone in or out
1 tablespoon vegetable oil (optional)

Shake together all the sauce ingredients in a mason jar until the salt dissolves. Refrigerate.

Mix all the spices together in a small bowl. Dry off the meat with paper towels and rub the spice mixture all over. Wrap tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. If you don't have that kind of time, proceed to the next step.

In a large Dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed pan, heat the oil until hot. Brown the meat on all sides to get a tasty outer crust. Again, if you're in a hurry, you can skip this step. (It does make it better, though.)

Transfer the meat to a slow cooker. Pour about 1/2 cup of the barbecue sauce over the meat. Cover and cook 4 to 6 hours on high or 8 to 10 hours on low. The meat should be very tender when poked. Remove it to a cutting board. Pour the liquid in the slow-cooker into a measuring cup and let it sit undisturbed. Shred the meat with a fork, pulling it apart and place it in a large bowl. Pour off the fat from the top of the liquid in the measuring cup, and reserve the dark sauce below. Pour a few tablespoons of the dark sauce over the meat and toss (not too much, as it can be salty from the rub).

Make sandwiches by piling pulled pork onto bulky rolls, dressing with the remaining barbecue sauce or more of the brown pan drippings, and topping with homemade coleslaw.

The Barbecue Method

If you want to try your hand with the barbecue, here are my notes. This should work, theoretically, if you're diligent about adding enough coals every hour. It does take some practice, but if the fire does go out, just throw it in the slow cooker on high and call it a day!

Soak 4 cups of wood chips in water for 30 minutes (I use hickory). Preheat the grill (I use a chimney starter filled 3/4 of the way up with charcoal, bottom stuffed with newspaper, and lit from underneath with a match). Once the coals are ashy (about 20 minutes), dump them onto the bottom grate on one side of the grill. Place the cover on the grill, poke a thermometer through one of the holes in the vent, and close the vent a bit to get the temperature down to 300°F. Once there, add some soaked wood chips to the coals and replace the top grate.

Add the meat to the grill on the opposite side as the coals. Try to maintain a grill temperature between 200° and 225°F. Don't let the fire go out (haha, have fun with that!). To get the temperature higher, open the vent more. To get the temperature lower, close the vent more. Every hour, add 10 or so more coals and another handful of wood chips (grill grates often have hinges that allow you to lift up one side to add more coals/chips). Baste the meat with barbecue sauce and replace the cover immediately. Smoke 5 to 6 hours. When the meat is tender and nearly falling apart (an internal temperature of 190° to 195°F), remove the meat from the grill. Let rest. Shred the pork.

Local Ingredients:
Pork: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Indian Cauliflower and Potatoes

Here's another Indian vegetable recipe we make a lot, and one of my faaaavorite ways to eat cauliflower. I posted about this six years ago, but there was no photo and little in the way of a charming introduction. At least now there's a photo!


Indian Cauliflower and Potatoes (Aloo Gobi) (print-friendly version)

Again, use your discretion with the cayenne. Add more if you like things spicy, or scale it back to a pinch if you're scared.

2 to 3 medium potatoes
1 medium cauliflower
3 Tbsp. canola oil
1 onion, chopped
1 tsp. cumin seeds
1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. ground turmeric
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne
1 tsp. salt
Black pepper

Boil the potatoes in their jackets until tender when pierced with a knife. Cut the cauliflower into florets about 1½-inches wide. Soak them in a bowl of water for 30 minutes.  Drain.

Peel the potatoes and cut them into ¾-inch dice. In a large, non-stick frying pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Fry the onion until translucent, stirring occasionally, 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the cumin seeds and sauté for about a minute. Add the cauliflower and stir until it starts to brown in spots, about 5 minutes. Cover, turn the heat to low, and simmer until cauliflower is almost done, but still has a bit of crispness (8 to 12 minutes). Add the diced potatoes and the rest of the spices, and gently stir. Cook uncovered over low heat until potatoes are heated through, about 5 minutes more.

Source: Adapted from Illustrated Indian Cookery by Madhur Jaffrey

Stir-Fried Indian Cabbage

When I went through and categorized all of the recipes on this site a few months ago, I was shocked—shocked, I say—to discover that the Indian category was so empty. I mean, we're not having Indian food every night, but there are definitely a few dishes that come up over and over in the rotation (if you can call my whim-based menu-planning a rotation). Vikram Vij's goat curry is one I want to post about in the cooler months because it is completely unbelievable, as well as a variation on Madhur Jaffrey's lamb korma, another personal favorite.

But today we're talking about cabbage. Because sometimes I get sick of coleslaw. Sometimes I just want something different, and the only way to make any serious headway through the piles and piles of shredded cabbage is to cook it down quickly with garlic and Indian spices until it's so fricking delicious, you just eat it like candy. And I haven't even gotten to the health benefits, which include, but are not limited to, cancer prevention and inflammation reduction. But that's not really why I eat it. I eat it because it's delicious. The rest is a perk.

This dish only takes 5 minutes on the range so it won't heat up the house too much. Serve it with chana masala (chick pea curry) with brown or basmati rice, and you've got yourself a meal!

Stir-Fried Indian Cabbage (print-friendly version)

Adjust the cayenne to your liking. The original recipe called for something like 1/2 teaspoon of cayenne, but that's too much for me, never mind the kids. But do put in at least a pinch.

2 Tbsp. canola oil
1/2 tsp. mustard seeds
1/2 tsp. ground turmeric
1 lb. green cabbage, thinly sliced (about 1/2 head)
2 garlic cloves, peeled, smashed with the side of a knife
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 tsp. ground cayenne

Heat the oil in a large frying pan or wok over high heat. When super-hot, add the mustard seeds and cover with a splatter screen or lid to keep the seeds from flying out. When the seeds stop sputtering, add the turmeric, cabbage, garlic, salt, and cayenne. Toss well. Stir-fry until the cabbage is crisp-tender, 2 to 3 minutes.

Source: Adapted from 5 Spices, 50 Dishes by Ruta Kahate.

Local Ingredients:
Cabbage, garlic: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Huevos Rancheros

The first thing I did when I made my deadline was to drag my neighbor out for Mexican, and then proceed to devour an entire Fiesta Plate all by myself along with most of my friend's refried beans, half a pitcher of sangria, and a giant piece of tres leches cake. Don't look at me like that—you can't celebrate a partially-completed dessert cookbook without cake!

That was followed soon thereafter by the peanut marzipan you saw in my previous post, because I can't go a whole week without sugar, you know that. Then came the huevos rancheros: warm corn tortillas strewn with cumin-scented black beans, fried eggs nestled on top, scattered with crumbled cheese and cilantro leaves, and ribboned with salsa or hot sauce. What can I say, I've really been digging Mexican food lately. I know I need to get back to work eventually, but right now, the fiesta continues!!

Huevos Rancheros

This is one of my favorite lazy meals because we always have eggs, cheese, a can of black beans, and a partially eaten jar of salsa on hand. If I have corn tortillas in the back of the fridge, I'll use them. If not, I leave them out. We eat this as often for dinner as for brunch.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. ground cumin (or more)
Pinch of cayenne
Salt and pepper
1 big can black beans, rinsed, drained
1 Tbsp. chopped cilantro
Fresh farm eggs
Cheese, crumbled or grated (e.g., queso fresco, cheddar, monterey jack, mozzarella)
Small corn tortillas
Salsa or hot sauce

Heat olive oil in a medium pot over medium heat until shimmery. Sauté onions until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic, cumin, and cayenne, and stir about 30 seconds. Stir in rinsed beans and a few tablespoons of water. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and flavors meld, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and cover with lid to keep warm.

In a non-stick pan, cook the eggs how you like them. I like mine over-easy (i.e., runny). Husband likes his with the yolks broken and completely cooked. My kids only like them scrambled. You can make a whole bunch of sunny-side-up eggs at once by cracking them into different quadrants of the same pan so the whites run together but the yolks are spaced out. Let them fry for a minute or two, then add a bit of water on top, cover, and steam until the tops are set. Then just use a spatula to cut between the yolks into portions.

Heat up the tortillas. I do this in the microwave in a stack covered with a damp paper towel. You can also do it in a hot, dry skillet for about 30 seconds per side.

To serve, arrange tortillas on plates. Scatter some beans on top. Set an egg in the middle and sprinkle with cheese. Spoon on some salsa or a squirt of hot sauce, and sprinkle with cilantro, salt, and pepper. Customize as you see fit, with sour cream, avocado or guacamole, or your own homemade pico de gallo when tomatoes are at their best.

Local Ingredients
Eggs: Allandale Farm, Brookline, MA
Tortillas: Cinco de Mayo, Lynn, MA

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.

My Favorite Cut of Pork

If you know me well, and by now I think you do, then you know I like pork. Within the broad category of pork, it's nearly impossible for me to pick a favorite cut what with bacon/pork belly vying for the top position along with pork shoulder, either barbecued or roasted in the Italian style. But my blog editor is demanding and unreasonable and she insists for the purposes of this post that I pick just one. So here it is: country-style ribs.

Surprised? It's true! Country-style ribs are well priced, quick and easy to grill, and absolutely scrumptious. My simple treatment of them has been known to elicit marriage proposals. Be careful when serving them in mixed company or things can get awkward real quick. That said, it's important to note that country-style ribs are different from spareribs. My understanding is that country-style ribs aren't actually ribs at all but are cut more from the shoulder area. That would explain the different texture and why they don't require a lot of time on the grill to cook up tender and juicy and amazing. Ten minutes often does the trick. Cooking is best done on a hot charcoal grill, searing them over direct heat for several minutes on each side, then moving them to the cooler perimeter to complete the transition from rare to medium-rare. But they can also be done on the stovetop in an ovenproof pan with a thin film of olive oil and finished quickly in a medium oven.

These ribs are completely awesome. I'm not exaggerating. They're perfect in the fall with apple and cabbagey dishes. If the recipe looks simple, that's because it is and you should make it and see for yourself.  If I can't convince you that anything could possibly be better than bacon, well then you'll probably want to head over to Amuse Bouche to find out how to make your own. Either way, you're in for some serious swinish satisfaction.

Tammy's Yankee Non-BBQ Country-Style Ribs

Nothing against southern barbecue spareribs. I would gladly eat those anytime, anyplace, but these have a charm all their own.

1-2 lbs. country-style pork ribs
1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. dried rosemary (or 1 Tbsp. fresh)
1 tsp. ground black pepper
1 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp. fennel seeds
1/2 tsp. dried sage
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
Pinch or two of cayenne pepper

Build your fire and get things hot. I do this by removing the top grate from the grill, filling one of those metal chimney starter things almost to the top with charcoal, stuffing newspaper in the bottom, resting it on the bottom grate, and setting fire to the newspaper so the whole thing starts smoking. Then I let the coals ash up for about 20 minutes while I get the meat ready.

Make your rub by mixing the olive oil and all the other herbs and spices together in a small bowl. If it doesn't look like enough rub for the amount of meat you have, add more oil. Pat the ribs dry with paper towels and then rub them all over with the herb mixture. You can let the meat sit overnight in the fridge or for a few hours at room temperature before cooking, but I'm usually cobbling this together at the last minute. Also, I've already started the grill, so let's get cooking!

With oven mitts, dump the blazing hot coals into the grill (NOT onto your feet), add a whole bunch of new coals on top, and replace the top grate. I let things heat up for 5-10 minutes, then scrape down the grate. Place the meat over the hottest part of the grill for a minute or two (depends on how hot your fire is). You want substantial grill marks before flipping. Repeat on the other side. When appropriately grill-marked, turn back over and move to the sides of the grill where the heat is less intense. They can sit there for anywhere from 2-7 minutes to get to medium rare. Poke at them until they feel right or just cut into one to test. You can cook the meat in batches so if you have four on the direct heat, once you move them to the indirect heat, add the new meat to the middle. Remove to serving dish as they finish cooking and let rest five minutes. There's probably still plenty of heat on that grill, so throw some zucchini on there. While you're at it, maybe some onions. Or fennel. Then, after dinner, wrap up some beets and just leave them on the covered dying grill overnight. Pick them up in the morning and plop them in the fridge before you leave for work so you have the makings of a beet salad that night.

If you'd rather stay inside the house for these ribs, preheat the oven to 350°F. Heat a large ovenproof skillet on medium-high and add a tablespoon of oil. When the oil is shimmering, sear the ribs in batches so they get a nice terracotta-colored crust, 2-3 minutes per side. Flip and repeat, removing to a plate, until all the ribs are done. Then nestle them all back in the pan and place in the oven until they reach the desired doneness. This could range from 3 to 10 minutes depending on thickness, so check often. Remove from oven and let rest.

Dig in.

Local Sources:
Country-style ribs: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA

Porchetta

Just in time for Easter, I've come up with a recipe for porchetta that reminds me of Nonni's.  If you don't know what a porchetta is (pronounced por-ketta), it's a pork roast rubbed with garlic, fennel seeds, black pepper, salt, and whatever else you fancy (I like rosemary).  It's popular in the Marches region of Italy, except I hear they do a whole pig roast over there.  I'd probably burn the whole neighborhood down if I tried that, so we just do a boneless shoulder.

Nonni bought her porchettas pre-rubbed from the local butcher in her later years, so a recipe never got passed down.  A few years back, I tried the recipe in the Zuni Café Cookbook, which was delicious but wasn't quite the same.  This is my attempt to recreate the flavor of those New Haven-style porchettas using the amazing pork from our Chestnut Farms meat CSA.  And, for the record, I LOVE our meat CSA.  Husband took one bite of this and said it was the best pork he ever had in his life!



Porchetta

Here's the secret: let the meat sit with the rub for 2-3 days in the refrigerator before roasting.  (If you start now, it'll be done by Sunday!)  The other not-so-secret secret: don't overcook the pork.

3-4 lb. boneless pork roast (or you can debone it yourself)
5 garlic cloves, peeled, minced fine
1-1/2 Tbsp. dried rosemary
1 Tbsp. fennel seeds, crushed
1 Tbsp. ground black peppercorns
2 tsp. kosher salt

In a small bowl, mix together the garlic cloves, rosemary, fennel seeds, pepper, and salt.  If your roast is tied, untie it or remove the netting.  Open up the meat to expose all of its inner surfaces and rub the inside with half of the garlic-herb rub.  Close it up and retie it with kitchen string (2 or 3 pieces should do it).  Rub remaining garlic-herb mixture on the outside of the roast, coating all sides.  Cover roast tightly with plastic wrap and set in a pie plate or other dish to catch any juices that might seep out.  Let sit in refrigerator 2-3 days. 

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Remove plastic.  In a large pan, roast until internal temperature reaches 170°F and juices run clear (2- to 2-1/2 hours).  Let rest 10-15 minutes.  Slice and serve with roasted potatoes, roasted asparagus, and stuffed artichokes.  Leftovers, by the way, make great sandwiches, quesadillas, and burritos.

Simple Roasted Asparagus

It recently came to my attention that most of the simple, seasonal vegetables I make on a regular basis are not up on this blog.  That's the problem with everyday cooking: the things you make all the time never get written down because you're too busy making them all the time.  I'm going to try to break out of that cycle by documenting more of these easy vegetable dishes, even when the recipe is simply: coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and roast X minutes.  Sometimes the easy way just happens to be our favorite way! 

Roasted Asparagus

Husband is addicted to asparagus and the kids are following in his footsteps.  It goes so fast I have to cook two bunches at a time. 

2 bunches asparagus
1-2 Tbsp. olive oil (I just pour and count one Mississippi, two Mississippi)
Liberal salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375°F.  Wash asparagus, then snap off the thick woody stems by bending the stalks near the lower third until they break.  I do this two or three at a time to make it go faster.  Compost the stem ends.  Set asparagus on rimmed sheet pan and pour olive oil over.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper and use your hands to toss until evenly coated.  Arrange asparagus in single layer on pan.  If you need a second pan, go for it.  I'll admit it, I tend to crowd the pan so I have room in the oven for whatever else I'm cooking.  Roast 7-12 minutes, depending on thickness of spears.  Stems should be tender when pierced with a fork, tips should be slightly dry and, with luck, a little crispy.

Foolproof Chocolate Fudge

I thought I had given you all of my holiday recipes, but it turns out that I forgot the most important one of all.  Fudge! 

As you know, I make fudge every holiday season without fail.  No Christmas is complete without the requisite fudge-packing jokes.  This particular fudge recipe is the same one I’ve been making since high school.  My dad brought home a plate of holiday cookies from a company party in the late eighties, and I immediately zeroed in on the fudge.  For weeks, I badgered him to get the recipe.  I nagged him as only a 16-year-old adolescent female with a cocaine-like chocolate addiction can (count your blessings, Dad).  Finally, he tracked down the source of the fudge, and she wrote out the instructions.  I still have her original hand-written note, though I never got her name.  With the secrets to delicious fudge in my possession, I could presumably get back to the important business of shellacking my entire head in a candy-like shell of Aqua Net.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized there was a slight error in the recipe.  The following was written in the ingredient list: "¼ cup (1 stick) butter."  Since I’m a parenthetical kind of girl, I used 1 stick.  Well, ¼ cup is actually half a stick of butter, but my high-school self didn’t catch the mistake.  My early-thirties self didn’t either, so I’ve been making this stuff extra delicious for years!  Still do.

I hesitate to use the word foolproof with any recipe, especially for fudge.  Especially on the Internet.  I mean, anything can fail if you try hard enough.  This recipe is no different.  But it’s certainly more forgiving than most fudge recipes.  The small dose of corn syrup from the marshmallows prevents the sugar from recrystallizing in a coarse, grainy fashion, ensuring a nice, creamy texture.  If you’re good at stirring, then you can make this fudge.  You don’t even need a candy thermometer.  (Now before you write off this recipe as substandard because it doesn’t use a candy thermometer, I’ll have you know that I made a batch yesterday WITH a candy thermometer just for kicks, and guess what?  It still works.  As long as you live at sea level and don’t double the recipe, five minutes of hard boiling will get you to the soft-ball stage.)

Now that I’m older and snobbier, it has occurred to me that maybe I should move to a fancier, non-marshmallow-based recipe.  But why?  Everybody loves this fudge.  They tell me it’s the best fudge they’ve ever had.  I, for one, can eat a whole pan on my own.  I certainly pay my dues with the other candy I make this time of year, a time-consuming and finicky praline-ish butter-pecan fudge (also known as Boston cream candy).  I figure I’ve been making this version of chocolate fudge for 20 years and I’m probably not going to change.  Not unless you can direct me to a recipe that calls for two whole sticks of butter! 

Happy New Year!

 

Fudge

The better the chocolate you use, the better the resulting fudge.

1 cup (6 oz.) semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tsp. vanilla
2¼ cups sugar
1 stick unsalted butter (or half!)
¾ cup evaporated milk
16 large marshmallows
¼ tsp. salt

Line an 8-inch square cake pan with foil.  Get your handheld electric mixer at the ready.  Also, have some oven mitts nearby.

To a large bowl, add chocolate chips and vanilla.  Set aside.  In a medium, 4-quart saucepan, add sugar, butter, milk, marshmallows, and salt.  Stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, bring to a boil over medium heat.  You want the marshmallows to be just about melted by the time the bubbling starts.  If they’re not, reduce the heat a bit until they do.  Bring mixture to a heavy boil and, always stirring, set the timer for 5 minutes.  Careful—hot mixture can spatter.  Use an oven mitt if necessary.  After 5 minutes, the temperature should be in the soft ball range (235°F-240°F). 

Remove pot from heat immediately, and carefully pour hot mixture over chocolate chips.  On a low speed, blend with mixer until uniformly brown.  Blending on high speed will introduce lots of air bubbles, which you don’t want.  Quickly pour fudge into your prepared pan.  Let cool until firm.  Makes 2 lbs.

How to Make Cappelletti (and Tortellini)

I’ve been making a lot of Nonni’s traditional recipes lately.  This weekend, I sat myself down and made cappelletti, the little hat-shaped tortellini from the Marche region of Italy where that part of my family is from.  Since cappelletti in chicken broth (cappelletti en brodo) are a Christmas tradition, I thought this would be a good time to fill the freezer and update the original recipe I posted a few years ago.

Cappelletti are little bite-sized pasta dumplings filled with pork and Parmesan cheese (though regional versions vary).  Traditionally, they are served in chicken soup rather than with sauce.  However, tradition doesn’t have to trump imagination all the time.  You can sauce them and fill them with all sorts of things.  You can make them large, like ravioli, and stuff them with a roasted pumpkin puree and serve them with browned butter and sage.  You can fill them with ricotta and garlicky mustard greens and top them with red sauce.  Or, you could fashion some kind of celery root filling and dress them with a mushroom cream sauce.  Like, perhaps, in the spring when your mushroom logs sprout their first flush!  Or in the late summer/fall when the hen-of-the-woods come out.  I don’t know, I’m just thinking out loud.  Or maybe you could fill them with the mushrooms themselves!  My point is cappelletti are versatile and delicious. 

As far as I can tell, the only difference between cappelletti and tortellini (if there’s any at all) is that tortellini tend to have more pronounced holes in the middle and the corners point up like crowns.  On the other hand, cappelletti (which means “little hats” in Italian) have almost no holes and the brims of the hats are low like peasant caps.  They’re both made basically the same way.  Here’s the technique:

Mix up the dough, knead it, and roll it out into thin sheets with a pasta machine.  (The recipe goes into more detail on this part.)

Cut dough into 2-inch squares with a pizza cutter or floured paring knife.  They don’t have to be perfect. 

Place ½ teaspoon of filling in the center. 

Fold the dough over the filling triangularly, corner to corner, and seal (you may need to wet a finger in water and run it along the bottom edge of the dough to get it to stick together). 

Then bring the two pointy corners on the folded side together, pressing one end on top of the other to seal.  For tortellini, you wrap those two ends around a finger before sealing so it retains more of a ring shape (the remaining corner tends to flip up in the process).  That’s it! 

But doesn’t it get tiresome after you've made the first eight dozen?  You bet.  At that point, though, it becomes almost therapeutically mindless.  It’s a good way to pass a rainy (or snowy) afternoon while the soup is bubbling away.  Kids love to play with the pasta machine.  It’s also a fun (and cheap) date-night activity if you’re lame.  You get 12-15 single meals out of it, which then take all of five minutes to cook right out of the freezer during the week.  Plus, you can really stretch a pound of meat that way!

Nonni used to make cappelletti by hand one thousand at a time.  I’m not exaggerating.  Me, I made a measly 150 in as many minutes.  I figure she had an extra 50 years to get better at it, though.  If you’re new to pasta-making, here’s a great tutorial.  Everyone should try it once.  It’s play dough for adults.  If you don’t have a pasta machine, just ask a neighbor.  People have all kinds of stuff they never use!

Have fun!

Cappelletti

You’ll need some good chicken soup to serve these in.  Best to make it ahead of time.  Nonni’s version is here.  You can also make the filling ahead of time and refrigerate it.  It’s actually easier to handle chilled.  If you find yourself with a little extra pasta dough left over, roll it out, cut it into ribbons slightly thinner than ½-inch, and freeze them for future fettuccine.  If you have leftover filling, which I doubt you will, make an omelet.

Filling:
1½ Tbsp. olive oil
1 lb. ground pork
½ cup breadcrumbs
¾ c. freshly grated Parmesan cheese (the real stuff—NOT from a canister)
1 egg
Pinch nutmeg
Salt and pepper

Dough:
3 cups flour
5 eggs
1/8 tsp. salt

For the filling, heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat.  Brown pork until cooked through.  Remove from heat and let cool for a minute or two.  Mix in breadcrumbs, cheese, egg, nutmeg, salt, and pepper.  Mixture should be thick enough to hold together.  If too wet, add more breadcrumbs and/or cheese.  Let cool in refrigerator while making dough.

On a board or in a large bowl, add flour and make a well in the middle.  Crack eggs into the center and beat with a fork, gradually scraping in the flour from the perimeter to incorporate.  When it gets too thick to stir, turn out onto floured board and knead.  Depending on the flour, your eggs, and the humidity, you may not need all the flour, or you may need more.  Wash and dry your hands so the dough doesn’t stick.  Knead 10-15 minutes.   Put in a lightly oiled bowl and cover to keep from drying out.  Let rest for a half hour.

Set up a pasta machine with rollers open to the widest setting.  Cut dough into 8 equal pieces and keep covered.  Flour the rollers of the pasta machine.  Take one piece of pasta, flatten it with your hands, and run it through the machine at its widest setting (1 on the side knob of my Imperia).  Fold dough into thirds to make a square-ish shape and run it through again.  Repeat several times (this reactivates the gluten to give the dough more stiffness).  Decrease the space between the rollers by one and run the pasta through one time.  From now on, don’t fold.  Continue decreasing the space between rollers and running the dough through once until you reach the thinnest setting (6 on my machine) or the pasta is so thin, you can almost see your fingers through it.

Working quickly, place rolled-out pasta on lightly floured surface and cut into 2-inch squares using a pizza cutter or sharp knife.  Place ½ teaspoon of filling in the center of a square and fold into a triangle, corner to corner, pressing on the edges to seal (moisten edges with a finger dipped in water if they don’t adhere).  Bring the two pointy corners toward each other, overlapping slightly, and press to join.  They should sit flat like the little hats they are.  Lay them in a single layer on a rimmed, floured cookie sheet and cover with plastic wrap while filling the rest of the pasta squares.  Repeat until all the pasta is used.  Freeze the pans of completed cappelletti as soon as they are filled.  Once the pasta is frozen, you can transfer them to plastic freezer bags.  Makes 125-150.

To serve, bring chicken soup to a boil.  Add frozen cappelletti (don’t defrost them).  Let soup come back up to a boil, then turn down heat to a gentle simmer, stirring occasionally.  Cook until al dente, about 5 minutes.  Serving size is about 10 cappelletti, though my dad would heartily, heartily disagree with that figure.

Simple End-of-Summer Pasta

We were lucky to have been invited by friends to their family lake house in New York at the tail end of summer vacation.  Located in the foothills between the Catskills and the Poconos, it’s a really cool old house with porches and a fireplace and bats in the attic, and you walk right out the back door onto a dock overlooking a beautiful spring-fed lake.

A total media blackout was enacted for the entire stay.  Fishing poles replaced TV, computer games were traded for a kayak, and nature walks were conducted rain or shine.  Six kids under age 8 shared beds and sleeping bags while Husband and I slept in a tent on the porch.  After the first chilly night, I stole all the blankets off of everyone else’s bed and stacked them up in the tent like The Princess and the Pea, wherein I played the role of both princess and pea.  Books were read and many bowls of ice cream were consumed.  Contentious Scrabble games, inflamed by questionable scorekeeping, were eventually tempered by wine and exhaustion.

All three couples brought our CSA shares from Waltham Fields and Lindentree Farm, and we somehow managed to consume all 19 pounds of tomatoes by way of pasta sauce, ratatouille, gazpacho, BLTs, salads, and countless tomato sandwiches of toasted Italian bread, warm mayo, slabs of ripe heirlooms, salt, pepper, and nothing more.  But here’s the other dish that made us swoon: Angel hair pasta tossed with raw cherry tomatoes macerated in a garlic and basil slurry.  It’s a lake house tradition that I daresay should extend beyond the lake.  Not only is it virtually no effort at all, but it’s a great way to enjoy the last of the season’s sungolds.

 

Angel Hair Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes, Garlic, and Basil

So good you could even skip the cheese!

1 lb. angel hair pasta
4 pints cherry tomatoes, halved
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
6 cloves garlic, pressed or minced
¼ cup fresh basil, chopped
Red pepper flakes to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

Marinate tomatoes in olive oil, garlic, basil, red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper for 4-6 hours.  Boil angel hair in salted water until al dente.  Drain, then toss with tomato mixture and as much Parmesan as desired.

Source: Adapted from The New York Times and Jean Halberstam of Nantucket.

Pancakes (and Parentheses)

I haven’t cooked that much this week due to a looming deadline I foolishly thought I’d be up for.  (Note to self: Get your life in order first.  You have all the time in the world for this kind of stuff later.  Maybe.) 

Happily, Husband made his famous Eat Local blueberry pancakes (along with Codman Farm bacon) for dinner last night, or “brinner” as the First Grader likes to call it.  I always find the act of eating pancakes to be not only delicious but therapeutic.  My ritual has been the same for as long as I can remember:

Place pat of butter on top of each warm pancake, preferably on a stack three high, to induce at least partial melting (soft, partially melted butter is always better than fully melted butter; cold, hard butter is unacceptable).  Pour maple syrup over the stack, making sure most of it drips down the sides forming pools for dipping.  Gravity has never let me down so far. (Over the years, I’ve settled on the dipping strategy because dry pancakes with the syrup already soaked in might as well have no syrup at all.  You can keep pouring more syrup on top, but it’s just going to keep soaking in.  How big is your maple syrup budget?  My rule of thumb is, if the piece of pancake I’m about to eat doesn’t shine with syrup, then there’s not enough syrup.  (Hence the dipping.)). 

One side of the stack at a time, cut off the edges, dip them, etc. (I tend to cut them into smaller pieces to make the process last as long as possible).  That leaves me with a square stack of interior pancakes soaked with maximum butter, which gets cut into four equal squares (NOT triangles) to mop up the syrup until it’s gone.  Add more syrup to finish off squares.  Note remaining syrup.  Get more pancakes to finish off syrup.  Repeat.  (Pancake-to-syrup ratio is similar to the milk-to-cereal ratio discussed in previous guest post.)

You could analyze this all sorts of different ways, about saving the best for last or trying to exert some control over one’s environment, but I think it’s just that I really like butter and maple syrup.  Needless to say, my manner of pancake consumption drives Husband crazy.  For me, it’s comforting because it reminds me of who I am.  This becomes increasingly important the less physically recognizable I become.  And, who I am, apparently, is someone who likes to subject herself to alternately stressful and euphoric manic writing binges with unreasonable deadlines. 

(And pancakes.)

 

Blueberry Whole Wheat Pancakes

I’m reprising this recipe from a post a few years ago, it’s such a favorite.

4 eggs
2 cups milk
¼ cup vegetable oil
6 Tbsp. butter, melted
1¼ cup whole wheat flour
1¼ cup all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp. baking powder
2 Tbsp. maple sugar
1 tsp. salt
1½ cups frozen blueberries, defrosted

Beat eggs in a large bowl until light and foamy.  Add milk, oil, and butter, and whisk to blend.  Sift dry ingredients over wet ingredients in bowl, and whisk until combined.

Heat nonstick frying pan over medium heat until hot (test by flicking some water into the pan; the water droplets should sizzle vigorously and disappear).  Pour batter into pan in the size you prefer, and sprinkle blueberries over the batter.  Let the pancakes get some color, then flip.  Repeat with remaining batter.  Apply butter and maple syrup, and you’re good to go.

Local Sources:

Eggs, bacon: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA

Milk: Stonyfield Farm, Londonderry, NH

Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Whole wheat flour: Wood Prairie Farm, Bridgewater, ME (mail order)

Maple sugar: The Warren Farm & Sugarhouse, North Brookfield, MA (Waltham Farmer’s Market)

Blueberries: Wyman’s, Milbridge, ME

Maple syrup: Butternut Mountain Farm, Morrisville, VT

Phyllo Isn’t Scary

Okay, let’s cut the chitchat and get to a recipe for a change. 

It was my dad’s, um, 49th birthday over the weekend, so I had to get off my lazy butt and make him some baklava.  His words, not mine.  This is one of the very best things that I make, so you can pretty much stop reading me after this (finally, right?).  It ranks right up there with this, and reminds me, lest I forget, of my character flaws where my sweet tooth is concerned. 

Baklava isn’t particularly hard.  It’s just a little time-consuming so I usually reserve it for special occasions.  And though phyllo has a reputation for being high-maintenance, it’s really not that bad.  Honest.  Personally, I think making pie dough without a food processor is way scarier.  In fact, when the Preschooler was a toddler, I had him help me by painting melted butter on each layer of phyllo with a wide brush.  He, of course, only wanted to paint the same spot over and over again until it was saturated and the bristles tore gashes through every single layer underneath.  But, it doesn’t matter.  No one’s checking every layer.  If a sheet breaks, just stick it back on there and keep going.  See:

For shame, Baklava.  Cover up your goodies!

Phyllo can be found in the freezer section, usually near the frozen pie crusts and such.  You’ll need to give it time to defrost (a few hours at room temperature or overnight in the fridge).  Some brands of phyllo come in sheets just the right size for a 9”x13” pan.  The stuff in the big, long yellow box, though, needs to be cut in half.  A pizza-cutter works great.  You’ll want to keep the dough covered in plastic wrap while you’re working, with a slightly damp towel on top of the plastic.  Then, you can pretty much take as long as you like to work.

Use whatever nuts or spices your heart desires.  Pistachios, almonds, acorns.  I’ve tailored this so it comes out just the way I like it.  To hell with all of you.  Walnuts, cardamom, enough sugar syrup so it’s drenched in sweetness, yet still crispy.  God, how does it stay crispy and moist at the same time? 

Witchcraft.  That’s how.  Wanna join my coven?

Baklava

I like to clarify the butter and make the sugar syrup ahead of time so everything is ready to assemble when opportunity strikes.

1 package phyllo dough, defrosted
3 sticks butter

Syrup:
2 cups sugar
1½ cups water
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
2 Tbsp. corn syrup

Filling:
1 10-oz. bag finely diced walnuts (2½ cups)
½ cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. cardamom

Melt butter.  Skim foam off the top and discard.  Pour off the pure butter into a clean container, stopping short of the cloudy white stuff at the bottom.  Discard the white solids, and set the yellow clarified butter aside.

Place sugar, water, lemon juice, and corn syrup in a small saucepan.  Over medium-low heat, stir until sugar dissolves.  Then increase heat, bring to boil, and simmer for 5 minutes.  Remove from heat, cool, and chill in refrigerator.

Mix walnuts, sugar, and spices in a medium bowl and set aside.

Preheat oven to 350ºF.  Arrange stack of phyllo sheets on plastic wrap and cover with more plastic wrap.  Set a slightly damp dishtowel on top of that.  Using a pastry brush (or unused paint brush, 1-inch or wider), brush 9”x13” glass baking dish with melted butter. 

Place one sheet in the bottom of the dish and brush with butter.  Repeat this process until you have 12 layers in the dish.  Spread half the walnut mixture evenly over the dough.  Add 8 more buttered phyllo sheets.  Spread the remainder of the walnut mixture.  Top with 12 more buttered layers. 

With a sharp knife, carefully cut diamond shapes all the way through the layers by cutting diagonally across one way, and then diagonally across in the other direction.  Pour any remaining butter over the top.  Bake for 30 minutes.  Then lower oven to 300ºF and continue baking for 45 minutes.  Cool 10 minutes.  Pour cold syrup evenly over warm pastry.  Let cool completely before serving.  Store at room temperature.

Carrot Cake for President

Wow.  Three whole days without posting.  That must be some kind of a new record for me.  If you must know, I’ve been very busy honoring our presidents, past and current.  But especially current.  God, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to top him.  Is there any way to keep him in there for a third term?  Any way at all?

Apparently, I’ve chosen to honor our presidents by eating all of the carrot cake I made for Husband for Valentine’s Day.  Presidents like cake, right?  And this exercise of honoring our presidents made me remember just how good this carrot cake is, which is why I’m back with the recipe. 

The single most important thing about this cake from Husband’s perspective is that it’s totally raisin-free.  Not a single raisin in sight, though there are pecans aplenty, which ought to make Jimmy Carter happy (what did he grow again?).  Lucky for FDR, there should be no Pearl Harbor flashbacks since there’s no pineapple or coconut or anything weird like that in here, either.  Just carrots.  Carrots in a cake aren’t weird.  Right, Bill Clinton?  And, of course, it has cream cheese frosting, which is the other obvious requirement.  And if anyone liked cheese, it was Calvin Coolidge.

I always make a habit of doubling frosting recipes.  Even my own, which I had already doubled the last time I made it and probably the time before that.  I hate the idea of running out.  This policy just guarantees that the cake gets better and better every year, just like our presidents.

Husband's Favorite Carrot Cake

1½ cups canola oil
2½ cups sugar
4 eggs, separated
5 Tbsp. hot water
2½ cups flour
1½ tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. cloves
1½ cups grated carrots (about 3)
1 cup chopped pecans

Frosting
½ lb. butter, softened (2 sticks)
1 lb. cream cheese (2 bricks)
1½ lb. confectioner’s sugar

Preheat oven to 350°F.  Grease two 9-inch circular cake pans.  Line bottoms with parchment paper and grease that, too.  Dust with flour by shaking it around the pan until it completely coats the bottom and sides.  Shake excess into the other pan and repeat, emptying the extra flour into the trash.  Set aside.

In a large bowl, mix oil and sugar until well blended.  Beat in the 4 eggs yolks.  Add the hot water and mix well, scraping down the sides.  In a large bowl, sift flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and spices.  Beat into sugar mixture until just combined.  Stir in carrots and nuts.  Batter will be very thick.

In a medium bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric mixer until stiff peaks form.  Stir about a quarter of the egg whites directly into the batter to lighten it up.  Then, gently fold the rest of the egg whites into the batter.  Pour into cake pans to the same height and bake 50-60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out pretty cleanly (a few moist crumbs are okay).  Let cool.

To make frosting, whip together butter and cream cheese with an electric mixer.  Add confectioner’s sugar and mix until lumps are no longer of a worrisome size.  This varies from person to person.

To assemble, remove cakes from pans and arrange one cake on a plate.  Spread top with frosting and stack second cake on top.  Frost the sides, then the top.  If you’re getting crumbs in the frosting and it’s pissing you off, do a thin coat of frosting and then refrigerate.  That will lock in the crumbs so that you can use the remaining frosting to give it a final, crumb-free coat.  Decorate attractively.  Or stupidly.  It’s a free country.

Cookbook Friday: Tortiere

                   

This is my grandmother, Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe, at my wedding in 2000.  She hates this picture because she thinks it makes her look old.  But, I love it because this is mostly how I’ve always known her.  She forgets that I wasn’t around when she was young, stick thin, and flawlessly beautiful.  As much as I love the old pictures, I barely recognize her. 

I knew her in the later stages, still fiercely independent with a wicked sense of humor, but capable of more love than I thought humanly possible.  She has a favorite skin cream, which she uses liberally, that kept those wrinkles at bay for as long as nature would allow.  But, I wouldn’t trade in a single one of those wrinkles because there’s a story behind each one.  (Although, now that I’m getting of an age, maybe I should find out what brand it is.)  (So, then, I guess it is actually possible to miss your own point.)

Growing up, Nonni got me hooked on crossword puzzles, Alfred Hitchcock, and seven-layer cookies.  We’d spend hours wordlessly working on nine-million-piece jigsaw puzzles.  She had a weakness for scratch tickets.  I had a weakness for chocolate.  We worked out an arrangement.  If you were sleeping over and she heard you cough, she’d crank the heat up to 85° until you woke up thinking you were dying in the Sahara.  Then, when you finally cooled off and fell back asleep, she’d be up banging pots and pans at 5 a.m.

If you piss her off, you hear about it.  If you make her happy, you hear about that, too.  She isn’t perfect.  And you wouldn’t want her to be.  This is starting to sound like a eulogy.  Fear not, she’s alive and well.  But, why wait for a funeral? 

Here, have some chicken.

Tortiere

Unrelated, as far as I know, to the French-Canadian meat pie by the same name, this Italian peasant dish is equally hearty.  Serve with plenty of Italian bread to mop up the juices.

¼ cup olive oil
1 onion, sliced thinly
1 medium package boneless chicken breasts, cut into thirds
2-3 potatoes, cut into medium cubes
3 cups Nonni’s homemade tomato sauce
1 15-oz. can peas (you can substitute frozen peas, but they won’t taste murky enough)
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 300°F.  Pour oil onto the bottom of a 9x11-inch baking dish.  Add onions, then arrange chicken breasts on top and potatoes around them.  Sprinkle salt and pepper, and add just enough tomato sauce to cover the chicken.  Bake uncovered until chicken is cooked through and potatoes are tender, maybe 2 hours (depends on how big your chicken and potato pieces are).  Then, take the can of peas, water and all, and throw them in the pan as soon as it comes out.  Let sit a few minutes to warm the peas. 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
New Haven, Connecticut
1918 -

And that's the end of the Italian Cookbook Friday, folks.  (If you missed the beginning, it starts here.)

Blueberry Cobbler

I have to jump on the blueberry cobbler bandwagon this week because, well, I made blueberry cobbler.  (Yeah, it’s not really much more complicated than that.)

And why should cobbler be complicated, anyway?  Some sweetened fruit, some flaky dough, and vanilla (bean) ice cream melting all over the place.  So, here’s my favorite recipe, an adaptation of something that came out of the Cook’s Illustrated test kitchen many years ago.  Did I mention I worked there once?

I learned a great many things in those hallowed halls, including the best way to peel garlic (with the back of a knife and a mighty thwack) and how to mince it finely (with a little salt and your knife at an acute angle making a sort of rhythmic mashing motion).  I also learned that sometimes I like things better when they’ve only been tested, say, 7 times, as opposed to 57.  So, I started making this recipe at home before the head recipe-tester was even done, yet.  Good enough for me, I thought.  (This attitude might have something to do with why I no longer work there.)

Anyway, the “best” recipe is always a matter of opinion.  For me, though, it doesn’t get any better than this.

 

Maybe the Best Blueberry Cobbler (print-friendly version)

6 cups blueberries
1 Tbsp. cornstarch
½ cup sugar, plus 1 Tbsp.
Pinch ground cinnamon
Juice from ½ lemon
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
½ cup milk, plus 1 Tbsp.

Preheat oven to 400°F.

In a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate, combine blueberries, cornstarch, ½ cup sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice.  Stir well and cover with foil.  Place pie dish on rimmed baking sheet and bake until berries start to release their liquid, about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, add flour, baking powder, and salt to the work bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine.  Add butter and pulse until the mixture forms a coarse meal, about 15 seconds.  Dump mixture into bowl and add ½ cup milk.  Combine with fork until a scrappy dough ball forms.  Turn onto counter and knead briefly.  Press into a disk about ½-inch thick.  With a biscuit cutter, cut into a dozen or so shapes, enough to cover the cobbler (recombine the scraps to make extra biscuits).

After 15 minutes, remove blueberries from oven, uncover, and stir.  Arrange biscuits on top, brush with 1 Tbsp. milk, and sprinkle with remaining 1 Tbsp. sugar.  Bake uncovered until biscuits are golden brown, 25-30 minutes more.  Cool 10 minutes before serving.  Don’t forget the ice cream.  Vanilla.  Bean.

Source: Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated (specifically, Kay Rentschler).

Cookbook Friday: Chicken Potacchio

               

This is a photo of Lydia [Belbusti] Barbaresi (on the right) with her sister Rose [Belbusti] Bernabucci in New Haven, CT in the 1940s.  Lydia was my great grandmother and Nonni’s mother.  The sisters were heading back to Italy for a wedding, and it was, I believe, the first time they had been back since emigrating in 1910.  This is the only picture I have of Lydia smiling.  She always looked very serious, like here and here (of course, if I had that many kids, I wouldn't be smiling, either).

Today, I’m sharing her recipe for Chicken Potacchio, pronounced “po-TAH-key” in their Marchigiano dialect.  You have no idea what I had to go through to get this recipe.  First of all, I didn’t even know it existed.  I had already interrogated Nonni multiple times to make sure I had all of the family recipes written down, when this chicken dish suddenly appeared on the table.  I had never seen it before in my life.

Once I tasted it, I knew I had to include it in the cookbook.  It was mop-up-all-the-juices scrumptious.  Lydia had taught Nonni how to make it, of course, and Nonni made it for her kids growing up, but not so much after that.  In fact, she had forgotten about it entirely. 

Nonni gave me the run-down, but my first attempt to duplicate it was lackluster, with the chicken cooking way before the potatoes were done.  Turns out, there weren’t even supposed to be potatoes in the recipe (you may recall this conversation). 

So, I nixed the potatoes, made it again, and it still wasn’t up to snuff.  More phone calls.  We played this game of culinary Marco Polo for quite some time.  With each conversation, a new ingredient or technique was discovered.  Peeled garlic cloves turned into unpeeled garlic cloves.  Uncovered pots suddenly had covers.  Preheated ovens were abandoned for the stovetop.

But, the recipe still wasn’t right.

I was about to give up, drive down to New Haven myself, and videotape the whole production, but I decided to make a last-ditch attempt from afar.  When I called, Nonni’s sister-in-law Regina was there.  Regina had also learned how to make the dish from Lydia.  When Regina heard what Nonni was telling me, she interjected her own instructions, which (surprise, surprise) were completely different.  Suddenly, there’s salt pork instead of oil and red wine vinegar instead of white. 

Nonni, who’s pushing ninety, laughingly shouts: “She’s always been jealous of me...My shape...Now, she’s trying to take away my chicken.”

Ultimately, there was consensus on the technique.  Even some of the ingredients!  I tried the recipe again, and guess what?  It was perfect.  Finally.

I haven’t asked much of you, dear readers, but somebody, somewhere, please make this.  It may be the most over-researched recipe in the whole world, but so very well worth it.

 

Chicken Potacchio

This is Lydia’s original version.  Nonni makes it a bit differently with a few tablespoons of oil instead of the salt pork, and the same amount of white vinegar instead of the red wine vinegar.  Serve this with Italian bread to soak up the sauce.  For the garlic, squeeze it out of its skin and eat it whole or spread it on bread.

2 oz. salt pork, cut into a small dice
2 lb. boneless chicken breasts, cut into two or three pieces
1 head garlic, separated into cloves with skin still on (DON’T YOU DARE PEEL THEM)
½ cup red wine vinegar
½ cup water
1 Tbsp. dried rosemary leaves
Salt and pepper

In a large skillet (with lid) over medium-high heat, fry salt pork (uncovered) until it starts to turn golden and there’s a thin layer of fat rendered at the bottom of the pan.  Season the chicken pieces and add them to the pan with the salt pork along with the unpeeled garlic cloves.  Don’t cover the pan (I’ll tell you when, okay, just hold your horses).  Brown the chicken on both sides, taking care not to let the garlic burn.  You can do this in two batches, if necessary.

With the chicken in the pan nice and brown, add the vinegar and water, and sprinkle the rosemary on top.  Cover the pan (yes, now) and reduce the heat to a gentle simmer.  Cook until chicken is done and sauce has reduced and thickened, 20-30 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper. 

Lydia [Belbusti] Barbaresi
New Haven, Connecticut (by way of Castelvecchio, Le Marche, Italy)
1883 - 1974

Chicken Potacchio, Swiss chard sautéed with pine nuts and raisins, and one very marked-up manuscript.

Next: Making Pasta

     (Previously: Italian Bread)

Cookbook Friday: Sausage and Peppers

So, back to my grandmother.  We left off with Dora Barbaresi marrying Freddie Donroe in 1940.  This picture was taken two years later on the Fourth of July of 1942.  Nonni, visibly pregnant, is sitting with her niece, Terese [Bontempo] Cirasuolo, and nephew, Gerry Piccolo, who are enjoying some tasty raisins.  Speaking of picnic food, which I hope to be enjoying in the near future, here’s an Italian standard that’s easy, portable, and lip-smacking good.

 

Sausage and Peppers

The secret is in the sausage.  Get the most authentic Italian sausages you can find.  I love the ones from DePasquale’s in Nonantum, MA, which you can buy from their tiny little shop on Watertown St. or at Russo’s.  I throw a couple of spicy ones in with the sweet to keep things interesting.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 onions, sliced thinly
3 green bell peppers, thickly sliced
1 red bell pepper, thickly sliced
2 lbs. sweet Italian sausages, links separated, pricked
6 Italian sub rolls

Preheat oven to 350°F.  In a large baking dish, add oil, onions, peppers, and whole sausages.  Cover with foil and bake until sausages are cooked through and peppers are soft, between 1 and 1½ hours, depending on the thickness of the peppers.  Serve in sub rolls.

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
New Haven, Connecticut
1918 -

 

Next Recipe: Cappellettis

     (Previous Recipe: Crescia)

Taiwanese Pork Dumplings

Okay, how about a recipe for a change?

Over the weekend, I did my annual Chinese-dumpling- making marathon.  I do this once a year in the winter, preferably when I’m snowed in, but in the absence of snow I’ll still make them because, where the hell’s the snow?  (Actually, it snowed today and I credit the dumplings.)  Also, coinciding with the Chinese New Year, with which they are traditionally associated, is sometimes a happy accident.  But again, not this year. 

I make enough to freeze for many meals to come.  It takes hours, but it’s worth it.  If you’re not up to the task, you can buy Japanese gyoza at Trader Joe’s.  They’re pretty tasty.  But those wonton wrappers are a bit flimsy for my taste.  These are more substantial, and you don’t have to worry about them falling apart when you pan-fry them.  And I always pan-fry them.

For some reason, this year I started crimping the edges with a fork.  It works well, but they look all wrong, as if they might be filled with sweet apple instead of delicious pork.  So I went back to using my fingers.  Besides, I have a hunch the Chinese aren’t using a fork to crimp their dumplings. 

Here are the specs.  It makes many, many, yet not nearly enough.

Taiwanese Dumplings

1 head Napa cabbage, quartered
1 lb. ground pork
½ bunch Chinese chives (or scallions), trimmed and minced
2-inch piece ginger, peeled and finely chopped
2 Tbsp. soy sauce
2 tsp. sesame oil
½ tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil, plus 3 Tbsp. for frying
5½ cups flour
2 cups water, plus ½ cup for steaming
Soy sauce
Rice vinegar (or white vinegar)

To make the filling, put cabbage into a large pot with water to cover, top with lid, and bring to a boil over high heat.  Reduce heat to medium and simmer until soft, 15-20 minutes.  Drain and cool.  Squeeze out excess water.  Finely chop cabbage and transfer to large bowl.  Add pork, chives, ginger, soy sauce, sesame oil, salt, and vegetable oil.  Mix well with your hands.  Cover with plastic and refrigerate at least 1 hour or overnight.

For the wrappers, put flour into large bowl and gradually add water, stirring with a fork until dough can no longer be stirred.  Turn out onto lightly floured surface and knead until smooth.  Transfer to clean bowl, cover with plastic, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or up to 3 hours.  Divide dough into 8 pieces.  With hands, roll each into a 1-inch thick rope.  Cut ropes into 1-inch pieces and roll into balls.  With a rolling pin, roll out balls into 3½-inch circles.  Keep remaining dough covered to keep from drying out.

For each wrapper, put 2 tsp. of filling in the center and fold dough over to form a half circle.  Pleat the edges together with your fingers.  If they don’t stick, use a little water in between to seal.  Transfer to a floured baking sheet and cover with plastic.  Repeat.  Freeze on individual trays until frozen.  Then store in freezer bags until ready to use. 

To pan-fry, heat 3 Tbsp. vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Working in batches of no more than 8, add dumplings with ½ cup water, cover, and cook until the bottoms begin to brown, about 10 minutes.  Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking, covered, until filling is cooked through, 8-10 minutes.

For the dipping sauce, combine equal parts soy sauce and vinegar in a quantity that makes sense.

Source: adapted from Saveur.  Unfortunately, the recipe got separated from the magazine article itself, so I don’t know the surely-very-interesting back-story.  Just that the recipe came from Thomas Kuo, who was probably Asian.  I would call Saveur to find out more details, but that’s just asking for a copyright infringement lawsuit.  Plus, they don’t return my calls.