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!

 

Sugared Cranberries

It doesn’t really feel like the holiday season quite yet. The temperature seems too warm, the Halloween candy is still plentiful, and our pumpkins are in various states of non-frozen decomposition on the front stairs.  (For those of you following along on Husband’s Facebook page, our Jack-o’-lantern’s disgusting metamorphosis is finally complete—or is it?)

But now comes the scariest time of the year: holiday shopping season. It puts Halloween to shame. I shan’t be leaving the house until December 26. God help them if the kids outgrow their shoes during that time. Sorry, kids, no way am I going to Target today. Just wear socks and sandals. Oh, it’s snowing out? Tie a bread bag around each foot, you’ll be fine.

I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the perfect holiday gift is a mere click away. People always say they have too many cookbooks, but they don’t really mean it. True, they might not be willing to buy one for themselves, but they will always happily accept one under the tree. Trust me. And don’t forget your Aunt Mildred. She seems like a Wintersweet kind of gal, and she’s very sorry for what she said about you that time she got into the cordial!


Sugared Cranberries  

These festive treats are sweetly tart and fun to eat. Use the freshest, bounciest cranberries you can find—not frozen.

1 cup fresh cranberries, washed, picked over
1 cup water
1 cup granulated sugar, plus 1/3 cup for coating
2 strips orange peel (no white pith)

Set the cranberries aside in a small glass bowl. In a medium saucepan, stir the water, 1 cup of sugar, and the orange peels together over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Bring the syrup to a bare simmer and remove from heat. Let the syrup cool 2-3 minutes, and then pour it over the cranberries. Set a small bowl on top of the cranberries to submerge them. Cover the bowls and refrigerate for 8 hours or overnight.

Strain the cranberries and set them on a plate. Remove the orange peels, cut into thin strips, and add to the berries. Sprinkle about 3 tablespoons of sugar over the berries, a little at a time, tossing well to coat. Let dry for 2 hours. Sprinkle another 1-2 tablespoons of sugar over them, rolling the berries until well coated. Let dry another hour before serving. Store uncovered at room temperature for 1-2 days.

Source: From Wintersweet by Tammy Donroe Inman (that's me!)

Pickled Peppers

Peter Piper is a big fat liar. No way did he pick a peck of pickled peppers. The pickling is a whole other step! Who’s responsible for fact-checking these pre-Internet memes?

Luckily, the pickling process is pretty simple, and you can start pickling your hot peppers at the beginning of dinner prep and have them ready by the end. This particular recipe for quick-pickled cherry peppers is my favorite so far. These are the hots I used on last week’s Italian grinders and they’re also great in antipasto salads and on grilled summer burgers. I highly recommend them.

(BTW, my sources confirm that "she" actually does sell seashells by the seashore, but she doesn’t make very much money due to her poorly-thought-out business plan.)

Pickled Cherry Peppers  

This process works for any kind of hot pepper, such as jalapeños and serranos, though you might find me sneaking in some coriander seeds in that case.

1 lb. hot cherry peppers
1-1/2 cups white vinegar (or white wine vinegar)
1/2 cup water
2 cloves garlic, peeled, mashed with the side of a knife
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. kosher salt

With a paring knife, cut a circle about 1/2 inch in diameter around each stem and pull off the tops. Most of the seeds should come out with them. Shake out the rest. Slice the peppers into rings (or keep them whole if you’re in a hurry or plan to stuff them with something like goat cheese).

In a small pot, combine the peppers rings, vinegar, water, garlic, bay leaf, and salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature. Pour everything into a quart jar and keep refrigerated for about a month, pulling out pickled peppers as needed.

*Be sure to wash your hands very, very well after handling hot peppers, and do not under any circumstances touch your eyes.

Italian Grinders

Boy, it’s been a busy few weeks. The kids are just now winding down from all of their end-of-school activities: final exams, the middle school’s rendition of Mary Poppins, the Little League baseball playoffs, and band and orchestra concert season, which culminated in a whirlwind school trip to New York City and Philadelphia by bus over the course of 2.5 days. (Thank goodness for the Serial podcast.)

Needless to say, meals have been an afterthought. It’s basically just been sandwiches for dinner until further notice. But I happen to think an Italian grinder is a perfectly good dinner. Here’s how to make one at home just like the sub shops.

Italian Grinders

Bake 4 hoagie rolls in a 375°F oven for 3 minutes until the tops are gently toasted. Split the rolls lengthwise, keeping them attached on one side. Top each roll with 3-4 slices of mortadella (or ham), 4-5 slices of capicola (or prosciutto), 4-5 slices of Genoa salami (or pepperoni), and 3-4 slices of provolone. If you get a half-pound of each cold cut, you’ll have plenty. Bake the open-faced sandwiches for 5 minutes until the cheese melts. Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and dried oregano. Pile on your choice of toppings: sliced tomatoes, chopped pickles, sliced onion, hot peppers, and shredded iceberg lettuce. Drizzle each sandwich with a bit of red wine vinegar and olive oil. Then close them up. (I find this easier to do with the back of a long knife pressing everything down while I fold each sandwich up, otherwise the condiments tend to escape. Just be careful sliding out that knife.) Devour.  

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.

English Toffee

I bumped today’s exciting salad post in favor of something sweeter. What can I say, Cupid wasn’t really feeling the greens. He tried to shoot a head of lettuce at my face with his bow, but it bounced right off.

Anyway, it’s snowing again here in Boston. Another day, another blizzard, and I’m going to need something more powerful than love to help me heave all of this snow over the existing 10-foot snow banks. Something that will give me the strength and agility to do so in subzero wind chills while simultaneously dodging all of those dagger-like icicles hanging from the rooflines.

So consider this toffee recipe my form of blizzard insurance. With any luck, it’ll get me out there and back inside in under three hours. That it might also pass for something Valentine-y is purely coincidental.


English Toffee  

Sometimes I add 1/2 tsp. of vanilla to the toffee if I want a stronger, more butterscotchy flavor.

1 cup unsalted butter
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup sliced almonds, toasted
Pinch or two of coarse sea salt

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the butter, sugar, water, and salt. Stir constantly until the butter and sugar melt, and then stir occasionally until a candy thermometer reads 300°F. Remove from the heat and pour the mixture into an ungreased 13x9-inch pan.

Let the toffee sit undisturbed for 3 to 5 minutes until it stiffens a bit (don’t touch it with your fingers—it’s hot; you just want it stiff enough to hold the weight of the chocolate chips—set one on top and see if it sinks). Once the toffee has cooled a bit but still radiates heat, scatter the chocolate chips on top. Let them sit for 5 minutes to melt, and then spread the chocolate evenly over the toffee, all the way to the edges. Scatter the nuts on top, pressing gently to adhere. Sprinkle with sea salt. Let cool completely for several hours.

To remove the toffee from the pan, stab it with a butter knife near the corner to crack it and remove a piece. Continue to break off irregular pieces with your hands or remove the whole slab to a cutting board. Store the pieces in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

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.

Roasted Salmon with Dill Yogurt Sauce

Well, we're off on vacation. As always, I've booby-trapped our home with poison ivy, both inside and out, so steal our junk at your own risk.

Before I go, I thought I'd leave you with a quick summer dinner that got the thumbs-up from the kids. It's from the book Dinner: A Love Story by Jenny Rosenstrach. I can't find a single thing wrong with it. Enjoy!

Roasted Salmon with Dill Yogurt Sauce  

You can grill the salmon, too. Your call.

6 4-ounce salmon fillets
1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used Green Mountain Greek yogurt, which isn't too thick)
1 heaping teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
Squeeze of fresh lemon
Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 400°F.

Season the salmon with salt and pepper. Place it in a baking dish and roast in the oven for 10 to 15 minutes until flaky but still moist.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the yogurt, mustard, dill, and lemon juice. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve the fish with a dollop of sauce and perhaps some green beans.

Source: Adapted from Dinner: A Love Story by Jenny Rosenstrach

Strawberry Rhubarb Crumb Bars

I think I've mentioned how much I love rhubarb: rhubarb pie, rhubarb crisp, rhubarb parfaits. I may be a minority on this, but I like my rhubarb to stand alone. However, in the interest of diversity on my blog, I offer you these Strawberry Rhubarb Crumb Bars. The rhubarb in our school garden is going gangbusters, and there's no way elementary school kids are going to eat it all unless it's mixed with something they know is good. Like strawberries. And a sweet crumbly topping. You have to earn their trust first, and then maybe you can subtract the berries. (Maybe.)


Strawberry-Rhubarb Crumb Bars   

This makes enough to feed a crowd. For a smaller group, halve the recipe and make it in an 8x8-inch pan. Prepare to eat it all within a few days as the moisture from the fruit tends to uncrisp the topping over time.

Dough
21/2 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cold, cut into 6 pieces
2 oz. cream cheese
1 large egg
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
1/4 tsp. ground cardamom (optional)

Fruit
1/2 pound (2 cups) strawberries, hulled, halved, and thinly sliced
1 pound (4 cups) rhubarb, cut into roughly 1/2-inch thick pieces

1/2 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
1 tablespoon lemon juice

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

For the dough, put 2 cups of flour into the bowl of the food processor along with the brown sugar, baking powder, and salt. Add the butter and cream cheese, and pulse the motor until the mixture is moist and crumbly. Dump everything out into a medium bowl. Measure 3 cups of the mixture and add back to the food processor along with the remaining 1/2 cup of flour, egg, and vanilla. Blend just until it starts to come together into a dough. Press the clumps evenly into the pan. Bake for 10 minutes until puffy.

Meanwhile, combine the strawberries, rhubarb, brown sugar, and lemon juice in a large bowl. Spread the fruit in an even layer over the surface of the partially baked crust.

To the bowl of reserved streusel topping, add the walnuts and cardamom if desired, and work in with your fingers until pebbly. Sprinkle the topping over the surface of the fruit. Bake again for 40 to 50 minutes until the topping is light golden brown. Let cool completely before slicing. Store uncovered for a day or two to keep the streusel from getting soggy.

Source: Adapted from The Kitchn and The Tart Tart

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

Shiitake Banh Mi

A few weeks ago, I found myself with a glut of shiitake mushrooms. A sudden spell of warm weather caused my five logs to flush all at once with these small, rather dry, cracked mushrooms. The next day called for rain, so I decided to keep them out a little longer to let them grow a bit more and rehydrate. When I woke up the next morning, the temperature had plummeted, there was snow on the ground, and I ended up with several pounds of huge, rather waterlogged, partially frozen mushrooms (insert frowny-faced emoticon here).

Frozen mushrooms aren't the best. The way mushrooms grow from tiny pinheads to full-grown specimens is basically by inflating with water. But if that water should freeze, it will expand and rupture the cell walls. The results are pretty slimy. I know because I cooked the frozen ones anyway. Not the best.

On the upside, some of the mushrooms didn't freeze and these banh mi-like sandwiches were a great way to enjoy them. A banh mi is a sandwich that evolved in Vietnam during the French colonial period. It's usually some kind of meat, like pate or pork belly, in a baguette with pickled vegetables, fresh herbs, and spicy chili sauce—a fusion of both cultures in one tasty package. For this vegetarian version, shiitake slices are sautéed in soy sauce and garlic, then added to a baguette slathered with Sriracha mayo, layered with quick-pickled cucumbers and radishes, and garnished with cilantro and mint. Fresh-tasting and satisfying, this was lunch all week.

The idea was inspired by a recipe in the vegan cookbook Isa Does It by Isa Chandra Moskowitz, except I unveganed it by adding the mayo back in. Vegans and non-vegans alike will want to check out this book: it's full of things that even I would eat, and the food photography and overall design is great. And if you have the same pet peeve I have about authors' faces on the cover (no offense to anyone's face—all I want to see is the food), you can remove the dust jacket and underneath it, printed directly on the cover, is a nice colorful alphabet soup with little pasta letters spelling out "Let's Eat."

Yes, let's!


Shiitake Banh Mi    

Avoid super-crusty baguettes for these sandwiches unless you want the roof of your mouth shredded. Aim for something mid-way between a soft sub roll and a traditional baguette (Russo's shoppers: try the medium sub rolls that come in bags of three on the bottom shelf). Also, I used regular red radishes, which turned the picking liquid pink and gave the vegetables a rosy hue by Day 2. If you want a more manly sandwich, maybe stick with the traditional white daikon radishes.

Quick Pickles
1/2 cup rice vinegar
1/2 cup water
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup thinly sliced radishes
1 cup thinly sliced English or Persian cucumber

Shiitakes
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 pound shiitake mushrooms, caps sliced 1/4-inch thick, stems removed
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons soy sauce

Sriracha mayo
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Sriracha
Salt to taste

Assembly
4 soft baguette rolls
Fresh cilantro sprigs
Fresh mint leaves

For the pickles, whisk together the vinegar, water, sugar, and salt until dissolved. Stir in the vegetables and let them sit in the liquid until ready to serve.

For the shiitakes, preheat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. When hot, add the oil and then the shiitakes. Sauté until they soften, release their moisture, and brown a bit in spots, 5 to 10 minutes depending on how much moisture they contain. Add the garlic and sauté for 30 seconds before adding the soy sauce, stirring until well mixed and fragrant. Remove the mushrooms to a shallow bowl to cool slightly.

For the Sriracha mayo, whisk together the mayo, Sriracha, and salt. As written, the spice level is about medium, but you can adjust it to your liking by adding more mayo or more Sriracha.

To assemble the sandwiches, split the baguettes lengthwise by cutting out a narrow wedge from the top. Then hollow out the rolls a little by pulling out some of the extra bread inside to make room for more filling. Spread the inside generously with Sriracha mayo. Add some cooked mushrooms, then some pickled radish and cucumbers, and then cilantro and mint. Eat up. Any remaining sandwich components can be stored several days covered in the fridge. Makes 4 sandwiches.

Source: Adapted from Isa Does It by Isa Chandra Moskowitz.

Grapefruit Poppy Seed Cake

Well hi, long-lost readers! Did you think I disappeared for good? No such luck.

This was the post that was supposed to go up last week before we drove down the Cape for Easter, but then things got all biblical in the blogosphere. Typepad, my blog hosting service, was cyberattacked on the eve of Good Friday, rendering thousands of blogs inaccessible, mine included. FotF was resurrected on Saturday, then crucified again on Easter Sunday in ironic fashion.

We were too busy eating quiche and jellybeans to really care on Easter. I sort of noticed on Monday, but then promptly forgot because the Boston Marathon was so exciting! Americans like Meb and Shalane digging deep for #BostonStrong was an amazing thing to watch. But then on Tuesday, when service was still down, I definitely noticed. I needed to write. Was my blog coming back? Ever?

I hadn't considered a scenario in which you could actually lose access to all of your work indefinitely. I took it for granted that my eight years worth of words and pictures would always be there until I died and stopped paying the bills. Now I wonder: is that really true?

FotF seems to be running smoothly at the moment, so thank you for your patience. Also, thanks to Typepad for pulling those all-nighters. Hopefully, that's the last time this happens, but if you should arrive here to find a big empty space again in the future, check my Twitter or Facebook feeds for status updates. I also have a space on Medium that can serve as my emergency backup blog in a pinch. Because there ain't no emergency like a food blog emergency.

Anyway, here's that cake. You're probably guessing it's Lemon Poppy Seed, and you're close but no cigar. This version is made with grapefruit, an adaptation of the Grapefruit Buttermilk Cake in my book. It's tender and moist with a subtle, citrusy flavor. The 8YO adores it. It's something sweet and bright and hopeful. Just do me a favor and don't give any to the hackers. No cake for them.

 
Grapefruit Poppy Seed Cake    

I prefer tart white and pink grapefruits for baking, but the sweeter red grapefruits will also work.

Cake
1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar
1 teaspoon finely grated grapefruit zest (shiny yellow or pink part only)
1 cup (225 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
11/3 cups (190 g) all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (125 ml) buttermilk
1 tablespoon poppy seeds

Syrup
1/3 cup (80 ml) freshly squeezed grapefruit juice (from about 1/2 grapefruit)
1/3 cup (70 g) granulated sugar

Icing
1 tablespoon grapefruit juice
1/2 cup (65 g) confectioners’ sugar

Preheat the oven to 325°F (165°C). Butter a 91/2 x 51/2-inch (24 x 14-cm) loaf pan. Tear out a sheet of parchment paper. Fold it in half or thirds so that it can lie inside the whole width of the pan, ends hanging over the long sides of the pan. This paper hammock makes it easier to lift the cake out of the pan later.

For the cake, mix the sugar with the grapefruit zest in a small bowl. Rub the mixture together with your fingers so the zest releases its oils.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream the butter with the sugar mixture until fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Add the vanilla and mix again.

Sift the flour, baking soda, and salt into a medium bowl. Add one third of the dry ingredients to the sugar mixture and mix on low speed just until combined. Alternate adding the buttermilk and the rest of the dry ingredients in halves to the sugar mixture, mixing until just combined and scraping down the sides of the bowl in between. Add the poppy seeds with the final addition of dry ingredients. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan.

Bake the cake for 55 to 60 minutes or until the top is golden and puffed, and a toothpick inserted into the center of cake comes out clean. Remove the cake from the oven and let it cool for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, for the syrup, combine the grapefruit juice and sugar in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Boil the syrup 1 minute and then remove it from the heat. With a toothpick or skewer, poke holes all over the top of the cake. Pour the syrup over the cake, a little at a time, brushing it with a pastry brush to ensure even soaking. When all of the syrup has been added, let the cake cool completely. To remove the cake from the pan, lift up the edges of the parchment paper and set the cake on a plate, then slide the paper out from underneath.

For the glaze, whisk together the remaining 1 tablespoon of grapefruit juice with the confectioners’ sugar until smooth. You want the consistency to be loose enough to drizzle, but not so thin that it soaks into the cake. If it’s too thin, add more sugar. If it’s too thick, whisk in some water a few drops at a time. Drizzle the icing over the top of the cake with a whisk (if it dribbles over the sides, all the better). The cake can be stored at room temperature covered in plastic wrap for 2 to 3 days.

Chicken Pot Pie

Hey, everyone, it's March 14th, which means it's Pi Day! Enjoy your allotted 3.14 pieces of pie. The great thing about a non-repeating number that never ends is that you can always have a tiny bit more pie, mathematically speaking, so enjoy the loophole while you can!

In honor of the day, I have a pie recipe for you. That's two in one week if you count the chocolate tart. The inspiration for this chicken potpie came from Joanne Chang's new cookbook, Flour, Too. If you don't know who Joanne Chang is, then you must not be from Boston because if you were, you would know her bakery and you would know it well. It's paradise. Especially when you're walking from the ICA in the fricking freezing cold with the horrible, horrible wind. The whole place just swaddles you with warmth and butter.

I pulled this potpie filling straight from the book (actually, it's chef Cory Johnson's recipe). But I already had some of my own pie dough in the fridge, so I used that instead of the cookbook version. It's a dough I've been playing around with that has cornmeal and buttermilk. The other difference is that I only had enough dough for the top crust, so I didn't bother with the bottom crust. The crisp, flaky top is the best part anyway. Plus then I didn't have to do any blind-baking (score!). If you want the full Flour recipe, well, you'll have to buy the book. But if you're willing to slum it with the likes of me, here's what I did. It's still pretty awesome.

 

Chicken Potpie    

If you just want a regular pie crust, no funny buttermilk-cornmeal business, just omit the cornmeal and sub in icy cold water for the buttermilk.

Crust
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup fine cornmeal
1/2 tablespoon granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces
3 to 5 tablespoons buttermilk

Filling
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium onion, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large carrot, peeled and thinly sliced
1 celery stalk, thinly sliced
1 small russet potato, unpeeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
5 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1-1/2 cups chicken stock
1 cup frozen peas
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
1-1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons heavy cream

For the crust, add the flour, cornmeal, sugar, and salt to the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add the butter pieces and pulse in 1-second beats until you have chunks of butter the size of peas, 8 to 10 pulses. Add 3 tablespoons of buttermilk through the feed tube, and pulse until the dough starts to clump. If it doesn't clump after 12 pulses, add a little more buttermilk, pulsing the motor after each addition, until the mixture clumps together. (You can also cut the butter into the dry ingredients with an electric mixer, a pastry blender, or your fingers. Add the buttermilk in increments, fluffing with a fork, until the dough holds together when pressed.) Dump the dough onto the counter and form it into a ball. Flatten it into a disk about 3/4-inch thick and wrap it in plastic wrap. Let the dough rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

For the filling, heat the butter in a large saucepan over medium-high heat until it foams. Add the onion and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it softens a bit. Add the carrot, celery, and potato and sauté, stirring, for 4 to 5 minutes until the vegetables start to soften. Add the chicken and continue to cook for another 2 to 3 minutes, stirring, until the chicken pieces start to turn opaque. Stir in the flour, mixing to coat all of the meat and vegetables, and cook 2 to 3 minutes longer. By this time, the filling will start to look a bit sludgy and a brown film should be forming on the bottom of the pan. Add the stock and bring to a simmer. Add the peas, thyme, salt, pepper, and cream and stir well. Simmer, scrapping up the browned bits clinging to the bottom of the pan, for about 5 minutes or until the filling thickens. Remove from the heat and spoon into a 9-inch pie plate or other similarly sized casserole dish.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Roll out the dough on a well-floured surface into a circle about 1/4-inch thick and at least 10 inches in diameter. With a bench scraper or spatula, flip one side of the dough over the top of the rolling pin, gently loosening the dough if it sticks to the counter, until it is fully draped over the pin. Center the dough over the filling and unfurl. Gently tuck the edges of the dough down into the gap between the filling and the sides of the plate to enclose. Crimp the edges decoratively if you want or leave as is. Cut a few steam vents into the dough with a paring knife. Place the pie on a baking sheet to catch any overflow. Bake for 30 to 45 minutes on the top rack of the oven until the crust is golden brown and the filling is bubbly. Remove from the oven and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. Pie will keep for several days covered in the fridge. To reheat, I actually lift off the crust and heat it on a pan in the toaster oven and heat the filling separately in the microwave. Then I reassemble. That way, the crust is nice and crisp instead of soggy.

Source: Filling adapted from Flour, Too by Joanne Chang

Local Ingredients:
Chicken: Chestnut Farm, Hardwick, MA
Carrots: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Buttermilk: Kate's, Old Orchard Beach, ME
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Salted Dark Chocolate Tart

As I mentioned before, it was my dad's birthday over the weekend. I usually make baklava, per his request, but this year he wanted to try something different.

He picked up my book (proudly on display on his coffee table for all of his cats to see), and picked out the Salted Dark Chocolate Tart (page 83). He loves chocolate and pistachios, so it was a logical choice. Also, it's rich and delicious. I knew he would like it, and I know I like it, and even the kids were enthusiastic about it once they scraped all the pistachios off. Or maybe they ate two pieces each because they were just so glad to be done with their death march around Sturbridge Village. Either way, we capped off a nice afternoon of barbecue and American history with what essentially is a chocolate truffle pie. And now I'm offering the recipe here. Because I know some of you aren't going to buy my book, but I love you anyway.

Also, want to know what makes a great serving plate for desserts in a pinch? The rotating plate on the inside of your microwave. It's perfectly flat, and the textured, tempered glass almost reads as "fancy." You'll want to clean it off first, of course. Spaghetti sauce splatters detract from the presentation and flavor, but it's nothing a little soapy water and some elbow grease can't handle. Just a little bachelor wisdom from my dad I'm passing on to you!

Salted Dark Chocolate Tart    

The recipe is straight out of my cookbook, except I'm substituting a potentially easier way to make the crust. Have at it!

Crust
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter (1 stick), cut into 8 pieces
1 to 2 tablespoons milk
Few drops of vanilla

Filling
1-1/3 cups bittersweet chopped chocolate or chocolate chips
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon Chambord or crème de cassis (optional)
1-1/4 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Topping
1 to 2 pinches large, coarse-grained sea salt, like Maldon or Fleur de Sel
2 tablespoons finely chopped pistachios (optional)

For the crust, add the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, and salt to the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Add the butter pieces and pulse in 1-second beats until you have chunks of butter the size of peas, 8 to 10 pulses. Add 1 tablespoon of milk with a few drops of vanilla through the feed tube, and pulse until the dough starts to clump. If it doesn't clump after 12 pulses, dribble in the remaining tablespoon of milk a little at a time, pulsing the motor after each addition, until the mixture clumps together. (You can also cut the butter into the dry ingredients with an electric mixer, a pastry blender, or your fingers. Add the milk in increments, fluffing with a fork, until the dough holds together when pressed.) Dump the dough onto the counter and form it into a ball. Flatten it into a disk about 3/4-inch thick and wrap it in plastic wrap. Let the dough rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Roll out the dough on a well-floured surface into a circle about 1/4-inch thick and 12 inches in diameter. With a bench scraper or spatula, flip one side of the dough over the top of the rolling pin, gently loosening the dough if it sticks to the counter, until it is fully draped over the pin. Center the dough over a 10-inch tart pan and unfurl. Gently fit the dough into the corners of the pan without stretching it. Clip off the excess dough by rolling the pin over the top. Gently press the dough against the sides of the pan with your fingers so the dough level rises slightly above the pan's edge to compensate for shrinkage. Use the scraps to reinforce any areas that are too thin. Poke the bottom crust with a fork about a dozen times. Line the dough with aluminum foil. Fill with pie weights all the way to the sides to keep the dough from shrinking (dried beans or rice work well). Bake the crust for 20 minutes, and then carefully remove the foil and weights. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes more, or until the bottom crust is cooked and dry. Let it cool completely before filling.

For the filling, combine the chocolate, sugar, salt, and Chambord in a medium bowl. In a small saucepan, heat the cream and butter until the butter has melted and the cream is hot with some bubbles forming around the edges. Do not boil. Pour the cream mixture over the chocolate and let it sit for 1 minute. Gently whisk just until smooth so as not to create air bubbles. Pour the filling into the tart shell and set it on an even surface in the refrigerator for at least 6 hours, or until firm.

Just before serving, sprinkle the tart with sea salt, or ground pistachios, or both! The tart can be stored covered in the refrigerator for 1 to 2 days, but the salt will start to break down (totally edible, just not as pretty).

Source: Adapted from WINTERSWEET by yours truly.

Shiitake Haiku

Velvet parasol
Unfurled by autumn rain
Shiitake mushroom

Summertime Crab Cakes

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!


Crab Cakes with Paprika Mayo     

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

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

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

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

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

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

Source: Adapted from Home Made Summer by Yvette van Boven

Grapefruit Fennel Salad

To celebrate me losing all of my dessert cookbook weight, let's have a salad!

I've been enjoying this grapefruit fennel salad for months now. It was inspired by a recipe in Amanda Cohen's cookbook, Dirt Candy. If you're unfamiliar with the NYC veggie-focused restaurant by the same name or its comic-book-themed cookbook spin-off, I suggest you seek out the latter the next time you're at the library or your local bookstore. It's an entertaining read as it illustrates, quite literally, the reality of opening a new restaurant, Cohen's stint on Iron Chef America, as well as cooking techniques for vegetables. As the author and heroine of this graphic novel, Cohen dons her chefly superpowers with wit and humility. The book is great fun, as is her blog. Check out this hilarious post on how her celery salad went over at the NYC Wine & Food Fest. If you find yourself defecting to her blog, I'll totally understand!

But back to the salad. Cohen's version includes candied grapefruit lollipops and grilled cheese croutons, which are no doubt delicious, but my version is a little more pared down (read: lazy). I've settled on this basic arrangement: mixed greens with thinly sliced fennel and red onion, segmented grapefruit, and crumbled feta. The salad benefits from having something fatty and salty in the mix, so if you forgo the cheese, fill the void with crumbled bacon, chopped almonds or pistachios, or cubed avocado with a sprinkling of sea salt. The dressing, which I make with anise seeds instead of fennel seeds, is mildly fruity and refreshing. It's the perfect pre-summer salad.

(It also reminds me a little bit of dessert!)

 

Grapefruit Fennel Salad     

Below are my suggestions, but use what you like in the proportions of your choosing. Just be sure to slice the vegetables very thinly. A tangle of radish sprouts would be a nice addition. The amounts below serve two grownups. Scale up as you wish.

Salad
1 to 2 cups mixed lettuce, spinach, and baby kale
1/2 fennel bulb, thinly sliced
1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced (only cut what you'll use)
1 red grapefruit
Crumbled feta, goat cheese, or queso fresco
Chopped salted almonds or pistachios (optional)

Anise Dressing
1 tablespoon finely grated grapefruit zest (from 1 grapefruit)
2 tablespoons grapefruit juice
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon anise seeds
1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

For the salad, toss the lettuce, fennel, and onion in a bowl.

Finely grate the zest from the grapefruit and set it aside for the dressing. Cut the grapefruit in half and reserve one of the halves for the dressing. To segment the other half, place it cut-side-down and slice the peel off the grapefruit in swaths, following the contour of the fruit. Then turn it over and cut between the membranes to remove the juicy flesh in between. Set the grapefruit segments aside in a shallow bowl.

For the dressing, add the grapefruit zest, grapefruit juice from the reserved grapefruit half, lemon juice, anise seeds, and mustard to a blender. Blend on high, then reduce the speed to low and slowly stream in the oil until smooth and emulsified. Add salt and pepper to taste. (The dressing can be stored in a covered jar in the refrigerator for up to a week.)

Lightly dress the greens and veggies just before serving. Arrange the salad on plates with the grapefruit segments, cheese, and nuts if using. Serve additional dressing at the table.

Source: Adapted from Dirt Candy by Amanda Cohen, Ryan Dunlavey, and Grady Hendrix

Parsnip Soup and Righteous Clichés

I have a milestone birthday coming up this year, like many of my friends. And as much as I'll be glad to reach it, I'm also bummed out about this whole aging thing.

You know what I'm talking about. Back in high school, everything is poised to get better. The braces will be pried off soon. The glasses can be traded in for contact lenses, maybe even the kind that turn your muddy eyes a cool shade of aquamarine like a mood ring. You're finally easing up on all the Aqua Net (step away from the can of hairspray, Tammy). The ugly duckling becomes a swan and all that crap. Meanwhile, you're making a little cash throwing together sandwiches on the weekends and you feel real smart with that diploma in your hand.

The world is yours for the taking!

In high school, you can't wait for college. In college, you look forward to getting out of college because all this studying is putting a damper on your social life. Plus, you want a fun job with a decent paycheck. You want a mode of transportation besides your own two feet. Dates at fancy restaurants. A place to live that's not a dump. Vacations. Soon you have some stuff, and you like your stuff, but you want something more. You want love. You want a family of your own. Then you get a family of your own and, for the whole first year, you can't believe what a horrible mistake you've made. No more dates at fancy restaurants. Your place becomes a dump. Vacations take on an entirely new and unwelcome meaning. Sometimes you wish you'd just stayed home.

But then you learn to stop being so selfish all the time and things gets better. Your family becomes your whole life. Does anyone else have kids as awesome as yours? NO WAY! IMPOSSIBLE! And then you realize something. Your kids are halfway through their childhood already. They're going to spend the whole second half hating you. And then they're going to leave.

They say you get better with age, but in what way specifically? Nicer? I don't think so. If anything, I'm getting more crotchety and even less charitable behind the wheel of a car. Wiser? Uh-uh. By my calculations, I'm getting stupider by the day. I've always been a wee bit forgetful, but this is ridiculous. I left my coat somewhere last week. At the library? At Walgreens? Where? How did I not notice my coat was missing? True, it felt colder, but all that ran through my head was: That's New England for you. One minute you're toasty warm in your nice winter jacket and the next minute you're shivering by the parking meters fumbling for change while the icy wind sucker punches you in the spleen and there's no logical explanation for it whatsoever. (I still haven't found it, by the way. My coat. It's puffy and gray with a big hood.)

The other night I looked in the mirror and realized that it's all downhill from here. This is as smart/healthy/attractive as I will ever be for the whole rest of my life. And, I'll be honest, the bar didn't seem very high.

Is this what a midlife crisis looks like?

Spring Parsnip Soup     

This recipe is stupefyingly simple. I don't even use stock anymore, just water. It's silky and surprisingly sweet. Snip a few chives on top and you have something tasty and healthful to warm you up on a chilly spring day when your coat is nowhere to be found.

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
3 cups water (or veggie stock)
1 pound parsnips, peeled, cored*, diced
Salt and pepper

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Sauté the chopped onion and celery for 4 to 5 minutes until soft and translucent. Don't let the vegetables brown. Add the garlic and sauté for 15 seconds until fragrant. Add the water or stock and the parsnips. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the parsnips are soft, 15 to 20 minutes. Let cool and purée in a blender or with a stick blender until perfectly smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Serves 2 or 3. The recipe can be doubled (just be sure to purée the soup in half-batches if using a blender).

*Some parsnips have a woody central core that runs from top to bottom. To remove it, I usually just slice the peeled sides right off the core, which is a slightly different color. (Then chop up the sides and discard the core.) But if you're not sure exactly where or how big the core is, you can also quarter the parsnip the long way. Then you can see it a lot better. Just trim along the interior edge of each quarter with a paring knife to remove it.

Making Bagels

It never once occurred to me to make my own bagels. Not until I picked up Jennifer Reese's book, Make the Bread, Buy the Butter. In the book, she outlines her advice for which foods are worth making yourself and which ones are better left to the professionals. I was surprised to find bagels in the "make yourself" category. I flagged the recipe for later.

Later never came.

But last week, Husband brought home some bagels from the grocery store and they were god-awful: chalky with an unpleasant flavor. Even I can do better than that, I declared out loud, not sure if I really could but knowing that you have to talk tough if you're going to show your below-average bagel who's boss. I pulled out Reese's book and flipped to the bagel section with an overly dramatic flourish.

Here's what I learned. Making bagels is just like making bread except you boil the dough rings for a few minutes before baking them to a golden brown. (I had no idea you boiled bagels.) The toppings, if you want them, go on after the boiling part (duh) but before the baking (aha!). Otherwise they won't stick. I found it hard to get the dough rings perfectly round. I tried forming the dough into a ball and poking my thumbs through the center as well as rolling the dough into a thick rope and joining the ends. Results were mixed. Most of them came out charmingly misshapen, but, boy, were they delicious, especially warm right out of the oven. They're fun to make, too, all speckled with various toppings.

So, do I agree with the author that homemade bagels are worth the work? If you don't live in New York City, then yes, absolutely. If you do live in NYC, let's face it, you're going to be comparing them to your favorite hallowed bagel place the whole time and nothing will ever live up (and even if they do, you won't admit it). Don't bother. For the rest of us, though, here's your next Sunday morning project!

 

Totally Delicious Homemade Bagels      

Husband sure picked the wrong week to go back on the South Beach Diet. :(

3-1/2 cups high-gluten or bread flour (I used 4 cups all-purpose flour)
1-1/2 Tbsp. instant yeast (I used active dry and it worked fine)
3 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 Tbsp. kosher salt
1-1/2 cups water or warm whey from making yogurt or cheese
2 Tbsp. barley malt syrup or brown sugar (I used date honey)
Coarse cornmeal for sprinkling
Optional toppings: poppy seeds, sesame seeds, coarse salt, caraway seeds, dried minced onion, dried minced garlic

In the bowl of a mixer, combine the flour, yeast, sugar, and salt. Add the water or whey and beat hard with the paddle for a few minutes until it comes together into a stiff dough (add a little more flour if necessary). At this point, either switch to the dough hook at your own risk (I busted my KitchenAid this way once) or knead the dough by hand on a floured counter for 5 to 10 minutes until the dough is smooth, supple, and spankable (my words—don't blame the author for my colorful descriptors). Place the dough in a greased bowl, cover with a clean, damp dishtowel, and let rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. While the water is heating, sprinkle a rimmed baking sheet generously with cornmeal (use more than you think or the bagels will fuse to the pan). Lightly grease a second pan.

Punch down the dough with floured fists and divide it into 10 more-or-less equal pieces. Roll each piece into the neatest, roundest ball you can and then, with your thumb, poke a hole in the middle and coax the dough into a bagel shape. Alternatively, you can roll the dough into a thick rope and then join the slightly overlapping ends with a little water. Set the bagels on the lightly greased sheet to rest for 10 minutes.

When the water comes to a rolling boil, add the malt syrup (or brown sugar). Drop the bagels into the water three at a time. Let them simmer for a minute, then flip them over and simmer one minute more. Remove them with a slotted spoon, return to the oiled pan to dry a bit, and repeat with the remaining dough. Transfer all of the bagels to the cornmeal-coated pan and sprinkle on your toppings, if desired.

Bake the bagels for 25 to 35 minutes until golden brown. Store them in a paper bag at room temperature for a few days, or freeze, tightly wrapped, for longer storage. If you end up with some stale bagels, you can always make bagel chips (which are also great in salads and panzanellas).    

Source: Adapted from Make the Bread, Buy the Butter by Jennifer Reese who got it from The New Complete Book of Breads by Bernard Clayton, who adapted it from the erstwhile Jewish restaurant in Paris, Jo Goldenberg's.

Magic Pencil Hiccup Cure

Anyone else out there plagued by relentless hiccups? Or hiccoughs, if you prefer? In my younger life, I tried every possible cure: holding my breath, spoonfuls of sugar, having someone jump out and scare the shit out of me. Nothing worked until eventually I'd pass out from exhaustion.

But surely, I thought, surely there must be some way to interrupt the infuriating cycle of spasmodic insanity short of tasering my diaphragm into submission. Lo and behold, in the spring of 1994, I found that solution in the most unlikely place: A hostel in the northwest corner of Spain. There, a stranger noticed my plight (and by noticed I mean she was hideously inconvenienced by it). I believe it was the owner of the hostel, though I honestly can't remember because I dismissed her advice almost immediately. She said to clench a pencil between your teeth while drinking a glass of water and voila: hiccups gone.

I mean, really, what kind of medical advice is that?

Naturally, I assumed it was quackery, but every hiccupping person has his or her breaking point. Eventually I gave in. What could it hurt, right? I located the nearest writing implement and bit down on it as instructed. Then I took a swig from my water bottle. Or tried, at least. It's surprisingly hard to drink water when you're unable to fully close your mouth. Water streamed down the front of me until I burst out laughing, spraying the whole mouthful all over the room.

The hostel owner was obviously in on some kind of practical joke. Is there anything more fun for Europeans than tricking dumb, potentially drunk Americans? Probably not. Or maybe my Spanish wasn't as good as I thought. Maybe she had simply said "drink some water" and had offered me a pencil to write down this important advice. Perhaps the pencil was all in my imaginings. STUPID PENCILS!!!

That's when my friend noticed that my hiccups had stopped. I froze for 15 seconds. She was right! They were GONE!!! I was so happy, she snapped a photo of the momentous occasion:


See the relief in my eyes? And the water-splattered bedspread? (I knew this photo would come in handy someday!)

Over the course of that trip, my hiccups returned a few more times, as they are wont to do, and each time the trick worked immediately (if messily). Since then, I've gotten no closer to mastering the art of drinking water with a pencil in my mouth (or pen or magic marker), but I don't care because it never fails me. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for why it works—something more to do with physiology than fairies—but I'm no scientist. All I know is the past 20 years have been virtually hiccup-free. Not bad for an obscure Spanish home remedy.

Coleslaw: Deconstructing My Pulled Pork Sandwich

Now that you have my recipe for pulled pork, let's sliiiide that bun over and talk about the coleslaw. Because you're probably getting lots of cabbage in your CSA shares right about now. You know you are!

Husband loves coleslaw, specifically my coleslaw. It's one of the reasons he keeps me around. For my part, I put up with him because of his tremendous dishwashing skills and the fact that he eats my coleslaw. That's not something every guy likes, you know? Coleslaw and piles of dirty dishes? My prince!

Coleslaw (print-friendly version)

In reality, I eyeball all the measurements, and it comes out slightly differently each time but always good.

1 pound cabbage, red or green, cored, shredded
1 carrot, peeled, grated
1/2 small onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup mayo
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
Kosher salt
Lots and lots of freshly ground black pepper

Set the shredded cabbage in a colander set over a plate, and sprinkle it all over with about 1 teaspoon of kosher salt. Let it sit for an hour or two to wilt. The cabbage will become increasingly wet as it releases its liquid. I like to gently squeeze it dry a bit with a towel as I transfer it to a bowl, fistful by fistful. Having the veggies not be sopping wet helps the dressing cling better instead of sliding off into the bottom of the bowl. Squeeze the shredded carrot over the sink and then add to the cabbage.

In a small bowl, whisk the mayo with the vinegar. Add lots of black pepper, but hold off on the salt for now. You may not need much or any. Toss the vegetables with the dressing. Taste for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Let chill in the refrigerator. Stir again just before serving.

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

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

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.

New England Lobster Roll

And while we're talking about summer food, how about a lobster roll?

February has arrived and, even though it's been a relatively tame winter, I'm still sick of squash. I don't care what any groundhogs have to say about six more weeks of winter: I want it to be summer in my mouth, and if I have to spend my entire book advance on lobsters to make that happen, then so be it. Incidentally, I think we need to find a more translucent animal than a groundhog to make these kinds of shadow-based weather predictions. Like a jellyfish. Or something nocturnal like a bat. It's hard to see your own shadow in complete darkness. Are there any cute but completely blind animals?

Awkward segue back to lobsters: This is a very basic but totally delicious lobster roll technique. The idea is to let the lobster shine. The scallions and celery are barely there for a little color and crunch, not to compete with the lobster. There's just one thing I insist upon. Toast the buns. Toast them, people. It makes all the difference in the world.

Classic New England Lobster Roll

Serve with a green salad or not.

2 1-1/2-lb. lobsters, steamed (instructions here), cooled
2-4 Tbsp. mayo
1-2 scallions, chopped
2-inch piece of celery, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. salt (or to taste)
Squeeze of lemon juice
Pinch ground cayenne pepper
New England-style hot dog rolls (the ones that top-load and have flat sides for toasting)
Butter

Remove tail and claw meat (including the delicious arms!). Chop lobster meat into bite-sized chunks. Mix with mayo, scallions, celery, salt, lemon juice, and cayenne. Refrigerate until cold.

When ready to serve, heat skillet over medium heat. Butter the pan and the sides of the rolls (I do this by rubbing the stick of butter over the hot skillet, then rubbing the melty stick all over the sides of the roll, repeating until roll is sufficiently buttery). Toast buns several minutes on each side until golden. Let cool a few minutes, then stuff with dressed lobster. Serves 3-4.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Rockport lobsterman via Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA

Lobster Bisque

Our New Year's Eve dinner, hosted by friends E and J, was possibly one of the best meals of the year. Kir royales. Radishes with cultured butter and sea salt. Lobster bisque. Pan-roasted duck with thyme-infused honey sauce. Roasted root veggies and a green salad. Lemon cream tart for dessert. Truly delicious!

I brought the lobster bisque. Since a few of you requested the recipe during my guilt-ridden lobster confessional, I thought I'd share. It's good timing, too, because my CSF (community supported fishery) is once again offering lobsters for sale. Every once in a while, Cape Ann Fresh Catch offers a special item not usually found in our fish shares. They call it "Neptune's Share" as it is priced separately and based on availability and nature's whims. That meant mussels last summer and lobsters this winter. You know I can't pass up these opportunities. (To get your own self some lobsters, go here.)

The recipe below is based on the lobster bisque from the Brewster Fish House, one of our favorite restaurants on Cape Cod. Instead of pureeing the lobster into oblivion (which is also good!), they suspend chunks of lobster in the silky soup. It's sweet and spicy, and I've wanted to learn how to make it for years. However, I'm not going to ask them for their recipe. They're not going to give it to me, and why should they? Just because I like it? Everybody likes it! I figure, if I want it that badly, I should try to figure it out myself. And guess what? I'm really happy with the way it came out! I mean, we're not giving up our yearly summertime visits to the Brewster Fish House anytime soon. Don't be ridiculous.  But this is deliciously, tantalizingly close!

Lobster Bisque

This is not a quick recipe by any means, but if you're going to slap down the money for lobsters, you might as well put some effort into it! You will need lobster crackers, some patience, and several hours to spare. I sometimes boil the lobsters the night before, letting them cool in the refrigerator until morning.

2 live 1-1/2-lb. lobsters
1 Tbsp. kosher salt, plus 1 tsp.
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
4 Tbsp. unsalted butter
2 onions, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
1 Tbsp. flour
4 cups lobster stock
1 cup heavy cream
2 Tbsp. brandy
1/4 tsp. cayenne
White or black pepper to taste

Bring a large stockpot with a half-inch of water, 1 Tbsp. kosher salt, and the vinegar to a boil. Drop in the lobsters, close the lid, and steam 20 minutes until done. How do you know if they're done? Set a lobster on its back and stretch out the tail. It should snap back against its belly convincingly. Remove from pot and let cool until shells can be handled easily.

Over a large bowl, separate tails, claws, and arms from bodies of the lobsters. They should pull apart easily. To remove the meat from the tails, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to cut straight down the middle of the underside of the tail. Pull back on sides of tail to separate the shell and remove meat. Dice tail meat finely as it can be chewy in larger pieces. Remove meat from arms and claws using a lobster cracker to crush the shells so you can extract the meat. Careful: shells can be jagged, pointy, and sharp. Cut claw meat into larger, bite-sized pieces. Place all the lobster meat in a small bowl, cover, and refrigerate.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450°F, and set the bodies and empty shells on a rimmed sheet pan. Bake shells 20 minutes until toasty and fragrant. Transfer shells to a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, skim the foam from the top, and simmer 30 minutes. You can get fancy with the stock (bouquet garni and such), but I did not. Strain out and discard the shells, reserving the liquid. You will need about 4 cups of stock. Freeze the rest for future bisques or lobster risotto!

Make sure the stock is still steamy when you start the soup. If not, reheat in a small pot. Melt the butter in a medium heavy-bottomed pot over low heat. Add the onions and celery, and slowly sweat the vegetables until soft, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Do not let brown. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute.  Add heated lobster stock slowly while stirring. Bring to a boil and simmer 5 minutes. Let cool completely. In four batches, puree the soup in a blender or food processor. Yes, I know we haven't added the lobster, yet. Patience! Also, make sure the soup is cool and that you don't fill the blender more than halfway or you will spray hot soup all over your kitchen. You want cool soup, small amounts of liquid in the blender, and a dishtowel placed over the top of the blender lid just in case. Pour batches of pureed soup into a bowl as you go.

When ready to serve, add the pureed soup back into the pot. Add in the lobster meat, cream, brandy, 1 tsp. salt (or to taste), pepper, and cayenne. Gently heat the soup until hot and steamy. Do not boil. After all this, you don't want to risk curdling the cream. Keep an eye on it. Serve hot in small shallow bowls.

Local Sources:
Lobsters: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Onions: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

Want to blow somebody's mind this Thanksgiving? Serve these Brussels sprouts. Yes, Brussels sprouts. No, this isn't some kind of sick joke. They're browned, smothered in cream, then braised until silken deliciousness is achieved. Cruciferous candy. Sure, there are plenty of lower calorie ways of making Brussels sprouts, but it IS Thanksgiving after all. And today, I'm thankful for cream!

Creamy Braised Brussels Sprouts

One bite and the ThirdGrader said, Brussels sprouts aren't as evil as I thought!

3 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 lb. Brussels sprouts (2-3 stalks worth), trimmed, cut in half or quartered
1 cup cream
Salt and pepper
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook sprouts until lightly browned in spots, about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in cream and bring to a simmer. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until sprouts are tender and cream is reduced and lightly brown. Sprinkle with lemon juice to taste, perhaps more salt and pepper, and serve.

Source: Adapted from All About Braising by Molly Stevens

Local Ingredients:
Brussels sprouts: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA