FOOD ON THE FOOD

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

Braised Brisket

Don't mind me, I'm just playing around with my new macro lens. You can pretty much count on me getting way, way too close to my food from now on. Just a heads-up.

This here is some luscious beef brisket and root vegetables braised until melty and scrumptious. Serve with mashed potatoes or over brown rice or barley and you've got yourself a rib-sticking meal that will fuel you through any unwelcome pre-Halloween shoveling. Hope those of you who lost power have gotten it back by now!

Braised Brisket

You can also do this in a slow cooker. Follow the recipe through the garlic part, then throw it all into the crockpot for 4-6 hours on high, 8-10 hours on low.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2-3 lb. beef brisket
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground pepper
2 onions, chopped
4 carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 parsnips, cored if woody, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 small celery roots (celeriac), trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup roasted tomatoes (or chopped tomatoes, tomato sauce, or ketchup)
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar
3 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 1/2 cups stock or water

Preheat oven to 325°F. In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 Tbsp. oil over medium-high heat. Season brisket with salt and pepper and brown on all sides. Transfer to plate.

Heat remaining tablespoon of oil in pot. Add onions, carrots, parsnips, and celery root, and sauté until browned, about 5 minutes. Dump in the garlic and cook another minute. Add the tomatoes, cider vinegar, brown sugar, and stock/water, and give a good stir. Return the brisket to the pot along with any juices collecting on the plate. Liquid should come about halfway up the sides of the meat. If not, add a bit more stock or water.

Bring to a boil. Cover with foil so that it’s flat against the meat and comes all the way up the sides of the pan (you might need two sheets), and cover with lid.  Place in the oven for about 3 1/2 hours, turning meat every hour and reconfiguring foil, until meat is super-tender and vegetables are soft and melty. Serve with mashed potatoes or grain of your choice.

Local Sources:
Brisket: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Carrots, parsnips, celery root, tomatoes: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Apple cider vinegar: Carlson Orchards, Harvard, MA

How to Clean a Hen of the Woods Mushroom

This will probably be my last mushroom post until next spring, so you can all breathe a deep sigh of relief. But first I have to tell you what happened after last week's hen of the woods post. To refresh your memory, that was the post in which I was being a big baby because I was unable to successfully lay claim to my very own hen of the woods mushroom, despite having found four. (Sheesh, Tammy, ever heard of a store? Shut up, whose side are you on?)

Within the course of 24 hours, that post was forwarded by a kind reader to someone who had several suspected hens of the woods growing right in her yard. I was invited to make a house call to a neighboring town to scope out the fungal situation. This is not the first time I've gone on a mushroom-related house call. Earlier this year, I was led to a house that had literally dozens of black morels popping out of the mulch. Can you imagine that? A flower bed full of morels right out your own front door??? I was dumbstruck! I had to be slapped across the face several times before I snapped out of it.

This time, I was much more composed. Once I located the house in question, I spotted the hens roosting at the base of an oak tree—all four of them. I drove by verrrrry sloooowly with the windows down, ogling them like Lenny and Squiggy, until I crashed into some trash cans! Okay, so there weren't any trash cans, but it's my story. I'll tell it how I want. I ran out of the car, ignoring the trash cans everywhere, and ran through my hen of the woods identification check list:

Location at base of oak tree: check.

Brown, ruffly structure: check.

Pores not gills: check.

Smells right: check.

Nooooo maggots: well, just a few. It's a ground-dwelling fungus, after all. One can't expect too much.

Not only was the identity of the mushroom confirmed , but I also had permission to take some mushrooms home (hooray!!!). That was the crucial missing link. So I did—specifically, two hens growing next to each other that had become conjoined into one 4-pound mass. I didn't just rip them out of the ground; I cut them at their bases to leave the underground mycelium intact. This helps encourage future mushrooms to grow in the same area in subsequent seasons. Remember, there are no poisonous look-alikes for this mushroom (also known as maitake and grifola frondosa). That combined with its tastiness makes it a mushroom everyone should know. Many thanks to M and H for getting it into my greedy little hands!

Tell me this isn't a pretty mushroom!

But, wow, I forgot what a pain in the ass they are to clean. I brushed off as much debris as possible initially, but there are so many crevices, you could easily spend an hour or more properly preparing this mushroom for eating. Plus you have to escort out all the creepy-crawlies that were using it as a luxury condo. Worms. Spiders. CENTIPEDES!!! Boy, for someone who likes to hang around rotting stumps, I sure am afraid of centipedes. (It's their speed that gets me. Their deadly speed!)

So in case you ever find yourself in possession of a hen of the woods, here are some tips for prepping this delicacy:

• Set mushroom in a large bowl and pick off all the acorns, leaves, and twigs.

• Brush off dirt with an unused paintbrush or other kitchen-grade brush using lots of quick, brisk strokes, working from top to bottom.

• Using a sharp paring knife, cut off the dirtiest parts of the base, and move mushroom to a clean cutting board.

• Wipe off the knife and cut through the remaining base into workable sections as if you're cutting up a cauliflower through its core.

• Cut off rotten, bruised, or moldy sections, and discard. Escort worms and bugs out of the crevices with tip of knife.

• Cut into smaller pieces, 1-3 inches wide depending on your purpose. Make a point to cut into any areas with lots of crevices to evict any lurking insects. (I find the central part of the mushroom to be plenty tender in young specimens, though it may be too tough in older ones.)

• Wipe off any remaining dirt on each piece with damp paper towels. You will go through quite a few of them. (I don't soak mushrooms in water. I find that makes them slimy, waterlogged, and hardly any cleaner.)

• What you end up with is something like little mushroom florets—two big plates of them from a four-pound mushroom. Cover with damp paper towels and plastic wrap with some holes poked in it.

• It's best to cook them right away, but they will last in the fridge for several days this way (the paper towels will need remoistening).

• Always cook the mushrooms well. One way is to sauté them in butter for 15-20 minutes until tender. If the pieces start to brown before they're tender, add some water and keep cooking.

• Inevitably, a little bit of grit ends up in your dish despite your best efforts. Just add extra black pepper. Any little worms you missed will be easily identified by their coiled-up forms at the bottom of the pan. Discard them immediately and think nothing more about what you just saw. Instead, think of all the invisible cancer-fighting compounds this mushroom contains. Yum!

Since it's such a big deal to me to find these, I like to make something really special. I layer the cooked mushrooms with lasagna noodles, browned sweet Italian sausage, lots and lots of braised celery root and leeks, mozzarella and parmesan cheese, and a creamy sauce. I bake two trays and freeze one away. It's totally worth the work.

Spicy Eggplant Relish

I've called you all here today because I had a couple of revelations about vegetables over the past week that you might be interested in. Or not, but since when does that ever stop me. I'm not really sure how to import PowerPoint presentations into my blog, so I'm just going to read them off:

Bullet Point Number One: Spaghetti squash is delicious layered like lasagna with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and Parmesan. Especially if you use a nice thick homemade tomato sauce so it doesn't get too watered down. Simply cut squash in half, scoop out guts, roast cut-side-down on oiled sheet pan 45 min. at 350 F until tender. Scoop out the stringy contents of one squash shell into square baking dish, layer with sauce and cheese, repeat with second half. Bake until bubbly, 20-30 minutes. The kids didn't notice that it wasn't spaghetti and I didn't tell them. The result was that both of them gobbled up the whole thing even though neither one of them likes tomato sauce. I know! I've given up trying to figure kids out, but sometimes it works to your advantage.

Bullet Point Number Two: YOU MUST MAKE THIS EGGPLANT RELISH!!!

Put aside that maybe you don't like eggplant, not to mention that what the hell is it doing in relish form? Put those things aside and keep them there. My neighbor brought me a taste of this one afternoon and it changed my world. I then made two batches in a week, using up four of those long, skinny CSA eggplants and a bunch of little ones from the school garden, as well as two red Italian frying peppers we got in our farmshare. I am crazy for this relish. It's delicious scooped up with pita chips, makes a nice side dish next to lamb, and could totally work as a sandwich topping. Husband wants it as lasagna filling. It's awesome! AND it's totally healthy—there's nothing bad in here at all. To put this in proper perspective, I've just spent the past month making almost nothing but cakes, pies, and strudels, and the only thing I want to eat right now is this eggplant. Either my cookbook blows or this eggplant is really something.

And that concludes my presentation. This meeting is adjourned. You are hereby dismissed from work early to go make this eggplant relish.

Spicy Eggplant Relish

If you peel the eggplant, no one will know it's eggplant and everyone will eat it. Swear to god.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 cup minced onion
1 medium globe eggplant or 2-3 long, skinny ones, diced small (peeling optional)
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. salt
1 medium red bell pepper, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
Cayenne to taste

Heat oil in a large skillet. Add onion, eggplant, cumin, and salt, and sauté over medium heat until eggplant is tender, 10-15 minutes. Add pepper and sauté another 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and lemon juice and cook several minutes more. Add cayenne a few shakes at a time until you get the desired heat. Add more salt if necessary. Serve warm, room temperature, or cold with pita chips, lamb chops, roast chicken, or all by itself with a spoon.

Source: An old Moosewood cookbook.

Local Ingredients:
Eggplant, peppers, onions, garlic: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

My Favorite Cut of Pork

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

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

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

Tammy's Yankee Non-BBQ Country-Style Ribs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dig in.

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

Summer Squash Soup

Do you have a lot of summer squash? What kind of a question is that? Of course you do! Thanks to all the rain we got from Irene, it's like Field of Dreams out there with the bat-sized zucchinis.

So what do I do when I have too much of any vegetable? I purée it into oblivion and call it soup! The results can be kind of sketchy, I'll admit, but this one—based on the Spanish puré de calabacín—is actually pretty good. I kept the skins on so this otherwise bland-looking soup would have little yellow and green flecks throughout. It's thickened with nothing more than the starch of the potatoes, and finished with the herbs of your choice. I was happy with my lemon thyme, but regular thyme, basil, or marjoram would also work. Serve a bowl of this alongside some toasted scali bread slathered with mayonnaise and topped with thick slices of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, salt and pepper generously applied.

Now that's summer!


Summer Squash Soup

A little grated cheese melted in there wouldn't be out of place, either.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped (or leeks)
2 lbs. summer squash like zucchini or pattypan, unpeeled, cut into 1-inch chunks
1-2 small potatoes, peeled, cubed small
2-3 cups water
1 tsp. salt
Sprigs of fresh thyme
1 tsp. chopped fresh herbs like lemon thyme, basil, or marjoram
Lemon juice to taste
Black pepper

In a medium pot, heat olive oil and sauté onion until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add squash and potatoes, and stir to coat in oil. Add just enough water to cover and stir in salt, pepper, and thyme sprigs. Close lid and and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer 15-20 minutes, until squash and potatoes are tender. Let cool a bit and then pull out thyme sprigs. Using a stick blender or a regular blender, puree soup until smooth (if using a regular blender, do this in two batches). Thin with water, if necessary, and add herbs, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Local Sources:
Onion, squash: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Potatoes: Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH
Herbs: My yard

Ribfest Hush Puppies

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

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

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

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

 

Hushpuppies

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

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

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

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


Corn and Cayenne Mayonnaise

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

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

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

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

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

Source: Adapted from The Cambridge School of Culinary Arts.

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

Spinach, Chickpeas, and a Possible Anchovy Component

Are you getting bags and bags of greens in your CSA?  Here's a simple lunch you might enjoy: wilted spinach stewed briefly with chickpeas, garlic, and cumin.   It's a Spanish dish I gleaned from Ximena Maier's lobstersquad many years ago, around the time she drew my banner illustration.  This dish was something I often packed for lunch while substitute teaching because it's healthy and delicious lukewarm right out of my lunch bag.  And guess what?  It's even more delicious now that the school year is OVER!!!  WOOOOO!  YEAAAHHHH!!!!  TAKE THAT!!!!!!!

Anyway, I made this for lunch last week alongside marinated anchovies on slices of baguette.  These are not the incredibly salty anchovies that are listed on pizza menus or mashed into puttanesca sauce (which I also like), but rather fresh anchovies marinated in wine vinegar and then bathed in oil.   They're mild and almost refreshing.  You can find them in tapas bars all over Spain (called boquerones en vinagre), but also at Russo's in the refrigerated case near the smoked salmon.  They're great with beer.  And summer vacation!  Mark this combo down as one of my favorite lunches ever.


Spinach and Chickpeas with Garlic and Cumin

If I happen to have some olives kicking around, I might add those, too.

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
½ tsp. cumin (or more)
1 14-oz. can chickpeas, drained, rinsed
½ cup tomato sauce
1 lb. spinach or Swiss chard, washed
2-3 drops Tabasco
A squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat oil in a medium pan over medium heat and sauté onion until transparent, about 4 minutes.  Add garlic and cumin and cook another minute until fragrant.  Add chickpeas, tomato sauce, and spinach.  Cover pan and cook about 4-5 minutes.  Season with Tabasco, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and cook uncovered another minute until most of the excess liquid evaporates. 

Local Ingredients:
Spinach: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Cracking the Recipe: The Local's Peanut Butter Pie

Recently, the whole family went to The Local in Newton where the fried pickles are good and the macaroni and cheese is even better.  (Holy crap, their mac 'n' cheese is good, and I don't even like mac 'n' cheese.  It's on par with Silvertone's, in my opinion, so if you don't feel like driving into Boston to luxuriate in a bowl of cheesy mac, now you know: West Newton, baby.)

Anyway, TeenNiece ordered the peanut butter pie for dessert.  She really liked it.  Later on, I noticed, peanut butter pie kept coming up in conversation.  I suggested that maybe we should try to make one ourselves.  Peanut butter is something we always have on hand, after all.  And chocolate.  At least for a little while. 

TeenNiece and I worked on this together, and what we came up with is a little bit dangerous: peanut butter mousse in a salted peanut-graham cracker crust with thick ribbons of bittersweet chocolate sauce poured on top. Consider what your waistline is worth to you before you commit to making this pie.   It's somewhat airier than the version we had at The Local (maybe ease up on the whipped cream if you want to get picky about the details), but TeenNiece likes it this way so that's how it's going to stay.


Peanut Butter Pie with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce

Inspired by The Local, 1391 Washington St., West Newton, MA

Crust
6 Tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1 cup graham cracker crumbs (or 10 whole graham crackers crushed)
1/3 cup dry-roasted, salted peanuts, ground in the food processor

Filling
1 8-oz. package cream cheese
3/4 cup confectioner's sugar
3/4 cup smooth peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup heavy cream

Sauce
1/3 cup heavy cream
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate chips (like Ghirardelli) or shaved chocolate
Pinch of sea salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 F.  For the crust, combine the melted butter, graham cracker crumbs, and ground peanuts.  Press into a 9-inch pie dish and bake 7-9 minutes until edges start to color and you can smell the peanutty aroma.  Set aside and let cool.

For the filling, beat the cream cheese and sugar with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer until smooth.  Mix in peanut butter and vanilla.  In a separate medium bowl, beat the cream with a whisk or electric mixer until stiff peaks form.  Stir about a half cup of the whipped cream into the peanut butter mixture, then gently fold in the rest of the whipped cream just until no longer streaky.  Carefully pour the mousse into the crust and chill at least 3 hours or overnight.

For the sauce, combine cream, chocolate, and salt in a small saucepan and simmer for 2 minutes.  Remove from heat and stir in vanilla.  Transfer to small bowl and let cool.  If the sauce starts to separate or you want it a little thinner, whisk in a bit of extra cream until smooth.  When ready to serve, reheat just enough to get a pourable consistency (don't pour hot molten fudge on your nicely chilled pie).  To serve, ribbon chocolate sauce over each slice of pie, letting it puddle on the sides.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

Last year, I saw a sudden spike in my blog traffic and, come to find out, Tori Spelling had tweeted about my rhubarb pie post.  Yes, that Tori Spelling. 

It really threw me for a loop.  You mean to tell me the busty Beverly Hills 90210 teen star cooks?  With rhubarb?  And is able to spell it correctly?  These were the thoughts that instantly ran through my head, proving that not only am I a judgmental a-hole, but I also confuse actors with their television roles, despite knowing better, and simultaneously freeze them in time—say, 1992 in this case.  For all I know, the actual Tori Spelling of 2011 in whatever zip code she currently resides is super-smart and a fantastic cook and a warm and wonderful person unspoiled by wealth and fame.  And if that's true then fuck you, Tori Spelling.  You can't have rhubarb, too!  Save something for the rest of us!!!

Over here in Waltham 02453, my modest success this week was helping somebody who didn't like rhubarb to like rhubarb.  (My victories are small but sweet!)  The idea behind these rhubarb-blood orange parfaits is to layer lightly sweetened rhubarb compote with fresh whipped cream.  It's a lovely balance of sweet/tart, and a nice prelude to strawberry shortcake.   Keeping the layers separate provides more flavor contrast while folding them together mellows the rhubarb tang.  If you've ever heard of a dessert called a "fool," that's what it is: cooked, sweetened fruit lightened with whipped cream.  As in, I pity the fool that doesn't like rhubarb fool!  Anyway, I've been dying to try this with wild Japanese knotweed, but I keep missing the window of time when the shoots are young and tender.  Too busy chasing down mushrooms, I guess. 

What I'm trying to say is, Rhubarb Haters and/or Shannen Doherty, this one's for you! 

 

Rhubarb-Blood Orange Parfaits

You can use a regular orange, of course, but I found that the blood orange deepened the color of the fruit compote, making for prettier contrasting layers.

1-1/2 lb. rhubarb, washed, trimmed, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 cup sugar
1 medium blood orange, zested (about 1 tsp.) and juiced (2-3 Tbsp.)
1 tsp. vanilla
Pinch salt
2 cups heavy cream, cold

Place rhubarb in a medium saucepan with all but 1-2 Tbsp. of the sugar (reserve remaining sugar for whipped cream).  Add orange zest, juice, vanilla, and salt, and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat.  Reduce heat slightly and gently simmer 7-10 minutes until rhubarb is soft but still chunky.  Let cool.  Transfer to medium bowl and refrigerate several hours until chilled.

Just before serving, whisk the heavy cream in a medium bowl until the wires leave trails.  Add the remaining sugar and continue whisking until thick and an upswing of the whisk leaves medium peaks.  To assemble, layer rhubarb mixture and whipped cream in each of four bowls, beginning with rhubarb and ending with cream.  Serve immediately.

Source: Adapted from Raquel Pelzel.

Local Sources:
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA
Bowl: The Concord Shop, Concord, MA

Curried Chicken Salad

One of my lasting memories of Nonni is of her standing at the kitchen counter after a roast chicken dinner and pulling every last shred of meat off the bones.  The chicken would then find its way into soup or whatever else she pleased.

Her depression-era tactics have served me well.  On these warmer days, I like to use the scavenged meat in a quick curried chicken salad.  If I'm diligent, I can get enough meat for 2 to 4 sandwiches before I freeze the stripped carcass for soup stock.  That's three separate and substantial meals from a single chicken, if anyone is keeping count.  Nonni would approve.

Curried Chicken Salad

If you don't like raisins, you can substitute chopped grapes, but I'm partial to the raisin version. 

2 cups cooked chicken, chopped
1/2 onion, finely chopped
Handful or two of raisins
1/2 cup mayo
1 Tbsp. dijon mustard
1 Tbsp. curry powder (or more)
Salt and pepper

In a medium bowl, combine chicken, onion, and raisins.  Make a well in the ingredients and stir together mayo, mustard, curry powder, and plenty of salt and pepper.  Mix everything together well.  Heap into your favorite sandwich configuration.

Goat Gyros

Okay, enough with my crazy mushroom obsession.  Time to get back to something a little more mainstream.  Like goat gyros!

Wait, don't leave!  Goat is good, I promise.  Remember that time I made Vikram Vij's goat curry and then never wrote out the recipe for you guys, apparently?  Well, it was really delicious, trust me.  So good that when goat came up in our Chestnut Farms meat CSA again, I dove for it.  This time it was ground goat, and I knew right away what I wanted to do with it.  Gyros! 

First things first: pronunciation.  You may, if you choose, mentally read the word gyro as "YEE-ro" with a Greek accent.  Or, you can do what I do and pronounce it "JAI-ro" because I'm never going to change.  Or, if you're too embarrassed to pronounce it in public at all, just make it yourself.  I mean, when it comes right down to it, a gyro is just a souped-up meatloaf sandwich.  One with slightly different flavorings and served in pita with lettuce, tomato, red onion, and a generous slathering of cool, creamy, garlicky tzatziki sauce.  But, still, a meatloaf sandwich nonetheless. 

My trusted Internet sources suggested that ground goat can be very lean, so I mixed it half and half with some ground pork.  It wasn't dry at all.  Feel free to substitute the goat/pork mixture with ground lamb (or ground beef, for that matter).  It was super tasty, but this sandwich will be to-die-for during the height of tomato season.  Mark it down!


Goat Gyros with Tzatziki

The meatloaf technique is borrowed from Alton Brown.  The water bath seems a little fussy for meatloaf, and I may throw caution to the wind next time and go without it, but I'm including it here anyway.  I mean really, Tammy, how hard is it to put water in a pan?   Get your yogurt draining several hours before you start unless you're using Greek-style yogurt.

1 lb. ground goat
1 lb. ground pork
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp. dried marjoram
1 Tbsp. dried rosemary
2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. ground black pepper

8 large whole pitas
Head of lettuce
4 tomatoes, diced 
Red onion, thinly sliced

Preheat oven to 325°F.

Process onion in the food processor until minced, 10-15 seconds.  Dump onion into center of a non-linty dishtowel.  Gather up the sides of the towel, twist, and squeeze hard over the sink until most of the juice is extracted.  Shake onion back into food processor and add ground meat, garlic, marjoram, rosemary, salt, and pepper, and process until pasty and gross, about 1 minute, scraping down the bowl halfway through.  Don't worry, it gets better.

Scrape meat mixture into a loaf pan, pressing it into the sides.  Place loaf pan in a larger roasting pan and fill that pan with water halfway up the sides.  Bake about an hour and change until it's cooked through and smells great.  Remove from oven and drain fat.  I took another loaf pan, set it on top of the meatloaf and put some heavy tomato cans inside to weigh it down (I did this instead of weighing it down with a foil-wrapped brick per the original recipe).  You could probably skip this step, too, if you wanted.  Let rest 15 minutes.  Slice for sandwiches.

To serve, nuke a stack of whole pita rounds for about 20 seconds until warm and bendable.  Line each with lettuce leaves.  Arrange your meat down the center (I find one or two slices broken up to be sufficient). Scatter diced tomatoes and sliced red onion, and spoon tzatziki sauce generously over it all.  Fold up an inch or two of the bottom of the pita and, while holding it in place, fold one side over, then the other.  Insert a toothpick or two in the bottom or wrap with foil.  Dollop a little extra tzatziki sauce on top and you're good to go.  When I reheat the leftover meat in the days that follow, I do so not in the microwave but in a pan with a little olive oil so I can brown each side while it heats.


Tzatziki Sauce

If using Greek-style yogurt, use maybe 1/4 less than the recipe calls for since you don't need to drain it. 

16 oz. plain yogurt
1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 Tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. red wine vinegar or lemon juice
1 Tbsp. fresh mint leaves, finely chopped
1/4 tsp. kosher salt

Place the yogurt in a cheesecloth- or tea towel-lined strainer over a bowl, and drain for two hours in the fridge.  Gather the chopped cucumber in another tea towel and squeeze over the sink to remove liquid.  In a medium bowl, combine drained yogurt, cucumber, garlic, olive oil, vinegar, mint, and salt.  Refrigerate until ready to use.

Wild Morels: How to Find Your Own

Wow, that is one phallic-looking mushroom!  But let's not get distracted.  I promised you hints for finding morels and hints you shall receive, at least for the yellow morel (Morchella esculenta).  Please note that these are only suggestions based on my own limited, amateur experience and, let's face it, a healthy dose of beginner's luck.  Still, they're better than nothing. 

Hint #1: THEY'RE OUT RIGHT NOW!!!  Late April through early June. 

Hint #2: You'll probably want to read some books before you go.  The field guide I have is the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms.  This is the book I bring to the woods.  Another book I love is The Complete Mushroom Book by Antonio Carluccio, an Italian chef and forager.  It has great recipes and amazing photos.  Total mushroom porn.  This is the book that moves between the kitchen and the bedside table.  But the book that really made the idea of foraging for my own wild mushrooms accessible to a novice was Start Mushrooming, which was recommended by a Harvard-trained mycologist friend.  It teaches you how to identify six edible varieties of wild mushrooms safely.  Morels are one of them. 

Hint #3:  As far as habitat, I found my first two morels under a blossoming apple tree.  Old farms and apple orchards are prime hunting grounds.  Be sure to ask permission before foraging on private property.

Later, I found a bunch in the woods under what looked like a dead oak tree. 

Morels love dead elms and stressed-out ash trees, too, I hear.  Watch out for poison ivy.  Since morels are associated with the roots of certain trees, you'll often find more than one around the base of the trunk, sometimes as far as 10 feet out.  Mine were much closer. 

Morels seem to grow all over Massachusetts, but my luck turned when I headed away from the city a bit, say 30 minutes due west of Boston.  If you want ideas for trails, check out the Bay Circuit Greenway maps.

Look at this morel growing through a maple leaf.  Weird.

 

I also found a bunch of poisonous false morels on my trek, like the one below:

I didn't touch them.  They are the poisonous look-alikes that the experts warn you about.  I don't think this one really looks like a morel, though, do you?  I mean, something would have to be seriously wrong with that morel for it to be a morel.  Like if it were growing out of a toxic waste dump or something.  But false morels can look a lot more like true morels, as in this photo.  Can you tell the difference?   Real morels have more of a conical shape and a pitted, honeycomb appearance.  False morels tend to be wrinkled (as if deflated), misshapen, and brain-like in shape.  Another difference: real morels are completely hollow inside while false morels are chambered and often filled with a whitish, cottony material.  Cut your morels in half, top to bottom, to double check your answers. 

Finally, we come to the disclaimer portion of this post.  Here it is: Don't be an idiot.  Don't eat anything you're not 100% sure about.  Always cook morels thoroughly—never eat them raw as they contain a toxin that is deactivated with cooking.  Furthermore, some people have allergic reactions to certain mushrooms that are edible to the majority.  I am one such person.  So, if you've never had morels before, or any other wild mushroom, it's a good idea to start with a few bites and then wait 24 hours to see how things go digestively before you gorge yourself. 

Good luck on your morel hunt!  It's such a thrill to find them!

Mother's Day Morels

Guess who found morels on Mother's Day?  ME!  It was ME!!!  Seven of them!!!  Can you believe it??

Actually, I found more, but it's proper mushroom etiquette to leave some behind.  It was hard, but I did comply.  Barely.  Your next question, I'm going to guess, is where exactly I found these morels (especially if you arrived here by Googling "morels Massachusetts" or "morels Boston").  But I'm not telling you where I found them, so don't ask.  If you do ask, I'll be happy to draw you a perplexing map—one you will be unlikely to decipher since my sense of direction is terrible and I can't draw for shit.  However, if you do manage to figure it out, the trail will magically lead you to the morel bin at Russo's because why not just buy them from the store if you're going to have someone tell you exactly where to look.  That's missing the whole point: the thrill of the hunt!  You have to find your own spots.  I've clocked nearly a dozen hours in the woods over the last week and a half to find these and I've loved every second of it.  Except for the part where the mosquitos were biting me.  I didn't love that part.  But the rest was awesome and you'll love it, too.  (Just bring bug spray.)

Here I am cutting my very first morel with the pocketknife Husband gave me for Mother's Day.  I literally could not believe my eyes when I first spotted it.  I froze for a second, then began frantically fumbling around for my camera as if it would disappear at any moment.  Then I saw another one about a foot away.  The rest I found in another location.  Thank god nobody else was around to hear me giggling and talking to myself as I collected them.  I mean, except for the jogger who came charging up behind me out of nowhere.  (Dude, the next time you run up behind a woman like that in a completely isolated area, you might want to announce loudly and clearly that you're not a rapist or you're likely to get a pocketknife to the heart.)

When I brought the mushrooms home, the children were very excited and unanimously declared them to be "yellow morels, not black morels."  (They keep stealing all of my mushroom books.)  Husband insisted that I get a second opinion about the edibility of these mushrooms before I cooked them—a second opinion besides the children's.  I thought I might as well set a good example for you guys for a change, right?  So I grudgingly returned the stick of butter in my hand to the refrigerator and proceeded to contact Russ Cohen, local wild edibles guru.  He confirmed that they were, indeed, yellow morels.  Huzzah!  I'll let you imagine the seven-bite feeding frenzy that followed!

In my next post, I'll share some tips for finding your own morels as well as my favorite mushroom books.  And, yes, I'll get that post up this week, keep your pants on. 

Garlicky Collard Greens

As you can see from the photo, I have taken one meal and turned it into three separate posts: one for asparagus, one for porchetta, and now one for collards.  It's only taken me five years to get efficient about this whole blogging thing.        Do you want the mashed potato recipe, too?  Let's make it four!

Today, we're talking about simple collard greens.  I think everybody must have a rendition of garlicky greens in their repertoire, whether it's spinach, swiss chard, or kale you prefer.  But people tend to steer clear of collard greens and I ask you why?  They are most delicious and toothsome.  Like kale, they require a little extra time stewing in the pot, but I don't usually let them go more than 15 minutes.  With a pork chop bone in there or some bacon fat, things just get more delicious with every passing minute.  I have been known to have collards for breakfast with a fried egg on top.  Of course, having a tendency toward mild anemia, I get a little crazed around iron-rich foods.  Just put me in a room filled with meat and leafy greens and don't talk to me for three days.

The following technique is good for tough greens like collards, kale, and broccoli rabe, though I'd reduce the cooking time to about 10 minutes for the latter two.  For more delicate greens like spinach, swiss chard, and young beet greens, you don't need any additional liquid beyond the water clinging to the leaves after you wash them.  They'll also cook much more quickly, just a few short minutes for spinach.

Garlicky Collard Greens

The farm bacon around here is so rich and tasty, I find I only need a small amount of bacon fat to get the flavor I want.  You can leave out the bacon entirely, or, if you crave more, by all means dice up a slice or two and fry it in the pot just short of crispy, then proceed from there.

1-2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. bacon fat
2 cloves garlic, minced
Shake of red pepper flakes
1 bunch collard greens, washed, destemmed all the way up the center, leaves cut crosswise into wide strips
1/4 cup water (or stock)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Heat oil and bacon fat in large pot over medium heat.  Sauté garlic and red pepper flakes about 15 seconds.  Add collards, water, salt, and pepper.  Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, about 15-20 minutes.  Some people cook them longer, say 45 minutes, but I like my greens to be tender while still retaining an ever-so-slight resistance.  You're the boss—do what you like.

Porchetta

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

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



Porchetta

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

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

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

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

Simple Roasted Asparagus

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

Roasted Asparagus

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

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

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

An Easy Fish Supper

Here's a recipe we love: white fish braised in a Spanish red pepper sauce.  Talk about a delicious meal that's good for you, too.  Pristinely fresh fish from Cape Ann Fresh Catch simmered in a bright orange puree of onions, garlic, and red peppers.  The sauce is actually thickened with nuts—almonds to be exact—so you get a creamy, full-bodied sauce without the cream.  Serve this over rice with a green vegetable on the side, like roasted asparagus or garlicky greens, and you're in business.   Also?  It's fast.  Thirty minutes tops from start to finish. 

That's right, you owe me big for this one!

Fish in Spanish Red Pepper Sauce

This is delicious with monkfish, but you could also try hake, pollock, and haddock, too.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 red bell peppers, diced
1-1/2 tsp. salt
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup dry sherry (or Madeira)
1 cup fish stock (or bottled clam juice)
1/4 cup slivered almonds (skinless)
1/2 tsp. black pepper
Several shakes of paprika
Dash of cayenne
2 lbs. monkfish, haddock, pollock, hake, or cod, cut into 2- to 3-inch pieces
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley

In a large frying pan, heat the oil over medium heat.  Add onions, red peppers, and salt, and cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is soft, about 5 minutes.  Stir in the garlic and cook 15 seconds.  Add the sherry and simmer 1 minute.  Add stock or clam juice and bring to a simmer.  Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.

Let cool slightly, then pour vegetables into blender.  With a dishtowel pressed over the top, puree until smooth.  Add the almonds and spices, and puree again.  Pour sauce back into pan and bring to a simmer.  Add the fish and simmer, covered, until done, 10-12 minutes.  Serve sprinkled with parsley over rice.         Serves 4.

Source: Adapted from Food & Wine.

Shrimp Fried Rice

I love this chipped little bowl I found at a neighborhood thrift shop for 99 cents!  It's perfect for leftover rice tossed with some vegetables and locally caught Maine shrimp, and dressed in a light, salty sauce. 

Below is the basic formula I use for fried rice.  It's pretty versatile.  You can use shrimp or no shrimp.  Sprouts or no sprouts.  Substitute in the seasonal veggies of your choice.  Use onions if you have no scallions.  The only real rule is that you need to use leftover rice.  If you use rice you just made for the occasion, it will surely be soggy.  No, make a big batch of rice for a stir-fry one night, and then turn the leftover remnants encrusted in your rice cooker into fried rice the next day.  That way, you can make a second meal with minimal effort.

 

Shrimp Fried Rice

If you like your fried rice to be brown, add more soy sauce--just hold the salt in that case.

2 Tbsp. canola oil
2 eggs, lightly beaten

2 cups whole scallions, minced

1 Tbsp. fresh ginger, minced
¾ lb. raw shrimp, peeled and deveined

1½ cups frozen peas (fresh if you have it, parboiled for 2 minutes)

5 cups cooked rice, chilled, broken up with a fork

2 cups mung bean sprouts

Sauce
2 Tbsp. chicken broth (or water)
2 Tbsp. rice wine (or other white wine)

1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
¼ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

In a small bowl, mix together the sauce ingredients and set aside.

In a large non-stick skillet, heat oil over high heat until hot but not smoking.  Beat the eggs, then stir-fry them about 30 seconds to scramble.  Add the minced scallions and ginger, and stir-fry one minute.  Add the shrimp and peas, tossing for a few minutes.  Add half of the bean sprouts and all of the rice, stir-frying and continuing to break up any clumps.  When the rice is heated through and the shrimp have turned pink and coiled, add the sauce.  Mix well and remove from heat.  Toss with remaining bean sprouts and serve.

Source: Adapted from A Spoonful of Ginger by Nina Simonds.

Local Ingredients:
Shrimp: Cape Ann Fresh Catch, Gloucester, MA
Eggs: Chip-In Farm, Bedford, MA

National Pie Day: Banoffee Pie

Did you know that yesterday was National Pie Day?  Don't ask me why they picked January of all months to formally celebrate pie instead of midsummer when fresh, seasonal fruit is readily available.  But who am I to argue with the people who come up with arbitrary holidays for marketing reasons?  I like pie!

My plan for Sunday was to present you with a recipe for banoffee pie, a seductive variation on banana cream pie with a silky caramel filling reminiscent of dulce de leche.  It's a popular dessert in Britain and other places where British influence lingers.  The recipe I was working with came straight from my sister's South African mother-in-law, who has all kinds of delicious things in her repertoire.  But, for some reason, which I chalked up to inaccurate metric conversions or possible hemispheric differences, the filling only worked for me half the time.  One day I'd make it, and it would be perfection.  The next, it would be a soupy mess.  It went on like this for years.  Finally, I decided I would get to the bottom of the problem once and for all.  On National Pie Day 2011.

I reviewed my notes from previous attempts and proceeded to make the first pie.  The result: pie soup.  So, I made another pie.  That one ended up with a filling as firm as fudge.  Good for fudge, bad for pie.  I cursed and cursed, but at least I had the two extremes mapped out.  I continued to zero in on the sweet spot, making adjustments to the amount of liquid and heat in the recipe.  The clock, however, was ticking on National Pie Day.  I considered posting my best recipe guess without retesting it.  But what if it failed again?  I could just see the police arriving to tape off my comment section.  Or maybe they would be too mad about their failed pies to even bother. 

In the end, quality trumped punctuality.  National Pie Day passed me by.  This morning, after letting the fricking freezing morning air slap me across the face a few times, I retested the filling based on my new hypotheses.  Twice.  Both were winners.  So now you have a confirmed recipe for banoffee pie.  It's a day late, but less likely to leave you a dollar short.  And after all, in the real world, Pie Day is any day you want. 


Banoffee Pie

Make the crust and caramel filling ahead.  Then, slice the bananas and whip the cream just before serving (or no more than a few hours in advance so the bananas don't brown).  Plan on eating the whole pie at serving time since it doesn't keep well.  Your guests won't require much convincing.

Crust
4 oz. (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted
2 cups finely ground graham cracker crumbs

Filling
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup condensed milk (6 oz.)
1 cup heavy cream
5 bananas

For the crust, mix melted butter with graham crackers crumbs, and press into 9-inch pie plate or tart pan.  (I actually like to rub cold butter into graham cracker crumbs to make a more cohesive dough, but this takes more time.  Your call.)

In a small saucepan, melt butter and brown sugar over low heat, stirring constantly.  When mixture starts to foam up to a simmer, stir in condensed milk.  Bring to a simmer over medium-low heat.  This is where you need to pay attention.  Turn down heat and simmer, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes.  Set a timer.  While you're stirring, scrape every inch of the bottom and sides of the pot to prevent scorching and unsightly lumps.  When the spoon starts to leave a trail on the bottom of the pot, around 2 minutes, remove from heat.  More than 3 minutes and you'll end up with something too stiff to be enjoyable in pie.  Pour caramel over crust.  Let cool in refrigerator for 45 minutes. 

When ready to serve, whip cream in a large bowl with a whisk or electric mixer (no sweetener necessary).  Stop when the cream mounds softly and forms soft peaks when you lift up the whisk.  I try to stop before the cream goes from smooth to rough and rumpled,  almost styrofoamy in appearance.  It's still edible at this point, but not as texturally pleasing.  If you go much beyond that, you'll end up with waxy butter flecks in your cream.  I made that mistake my third day in culinary school and I shan't make it again.

Slice bananas and pile on top of caramel.  Top with whipped cream.  Dust with cocoa if desired.  Devour.

Note: You may substitute canned dulce de leche for the homemade caramel filling.  Use caution, though, when using jars of charming, locally made, farm-fresh cajeta, which are typically too runny.  Save that ambrosia for another purpose, like drizzling over ice cream.

Local Ingredient Sources
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Snow Day 3: Maple Sugar on Snow

By the third snow day, I was pretty ready to be done with snow.  We had already spent the past two days doing every possible no-cost snow activity I could think of: shoveling, sledding, snowball fights, snow-fort construction, snow-fort demolition, and my personal favorite: cramming as much snow as possible up the sleeves of our coats and then crying about it. 

Still, we had all that beautiful snow, so I decided to try something new: making maple taffy (also known as maple sugar on snow).  Have you heard of it?  Basically, it's a soft candy made by heating up maple syrup to a certain point and then rapidly cooling it down.  That's where the snow comes in: you pour the hot syrup directly onto the snow.  Then, once cool, you take a popsicle stick and roll the taffy onto the end like a lollipop.  The cold temperature of the snow cools the taffy into a soft, sticky mass.  The snow also tends to stick to the taffy, making it as icy cold as it is sweet. 

A half cup of maple syrup makes a snack for 4 to 6.  Scope out an area of snow that is clean and not yellow ahead of time.  You want the snow at least two inches deep as the top layer will melt and sink when the hot syrup comes in contact with it.  You need a candy thermometer, a small pot, and a willingness to babysit the pot as it boils to make sure that the syrup doesn't bubble up and over the sides of the pot.  It really wants to.  Just lower the heat as necessary.  When the syrup reaches a temperature range of 234° to 238°F (recipes vary), turn off the heat and immediately bring the pot and your popsicle sticks outside.  Pour the syrup onto the snow in lines about 6 inches long.  Adhere a popsicle stick to one end of the amber ribbon and roll it onto itself.  Rest it in the snow while you complete the others.  Eat immediately (off its icy bed, the taffy tends to fall apart).  Once you're done, you can use the stick to dig any residual maple syrup out of the snow and eat it like a snow cone.  For me, this was half the fun. 

So there it is: possibly the only exception to the "Don't Eat Yellow Snow" rule!

 

Local Ingredient Sources:

Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA

Crispy Hash Browns

Wow, you guys.  Never have I gotten so many desperate pleas for a recipe as I have in the past few days after the mere mention of hash browns.  It's nice to know that I have such a discerning/obsessed readership.  Now that we've had a chance to dig ourselves out of the foot and a half of snow that fell yesterday, I'm happy to share my technique.  It produces a well-seasoned potato patty that's crisp on the outside and soft on the inside.  In short: perfect.

 

Crispy Hash Browns

3 medium Yukon gold potatoes (or other starchy potato)
Kosher salt and black pepper
Olive oil

Peel and grate potatoes using the large holes on a box grater (watch your knuckles!).  Line a colander with cheesecloth or non-linty dishtowel.  Set grated potato on towel in colander and sprinkle with several pinches of kosher salt, tossing to distribute.  Let sit 5 minutes. 

Heat a large skillet (I like cast iron) with 2 Tbsp. olive oil on medium heat.  (If you're making the hash browns to go with sausage and vegetable hash, you may have some fat left over in the skillet so you can use less oil).  While the pan is heating, gather up the sides of the towel, twist, and squeeze the potatoes hard over the sink so all of the moisture drips out.  Repeat several times.  You want the potatoes dry, dry, dry before they hit the pan.  You should be left with a wad of potato pulp about the size of a baseball.

When the pan is good and hot, take 1/3 of grated potatoes, pull apart, and spread out into a potato pancake no more than 1/2-inch thick.  You want the potato loosely packed with lacy edges.  Sprinkle with black pepper, press down with a spatula, then leave it alone for about 10 minutes.  Time will vary depending on your pan and the flame.  When you see the edges start to brown significantly, carefully loosen with the spatula and lift up an edge.  If the hash brown is merely golden on the bottom and kind of sags, let it cook more time.  What you want is a crust on the bottom that can withstand the weight of the hash brown itself.  It's called hash brown for a reason (just take care not to make it a hash black).  Flip and repeat on the second side.  When nice and crispy brown, let drain on paper towels and season with salt.  Repeat with two more batches of potatoes, squeezing any additional moisture that may have been drawn out by the salt, and adding more oil to the pan as necessary.  Serves 2 adults and 2 kids (who split the third).

A few other notes: You could probably use a food processor fitted with the grater disk, though it takes less time to grate three potatoes by hand than it would for me to locate and later wash all of the parts of the food processor.  Don't let your peeled/grated potatoes sit out too long before cooking or they will turn brown.  Also, be sure to rinse out the squeezing towel with water soon afterwards so it doesn't stain brown.  If you need to speed up the frying process, use two skillets simultaneously.  Finally, if your kids turn up their noses at your beautiful hash browns, just say they're like hamburgers made out of French fries and suddenly at least one of them is chowing down.

Local Ingredients:
Potatoes: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA/Picadilly Farm, Winchester, NH

Sausage and Root Vegetable Skillet Supper

Don't you just love breakfast for dinner?  Or "brinner" as my oldest calls it. 

To me, brinner usually means that Husband is making his amazing blueberry pancakes and I'm off duty, a double score for me.  Sometimes it means I'm frying up bacon and eggs.  More recently, though, I've been whittling down my root vegetable stash by making sausage and vegetable hash.  It makes fine cold- weather fare for breakfast, brunch, or brinner.  It is best served with hash- browned potatoes on the side or, as Husband easily convinced me, broken up so the crispy, lacy bits mingle with the rest of the vegetables.  My super-simple hash brown technique is here.  In the meantime, go find yourself some squash.


Sausage and Root Vegetable Skillet Supper (with Crispy Hash Browns)

If you don't have access to these particularly delicious breakfast sausages, you can substitute high-quality ground pork mixed with a healthy dose of salt, ground sage, and black pepper, as well as a touch of cayenne and ground coriander.  You could also use bacon.  Feel free to omit the root vegetables you don't like and replace them with others that you do, like carrots, sweet potatoes, and rutabagas.

1/2-1 lb. farm-fresh, breakfast sausage patties
1-2 Tbsp. bacon fat (or oil, if you prefer)
1/2 butternut squash, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
1 medium turnip, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
1 medium celery root, peeled, 1/2-inch dice
2 parsnips, peeled, sides sliced off the woody core, 1/2-inch dice
1 red onion, 1/2-inch dice
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh rosemary
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350°F. 

In a large skillet, preferably cast iron, melt the fat and brown the sausage meat, breaking the patties into bite-sized pieces as you go.  You want the pieces fully cooked and golden-brown on several sides.  When done, remove meat and set aside.  Reserve skillet (unwashed) for hash browns.

While sausage is browning, wash, peel, and chop the squash, turnip, celery root, parsnips, and onion.  Combine on a large rimmed baking sheet with olive oil, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper.  Toss with your hands until well-coated.  Roast for 40 minutes, flipping once, or until the vegetables are tender and golden. 

Meanwhile, make the hash browns.  Combine the vegetables, sausage, and hash browns in the skillet and brinner is served.

Source: Inspired by an adaptation of the Red Lion Inn recipe in The Boston Globe.

Local Ingredient Sources
Sausage: Chestnut Farms, Hardwick, MA
Bacon fat: From bacon from Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Squash, turnip, red onion, potatoes: Waltham Fields, Waltham, MA
Parsnips: Sugar Mountain Farm, Whately, MA (via Russo's)
Rosemary: My half-dead plant

Foolproof Chocolate Fudge

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year!

 

Fudge

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

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

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

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

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

How to Make Cappelletti (and Tortellini)

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

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

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

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

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

Place ½ teaspoon of filling in the center. 

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

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

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

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

Have fun!

Cappelletti

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Memoriam

"Nonni"

Dora Barbaresi Donroe

November 28, 1918 - November 29, 2010

 

We were lucky to have her for as long as we did!

 

Sauerkraut

Today marks a return to my sauerkraut obsession, which has been neglected for far too long.  Oh, you thought I had given up?  Never!  I will not rest until sauerkraut perfection is achieved once again as it was the very first time I attempted it in 2008 when I had no idea what I was doing.

Feel free to play along with your own cabbage.  In 3-5 weeks, when our sauerkraut is ready, we can compare notes/swear words and if you blog about it, I’ll do a sauerkraut roundup linking over to your posts.  Okay?  Here ya go:

 

Sauerkraut

The technique is from Sandor Ellix Katz’s book Wild Fermentation.  A similarly good method can be found in The Joy of Pickling by Linda Ziedrich.  I like to add garlic and other flavorings, but using only cabbage and salt is great, too.

5 lbs. cabbage, cored, shredded thinly
3 Tbsp. sea salt
3 cloves garlic, peeled, crushed
1 Tbsp. juniper berries
2 tsp. caraway seeds
1 tsp. fennel seeds
1 tsp. celery seeds
1 bay leaf

In a large bowl, mix the cabbage with the salt and other flavorings with your hands.  The salt draws the water out of the cabbage and creates a protective brine in which the cabbage can ferment and sour.   Pack it all into a large crock as tight as you can, a little at a time, with your fists or a potato masher.  Set a plate on top of the cabbage.  It should fit snugly inside the crock without getting stuck.  Set a clean jug of water on top.  The weight will help force more water out of the cabbage as well as keep the cabbage submerged as the water level rises.  Cover the whole crock with an old pillowcase to keep out flies and dust.  Check the cabbage over the next 24 hours to make sure it has released enough water to be completely submerged.  If not, add more liquid in a ratio of 1 Tbsp. salt to 1 cup of water (stirred until salt is completely dissolved) until the cabbage is completely covered. 

Let crock sit in a cool dark corner for 3-5 weeks, checking every couple of days to skim off any foam and rinse the plate.  Check the brine level.  Water will evaporate over time, so you may need to add some fresh water to keep the cabbage submerged and prevent it from rotting.  During the fermentation period, do NOT add salt water—only fresh.  To find out why, read here.  When sauerkraut, reaches the desired flavor, use on reubens, make bacon and sauerkraut strudels, bake with bratwurst or pork chops, or eat it all by itself.  Get it right and it's worth the wait!

Local Ingredient Sources:
Cabbage, garlic: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA

Simple Salsa Verde

One thing I love about CSAs is the exposure you get to vegetables you maybe don’t think to buy.  Take tomatillos, for instance.  Do I love those fresh-tasting Mexican green sauces often found gracing enchilada plates?  Yes.  Do I suspect that tomatillos play a vital role in their deliciousness?  Yes.  Have I ever bought a tomatillo in my life?  No! 

Well, why the hell not?  That seems to be the question posed by my neighborhood farmers judging from the pint after pint after pint of tomatillos we’ve been offered this summer.  I can’t ever say no.  The result is I’ve gotten a little more comfortable with tomatillos.  Now I know to wait until the yellowish-green fruits fill up their husks and split the seams before picking them.  I know that you can make salsas out of either raw or cooked tomatillos, but that I prefer cooked.  That the resulting salsa is absolutely fantastic for both scooping up with tortilla chips and spooning over roasted fish (or, as we had last night, pan-fried dabs—a flatfish related to the flounder).  For a smoother sauce for those chicken enchiladas I mentioned, just run the salsa through the food processor or blender, thinning with some water if necessary.

Who knows, maybe one day I'll attain a similar comfort level with all of these millions of exotic hot peppers that keep ending up in my refrigerator!

 

Roasted Tomatillo Salsa

For the love of god, don’t touch your eyes (or any other sensitive part of yourself or anyone else) with your chile pepper fingers.  Scrub your hands WELL.  Trust me.

1-1½ lbs. tomatillos (about two pints)
1-2 chiles, like serranos or jalapeños
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1-2 Tbsp. cilantro, chopped
Lime juice, to taste
Salt, to taste

Preheat oven to 375°F.  Remove husks from tomatillos and rinse off the sticky resin in warm water.  Cut them in half and place cut-side down in baking dish along with whole chiles.  Roast until soft, 20-30 minutes.  Let cool slightly so you can handle them comfortably.

Coarsely chop the tomatillos and put into a small bowl.  Finely chop the roasted chiles and add as much as you think you can handle.  Chiles vary in how much heat they deliver, both between all the different varieties and within their own ranks.  For a very mild salsa, add only the flesh of the chile (slice the four sides from the pepper, scrape off and discard the seeds and inner ribs, and mince).  For more heat, add some seeds.  Not all the seeds!  The number of seeds you should add is directly proportional to how convincingly you can roll your r’s.  Here’s a good test—say this:

Un burro comía berros y el perro se los robó, el burro lanzó un rebuzno, y el perro al barro cayó.

If that doesn’t roll off the tongue, I’d lay off the seeds.

Add the onion, cilantro, lime juice, and salt (be generous with the salt, though).  Serve with tortilla chips or mounded over roasted fish.  For a less chunky, more uniform sauce for, say, those chicken enchiladas I mentioned, purée in food processor and thin with water to desired consistency.

 

Local Ingredients:

Tomatillos, onion, chiles: Waltham Fields Community Farms, Waltham, MA

Simple End-of-Summer Pasta

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

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

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

 

Angel Hair Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes, Garlic, and Basil

So good you could even skip the cheese!

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

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

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