FOOD ON THE FOOD

Cod, Fennel, and Saffron Stew

Only one more week until my book deadline, so let’s keep this brief. If you happen to have a tiny little box of saffron in your spice collection, you don’t have to wait for paella to use it. Here’s a really fast and easy soup you can make with your favorite white fish. It’s warm and wonderful.

Cod, Fennel, and Saffron Stew  

Serve with crusty bread or potatoes, roasted or mashed.

2 Tbsp. olive oil
1-1/2 lbs. cod fillets or other white fish, cut into large chunks
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 fennel bulb, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 carrot, sliced into 1/2-inch coins
1 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
Pinch of saffron threads, crumbled
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup white wine
2 Tbsp. dry vermouth

In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan, heat the olive oil until shimmery hot. Add the shallots and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 2 minutes. Add the fennel and carrots, and sauté until light golden, about 5 minutes. Add the fish pieces and sprinkle with thyme, saffron, salt, and pepper. Add the water, wine, and vermouth, and bring to a simmer. Cover the pot and cook over low heat until the vegetables are tender and the fish is cooked through, about 15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Caldo Gallego

We’re finally starting to thaw out around here. The snow piles have shrunk noticeably, and I just saw my first patch of grass yesterday where the snow had receded from the salt line along the street. Here’s hoping March’s early leonine behavior turns lambish right on schedule [though it’ll be a shame not to break Boston’s all-time snowfall record (107.9 inches) after coming within a mere inch or two].

I’m making soup and will continue to do so for the next few months. I won’t stop until all the chill is gone from the air. This particular soup is perfect for these transition months from winter to spring. It hails from Galicia, the northwest region of Spain where the landscape at this time of year resembles lush, rainy Ireland in seeming tribute to the area's medieval Celtic roots. As such, the food is appropriate for those raw, drizzly days when the wet wind cuts right through to your bones. This version uses canned navy beans, potatoes, collard greens, and a winning trifecta of pork. That is to say: bacon, ham, and chorizo.

You'd be wise to save your ham bones this Easter to make this great soup.


Caldo Gallego (Galician Sausage and Bean Soup)  

If you can find Spanish smoked paprika, like pimentón de la Vera, use that as it imparts a distinctly Spanish flavor. Otherwise, use regular sweet paprika and you’ll get some of that smoky flavor from the chorizo.

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lb. bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large onion, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon smoked paprika (or regular paprika)
2 15.5-oz. cans of navy beans, well rinsed and drained
1 lb. chorizo, sliced
1 ham bone or 1/2-lb. smoked pork hock, skin scored
6 cups chicken stock or water
2 Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and cubed
5 cups shredded collard greens (or turnip greens, kale, or escarole)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook for 5 to 7 minutes until crisp. Remove the bacon from the pot with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. Set aside.

Pour off all but 2 Tbsp. of the bacon fat from the pot. Add the onion and cook, stirring frequently, until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and paprika, and cook 1 minute more, stirring constantly. Add the beans, chorizo, ham bone or hock, and stock, and increase the heat to high. While heating, prepare the potatoes and greens, and add them to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low, and simmer for 1 hour. Remove the ham bone or hock, reserving the meat to shred and return to the pot. Season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately garnished with bacon.

Source: Inspired by Soup of the Day by Ellen Brown, who adapted it from Jose Garces of Amada in Philadelphia.

Curried Zucchini Soup

Summer squash getting you down? Do you have enough bat-sized zucchini to supply a major league baseball team? If so, then you need to make this soup. It's bright and flavorful with Indian flavors and only requires a half hour of work. More importantly, you will use up a full three pounds of zucchini while furnishing yourself with lunch for a week.

Curried Zucchini Soup  

I like to brown the vegetables to give this soup extra flavor. Feel free to adjust the amount of curry powder to your liking. You can add a little cayenne, too.

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 medium carrots, peeled, chopped
3 ribs celery, chopped
1 small onion, peeled, chopped
1 teaspoon curry powder
3 pounds zucchini (about 3 medium), cut into cubes
6 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

In a large soup pot, melt the butter over medium heat until it begins to bubble. Add the carrots, celery, onion, and curry powder. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the vegetables soften and start to turn brown.

Stir in the zucchini. Add the stock, salt, and pepper, and bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for 12 to 15 minutes or until the zucchini is tender. Stir in the cream. Remove the soup from the heat to cool slightly before blending.

Using a blender, process the soup in batches until smooth (or use a stick blender). Reheat and season the soup to taste. Makes 8 servings (or freeze half for later).

Source: Adapted from The Dinnertime Survival Cookbook by Debra Ponzek and Mary Goodbody

Local Ingredients:
Zucchini, carrots: Waltham Fields Community Farm, Waltham, MA
Onion: School garden, Waltham, MA
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA

Parsnip Soup and Righteous Clichés

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

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

The world is yours for the taking!

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

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

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

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

Is this what a midlife crisis looks like?

Spring Parsnip Soup     

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

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

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

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

Black Bean and Sweet Potato Chili

I need to sneak this recipe in before it gets too nice outside. Who wants chili in 70-degree weather? But I think we can expect a few more cold, rainy days in our future if I know Spring, and, when they come, keep this black bean and sweet potato chili in mind. Yes, it's vegetarian, but it's quick to make and boldly spiced as chili should be, making it very satisfying, especially when sprinkled with queso fresco or any other cheese you might have left over from the huevos rancheros. I'm always biased towards meat, so if I like a vegetarian recipe, that's a good sign!

Black Bean and Sweet Potato Chili

I cut back a little on the chipotle powder to keep things accessible for the kids. The flavors were still quite prominent. If you don't have chipotle powder, you can chop up one or two canned chipotles in adobo, or use a pinch of cayenne instead, or substitute some smoked paprika for a milder but smokier flavor.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 large sweet potato, peeled and diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1/4 tsp. ground chipotle
2 1/2 cups water
2 15-oz. cans black beans, rinsed
1 14-oz. can diced tomatoes
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Queso fresco (optional)

Heat oil is a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion and sweet potato, and cook stirring often, until the onion is soft, about 4 minutes. Add garlic, chili powder, cumin, chipotle, and salt to taste, stirring constantly until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add water, bring to a simmer, cover, reduce heat to medium-low to maintain a simmer, and cook until the sweet potato is tender, 10-12 minutes. Add beans, tomatoes, and lime juice. Return to a simmer and cook until slightly reduced, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in cilantro and more salt if needed. Crumble queso fresco on top. Serve with cornbread or cheddar quesadillas.

Source: Adapted from Eating Well magazine.

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

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

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.

French Onion Soup

I was all set to change the pictures over there on the right to warmer-weather food now that spring is supposedly in sight, but I decided to hold off while this Siberian cold snap is in full force.  So, soup is on the menu once again.  What can you do?  Talk to the groundhog.  At least it’s onion soup.  I’ll take a few more days of winter if I can have onion soup all week.  But then we seriously need to start warming things up around here.  Please?  Does anyone have any extra greenhouse gases stored up somewhere?  Or a few bloated cows?  Maybe we could talk.  I’ll bring soup, you bring cookies.  

Julia Child’s French Onion Soup

I used a local maple-smoked cheddar on top, but, I’ll be honest, I kinda missed the Gruyere.

4 Tbsp. butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil
8 cups thinly sliced onions (about 2½ lbs.)
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. sugar
1 Tbsp. flour
8 cups homemade beef stock, heated
¼ cup Cognac
1 cup dry white wine
8 ½-inch-thick slices of French bread, toasted
¾ lb. Gruyere, coarsely grated

Over medium heat, melt the butter and oil in a heavy saucepan.  Stir in the onions, cover, and cook slowly until tender and translucent, 8-10 minutes.  Blend in the salt and sugar, increase heat to medium-high, and let the onions brown, stirring frequently until they are a dark walnut color, 25 to 30 minutes.

Sprinkle the flour and cook slowly, stirring, for another 3 to 4 minutes.  Remove from heat, let cool a moment, then whisk in 2 cups of hot stock.  Bring to the simmer, adding the rest of the stock, Cognac, and wine.  Cover loosely, and simmer very slowly 1½ hours, adding a little water if the liquid reduces too much.  Season with salt and pepper.

Divide the soup among 4 ovenproof bowls.  Arrange toast on top of soup and sprinkle generously with grated cheese.  Place bowls on a cookie sheet and place under a preheated broiler until cheese melts and forms a crust over the tops of the bowls.  Serve immediately.

Source: Adapted minimally from Julia Child’s The Way to Cook.

Local Food Sources:
Butter: Cabot, Cabot, VT
Cheese: Grafton Village, Grafton, VT
Beef bones for stock: Southboro Belties, Southboro, MA (via Pete and Jen’s Backyard Birds, Concord, MA)
Wine: Truro Vineyards, Truro, MA
Bread: Nashoba Brook Bakery, Concord, MA (via Russo’s, Watertown, MA)

Tortilla Soup for Optimum Marital Health

This recipe for tortilla soup is courtesy of my BFF who really ought to start her own competing food blog since I’m always stealing her recipes.  It’s a good use for any post-Thanksgiving turkey stock you might have on hand.  You did make turkey stock, right?  Right?  If not, please deposit your unwanted turkey carcasses in my mailbox.

It was too dark to take a photo when I first made the soup (I rely heavily on natural light to compensate for my failings as a photographer).  Instead, I fried some extra tortilla strips and set them aside in a little plastic baggie for the next day when I would be recreating the whole experience.  Don’t eat them, I told Husband.  I won’t have time to fry more.  I have a very narrow 8-hour window of daylight in which to work.  Please, for the love of God, don’t mess with them.  Then we went through the usual spousal push and pull involved with trying to verify whether or not the request was heard and would be honored.  In the end, though, he agreed.

Cut to the next day.  I heat up my soup and get ready to apply the appropriate garnishes.  Sour cream?  Check.  Shredded cheese?  Check.  Avocado?  Check.  Tortilla strips?  Che…wait a minute.  Where the hell are they?  They’re not on the counter.  I yell up to Husband.  He insists they’re on the counter, but they’re not.  They’re just not.  I check all the cabinets.  Nothing.

After several maneuvers not unlike trying to dislodge a mule from his favorite resting spot, I manage to get Husband downstairs to confirm that, indeed, there were no tortilla strips on the counter.  Or anywhere.  And now I’m starting to get mad because the sun is poised to do a swan dive into the deep, dark night, and did we not have a whole conversation about this?  I have pretty low standards for photographic composition, but I think tortilla soup should at the very least include some visible tortillas.  And he’s mad because I’m making such a big deal about chips.  Which is clearly not the point at all.

Me: FIND ME THE STRIPS.

Him: They’re not here.  I put them here and they’re not here.  I’m sorry.

Me: THE STRIPS!!!

Him: I put them right here.  It’s not my fault.

Me: STRRRRRRIIIIIIIPS. 

It went back and forth like this for a while.  Voices were raised, several levels of maturity were disproven, in what was shaping up to be one of our worst fights ever.  So this is it, I thought.  The straw that breaks the camel’s back.  Tortilla chips. 

Until…

Him: Oh…oh, wait.  (fixes gaze up over my head)  Now I remember where I put them…

He reaches up on top of one of the blades of the motionless ceiling fan and produces my bag of chips.

Him: I forgot.  I was going to play a trick on you, but I forgot…

Then he ran up the stairs as fast as I’ve ever seen him move. 

The sad thing is, after all that, I couldn’t even get mad about it.  Well, I was a little mad.  The kind of mad where you alternate between sighing and laughing and shaking your head.  His punishment?  You’re looking at it.

 

Tortilla Soup for Optimum Marital Health

Cheaper than counseling and just as ineffective.

¼ cup vegetable oil
4 6-inch corn tortillas, halved and cut into strips

8 6-inch corn tortillas, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 medium onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, minced
½ cup cilantro, chopped
1 15-oz. can diced tomatoes in juice
6 cups chicken or turkey broth
1 Tbsp. ground cumin
2 tsp. chili powder
2 bay leaves
4 skinless chicken breast halves
¼ tsp. cayenne pepper
2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
2 avocados, pitted & diced
Sour cream

Heat oil in small skillet. Add tortilla strips in batches, frying until golden.  Drain on paper towels.  Salt well and set aside.

Pour frying oil into large, heavy pot over high heat.  Add tortilla pieces (not the ones you just fried, the other ones), onion, garlic, and cilantro, and sauté about 3 minutes.  Stir in tomatoes with juices, and bring to a boil.  Add broth, cumin, chili powder, and bay leaves.  Return to boil.  Add chicken and cayenne pepper, and reduce heat.  Simmer until chicken is cooked through, about 15 minutes. (I didn’t actually add any chicken here; my homemade broth already contained some shredded chicken.  Not a lot, but enough.)  Remove soup from heat.  Using slotted spoon, remove bay leaves.  Transfer chicken to a plate, and let cool.  Shred chicken and return to soup.  Ladle into bowls.  Top with cheese, avocado, dollop of sour cream, and FRIED TORTILLA STRIPS.

Chowdah

Not everything went badly last week.  Let’s take a look at what went right before my unraveling.

Ah, yes, the chowder went right. 

I didn’t have a go-to recipe, so I decided to experiment a little.  I started by making a list of all the things I like in a chowder.  If I’m going to invent a chowder recipe, I didn’t want to forget anything.  Like clams.  Oh, and bacon.  Celery.  Bay leaf and thyme.  Potatoes.  Big hunks of fish.  Cayenne.  I like my onions sliced instead of diced so they hang over the edge of my spoon like they’re trying to get away.  I also prefer my clams to remain tucked into their submersible cots until the very last minute.  I like to think they’re more comfortable that way.  And less chewy. 

From there I crafted my best approximation of what Jasper White would do with this list.  Hmmmm, what would he do in a situation like this besides charge me a million dollars at Summer Shack?  But since I didn’t really know, I followed my own instincts—the very same instincts that would betray me only days later.  It came out tasty, though.  Husband didn’t cry and the kids ate it without complaining, which is all I really ask at this point. 

Two things I would have changed.  The clams I used were a bit sandy and could have benefited from an overnight soak in water in the fridge so they could purge themselves of their grit.  (I’ve heard of using salt or cornmeal in the water, too, but I’ve never tried it.)  Also, I would have used a starchier type of potato, which I think would have given the soup a little more body.  This version is creamy, but not thick.  If you prefer your chowder thick, I would suggest stirring in a few tablespoons of flour in with the onions and celery toward the end of their cooking.  But usually I just rely on free-agent potato starch to do the trick.

People can get pretty insufferable about chowder around here, so I can’t wait to read the comments in my delicate condition.  Still, one should always make chowder the way one likes it, no matter what the Chowder Police say.  As long as there are no tomatoes involved.  Adding tomatoes to chowder is very wrong.

P.S. Very wrong.

Fish and Clam Chowder

You can always mash some of the potatoes against the side of the pot to release the starches for extra thickening.  That’s a Jasper White trick.

2-3 slices of bacon to yield 2-3 Tbsp. bacon fat
2 onions, halved, sliced
1 rib celery, small dice
1 bay leaf
2 Tbsp. flour
4 cups potatoes, medium dice, unpeeled is fine
2-3 cups water or fish stock (I’m not the biggest fan of bottled clam juice, but you can use that, too)
½ tsp. dried thyme (or 1 Tbsp. fresh)
Dash cayenne
2 lbs. haddock, cut into large chunks
1 lb. steamers (smallish clams), scrubbed, soaked if you have the time
1½ cup milk
1½ cup cream
1 tsp. salt
¼ tsp. pepper

In a heavy-bottomed pot, fry the bacon until crispy.  Remove, let cool, crumble, and set aside.  To the bacon fat in the pot, add onions, celery, and bay leaf.  Cook low and slow until the vegetables are wilted, about 5 minutes.  Stir in flour and cook 2-3 minutes more.  Add potatoes and arrange fish on top.  Add hot water or fish stock to cover the potatoes.  Add thyme and cayenne, and simmer five minutes, covered.  Add clams on top.  Simmer 5-10 minutes longer, covered, until the shells open.  Discard any unopened clams.  Gently stir in milk and cream (you want the flaky fish chunks to stay as intact as possible—have fun with that).  Season with salt and pepper.  Heat until just ready to simmer.  Serve sprinkled with crumbled bacon.

Sources:
Bacon: Codman Farm, Lincoln, MA
Onions, potatoes: Drumlin Farm CSA, Lincoln, MA
Celery: Dick’s Market Garden, Lunenburg, MA (Waltham Farmer’s Market)
Haddock, clams from local fishermen: Steamers, Newton, MA
Milk, cream: High Lawn Farm, Lee, MA (Russo’s)

Gazpacho

Did I mention that a certain someone starts school this week?  Free school.  FREE.  All day, five days a week. 

Yes, this is the time when the Preschooler becomes a kindergartener, the Toddler becomes a preschooler, and I curse myself for thinking up names for the kids that would change every goddamned year.  (To be fair, I thought I’d quit blogging after two weeks, but haven’t I caught on by now that nothing happens like you plan?)

I was thinking of just calling the Preschooler the Kindergartener, and the Toddler the Preschooler.  Creativity isn’t my strong suit, as you well know.  But that nomenclature is likely to be confusing.  Like, how did the Preschooler go from being a sweet and gentle boy to a noisy brute practically overnight?  (Public school, that’s how.  We must all lose our innocence someday.)  So, if anyone has a better idea, let’s hear it.

Anyway, given the new, freeing kindergarten schedule, you may be wondering how I plan to spend my time?  Rather than doing the work needed to sustain a freelance career, I think I’ll start by acting out scenes from Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown instead. 

Yes, that is a fantastic idea.  I’ll start with gazpacho.  Lots of gazpacho.  Then I’ll mope around as if I’m despondent about the recent turn of events.  Why does he have to go to kindergarten?  Why, why, WHY?  There will be much pacing and hand-wringing, not to mention checking voicemail every two minutes.  Oh, and throwing things just to be dramatic.  I really don’t do enough of that.  I don’t want to die having never thrown anything through a plate glass window in a fit of rage.  That would be a waste.

I just hope that after all of the lighting things on fire, high-speed scooter chases, gazpacho at gunpoint, and dancing half-naked in windows play out, Husband doesn’t make me go out and get a real job.

Gazpacho

This recipe is straight from Spain and is my absolute favorite.  You can thicken it up with bread soaked in water if you like.  Adding garlic is also fair game.  Sleeping pills are optional.

4 large tomatoes
1 cucumber
1 bell pepper (green is traditional, but I prefer red)
¼ medium onion
6 Tbsp. olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 tsp. salt
Black pepper
Cayenne pepper to taste

In a large pot of boiling water, dunk tomatoes for 20 seconds or so, then submerge in ice water until cool.  The skins should slip right off.  Core tomatoes, then cut in half across the equator and squeeze out the seeds.  Cut into quarters and place tomatoes in blender.

Peel cucumber and cut in half lengthwise.  Holding a spoon upside-down by the handle, dig a trough along the length of the cut side of the cucumber to remove the seeds.  Cut into pieces and put into blender, reserving one piece to chop for garnish.  Core and remove seeds from pepper.  Reserve one piece to chop for garnish and add the rest to the blender.  Add onion (chop some extra for garnish), olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and cayenne.  Purée until smooth.  Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.  Refrigerate.  Serve chilled topped with chopped red pepper, cucumber, and onion.

Cookbook Friday: Cappellettis

This is my grandmother, Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe, beaming with what must be her first child, Margaret Ann, in 1942.  The U.S. had been at war with Japan and Germany since the bombing of Pearl Harbor the year before.

Cappellettis are among the top three all-time favorite family recipes, along with crescia and passatellis.  Pronounced “cop-LETS” in the dialect Nonni spoke, these are meat-filled tortellini shaped like little hats (that’s what the name means in Italian) and served in chicken soup.

Nonni still makes these filled pastas by the thousands, despite the rheumatoid arthritis that has permanently bent her fingers.  She freezes them in big bags and sends them home with me (if I play my cards right) or my dad (if I don’t) along with containers of homemade soup.  Her youngest son, Eddie, now in his fifties, has a standing order for shipments of cappellettis and crescia to be sent to him from Connecticut to Washington State several times a year.  Although the prognosis for pork traveling through the U.S. postal system is grim at best, he still lives to tell a happy tale.

 

Cappellettis

I recently revised this recipe (12/10) to make half the filling and double the pasta so you end up with about the right amount of each.  That recipe can be found here.

For the filling:
3 Tbsp. oil
2 lb. ground lean pork
½ cup breadcrumbs
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese (or more)
2 eggs
Pinch of nutmeg
Salt and black pepper to taste

For the dough:
2 cups flour
1 egg (sometimes 2)

Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat.  Brown pork until cooked through.  Remove pan from heat and mix in breadcrumbs, cheese, eggs, nutmeg, salt, and pepper.  Mixture should be thick enough to hold together.  If too wet, add more breadcrumbs and/or cheese.  Let cool while making dough.

In a large bowl, add flour and make a well in the middle.  Crack egg in the center and stir with a fork, gradually scraping in the flour from the perimeter to incorporate.  When it gets too thick to stir, turn out onto flour board and knead, adding more flour if necessary. Roll into a cylinder and cut into 2-inch pieces.  Put in a lightly oiled bowl and cover to keep from drying out.

Set up pasta machine with rollers open to the widest setting.  Run one piece of pasta through the machine.  Decrease the number by one and run the pasta through again.  Continue decreasing the space between rollers until 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 1½-inch squares using a sharp knife.  Place one teaspoon of filling in the center of a square and fold into a triangle, corner to corner, pressing on the edges to seal.  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 cookie sheet and cover while filling the rest of the pasta squares.  Repeat until all the pasta is used, freezing the pans of completed cappellettis as soon as they are filled.  Once the pasta has frozen, you can transfer them to plastic freezer bags.  Any remaining filling can be stored in the freezer for future use.

To serve, bring homemade chicken soup to a boil.  Add frozen cappellettis (don’t defrost them), stirring occasionally.  Let soup come back up to a boil, then turn down heat to a gentle simmer.  Cook until al dente (fully cooked but still firm) about 7 minutes. 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
New Haven, Connecticut
1918 –

Nonni's freshly made cappellettis.  Photo by Trish Barker.

Next Recipe: Italian Pie Crust

     (Previous Recipe: Sausages and Peppers)

Cookbook Friday: Chicken Soup

Or when your cable Internet goes down, Saturday (thanks, RCN).

Dora Barbaresi (my grandmother), on the right, around 1941, with her father, George, and older sister, Eva Blasi.

It’s hard to believe that Nonni (Dora) is younger in this picture than I am now, but I guess the camera doesn’t lie.  Is this the same woman who, in my recent memory, would feign a heart attack when the cops pulled her over for speeding?  Sure is.

She’d be in her early twenties here.  She spoke English and Italian fluently, although her parents got by speaking hardly any English.  New Haven was very Italian back then and her father was a member of the Marchigiano Club.  No ladies were allowed, and you peed into a trough right there at the bar.  Ah, the good old days.

Like the rest of her sisters, Dora couldn’t finish high school because she needed to help support the family.  All of the girls were smart, but their mother insisted that they go to work as soon as the law said they could.  Rumor has it that on more than one occasion, Dora fought to keep what she had worked so hard to earn in the dress shop. 

Several of her sisters, like Eva, were already married and starting families.  World War II was heating up, and Dora’s boyfriend, Freddie (whom she would later marry), was considering enlisting in the Army. 

Around this time, Dora’s sister, Anne, a platinum blonde, was sitting in the audience of the Miss New Haven beauty pageant when the judges pulled her onstage with the other contestants.  Their father, usually a mild-mannered man, was horrified.  “You’re beautiful,” he would say to his girls, “but you’re not supposed to brag.  You’re supposed to be quiet.  Act like a lady.”  But they made Anne go up, and she won.

 

Chicken Soup

This simple soup goes hand in hand with two of the family’s favorite pasta recipes coming up.  Nonni isn’t big on amounts, as she just uses what she has around the house, but this recipe will get you where you want to be.  She cuts her whole chicken in half because her pot isn’t big enough to accommodate a whole one.  She freezes the other for later use.

1 whole chicken (3-4 lb.), cut in half
2 cloves, pressed into chicken (not garlic cloves, actual spice cloves)
2 small onions, peeled and halved
2 ribs celery, cut into large pieces
2 carrots, cut into large pieces
Small can (14.5 oz.) of stewed tomatoes
Salt and pepper

Add all ingredients to a large pot and cover with water by two inches.  Bring to a boil, then cover, lower heat, and simmer for 1 hour.  Strain soup and set aside.  Reserve carrots and chicken (remove the cloves).  Cut carrots into chunks and pull off shreds of chicken meat with a fork to add to soup.  Season with salt and pepper.  Serve with cappellettis or passatellis, or freeze. 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
New Haven, Connecticut
1918 -

Next Recipe: Passatellis

     (Previous Recipe: Friselles)

Of Chickens and Morons

I used to think that the people who swarm to the grocery store at the first mention of snow were morons.  Can’t you live without your Ho Ho’s for a mere 24 hours?  Don’t you have a few cans of tuna fish somewhere? 

But I was wrong.  There is a worse kind of moron.  The sort of moron that knows we’re running low on milk, bread, feminine products, etc. a week before the snow is set to hit, and, still, no trips to the grocery store are made.  And when that special brand of New England slush starts falling from the sky, fusing itself to every possible surface, and then freezing solid so you’re encased in your own personal life-sized snow globe prison, well by then I’m too much of a wuss to fishtail my way to the moron store to stock up on all the moronic products that, apparently, only morons don’t have.

So, that’s how I found myself with nothing even remotely delicious in the house, trying to concoct dinner from the slim pickings I had in the pantry.  Rice.  Coconut milk.  Pumpkin pie filling.  Except that I can’t touch the pumpkin pie filling or an irate engineer will spontaneously crash through the ceiling with a ridiculous but fierce display of Kung Fu-ish flailing.  You can’t mess with the man’s pumpkin pie ingredients.

The refrigerator was completely empty.  We had finished off the condiments during our afternoon snack.  In the freezer, there were all kinds of mysterious things, but all I could immediately recognize were: 1) a lone freezer-burned chicken breast, and 2) a million kinds of stock.  So, what can you make with rice, coconut milk, chicken, and how about duck stock? 

Chicken Mulligatawny

1 Tbsp. canola oil
1 yellow onion, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1½ Sambhar curry powder
½ tsp. ground cumin
½ tsp. ground coriander
½ tsp. ground ginger
6 cups homemade yummy poultry stock of your choice
½ cup basmati rice
1 large chicken breast, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 cup coconut milk
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
¼ tsp. salt
¼ tsp. pepper
3 Tbsp. toasted, sliced almonds, optional

Heat oil in a large pot over medium-high heat.  Add onion, celery, and garlic, and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 5 minutes.  Add curry powder, cumin, coriander, and ginger, and cook a minute or two.  Add the stock and rice.  Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook uncovered for 12 minutes.

Add chicken, return to a simmer, and cook until chicken is done and rice is tender, about 8-10 minutes more.  Stir in coconut milk and return to a simmer.  Remove from heat, and stir in lemon juice, salt, and pepper.  Garnish with almonds, unless you’re a moron.

Source: Adapted from Eating Well.  The original recipe called for 2 diced Granny Smith apples, but the moron didn’t have any apples.  Plus, she wasn’t so sure about apples in her Mulligatawny.  So, instead, she decided to use full-fat coconut milk in place of the “lite” coconut milk originally listed in the recipe, and just call it even.