Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Modern Apron on Sweetnicks
I sent another contribution to the ARF/5-a-day Roundup on Sweetnicks. Check it out!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Happy Birthday: Lemon Squares
Once upon a time, a man made me lemon squares. When a man makes you lemon squares—good lemon squares—there’s only one thing you can do. You marry him. So I did.
Today that man turned 40. When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday “treat,” (that is, above and beyond the chocolate cake with vanilla frosting that our children insist he must have, and in the making of which they will take part) he said, “You can make lemon squares.” I think that lemon squares should probably be served at both of our funerals—they seem to play a major role in our relationship. The only down side is that at least one of us won’t be there to enjoy them.
So for probably the trillionth time in since we’ve been married, I dug out the spattered and smeared recipe card with the recipe from the Wellesley Cookie Exchange cookbook, given to Alex by his sister-in-law, Maureen (Hi, Maureen! Hope you’re having a nice executive retreat!) many years ago.
So spattered has the original become that some years ago Alex went back over her handwriting with ball point pen in an effort to save the legibility of the measurements. I feel I’d better post this recipe to preserve it. I wouldn’t want such a lifetime classic to be lost. Plus then you can make these too. And you'll be glad you did.
These lemon squares are, I must confess, almost tooth-achingly sweet, but sometimes that’s what you want. Also, they’re incredibly rich because of all the butter. As a result, you’re more than satisfied with a very small square. In fact, if you eat more than two or three small squares, you’re apt to feel slightly ill for the rest of the day, unless you perform some feat of physical fitness. However, in some ways, those are good things: you don’t eat too many because you don’t really want to feel ill, and after eating them you feel like you really ought to counter them by exercising. Portion control and exercise motivation in one flaky little lemony tidbit—what could be better?
So here, for posterity, is the recipe that won my heart, and has served us well on so many occasions throughout our married life. I am recording it exactly as written on the recipe card. Happy birthday, Alex!
From the Kitchen of: Maureen (Wellesley Cookie Exchange)
Recipe for: Lemon Squares
Ingredients:
2 cups flour
½ cup powdered sugar
1 cup melted butter
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1/3 cup lemon juice
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ cup flour
Mix together 2 cups flour, powdered sugar, and melted butter. Spread into a 9 x 13” pan and bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes.
Mix eggs, sugar, lemon juice, baking powder, and ¼ cup flour and pour over baked shell. Bake at 350 degrees for an additional 25 minutes or until set. Dust with powdered sugar when cool. Cut into bars of desired size. Makes at least 36.
Today that man turned 40. When I asked him what he wanted for his birthday “treat,” (that is, above and beyond the chocolate cake with vanilla frosting that our children insist he must have, and in the making of which they will take part) he said, “You can make lemon squares.” I think that lemon squares should probably be served at both of our funerals—they seem to play a major role in our relationship. The only down side is that at least one of us won’t be there to enjoy them.
So for probably the trillionth time in since we’ve been married, I dug out the spattered and smeared recipe card with the recipe from the Wellesley Cookie Exchange cookbook, given to Alex by his sister-in-law, Maureen (Hi, Maureen! Hope you’re having a nice executive retreat!) many years ago.
So spattered has the original become that some years ago Alex went back over her handwriting with ball point pen in an effort to save the legibility of the measurements. I feel I’d better post this recipe to preserve it. I wouldn’t want such a lifetime classic to be lost. Plus then you can make these too. And you'll be glad you did.
These lemon squares are, I must confess, almost tooth-achingly sweet, but sometimes that’s what you want. Also, they’re incredibly rich because of all the butter. As a result, you’re more than satisfied with a very small square. In fact, if you eat more than two or three small squares, you’re apt to feel slightly ill for the rest of the day, unless you perform some feat of physical fitness. However, in some ways, those are good things: you don’t eat too many because you don’t really want to feel ill, and after eating them you feel like you really ought to counter them by exercising. Portion control and exercise motivation in one flaky little lemony tidbit—what could be better?
So here, for posterity, is the recipe that won my heart, and has served us well on so many occasions throughout our married life. I am recording it exactly as written on the recipe card. Happy birthday, Alex!
From the Kitchen of: Maureen (Wellesley Cookie Exchange)Recipe for: Lemon Squares
Ingredients:
2 cups flour
½ cup powdered sugar
1 cup melted butter
4 eggs
2 cups sugar
1/3 cup lemon juice
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ cup flour
Mix together 2 cups flour, powdered sugar, and melted butter. Spread into a 9 x 13” pan and bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes.
Mix eggs, sugar, lemon juice, baking powder, and ¼ cup flour and pour over baked shell. Bake at 350 degrees for an additional 25 minutes or until set. Dust with powdered sugar when cool. Cut into bars of desired size. Makes at least 36.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Worth The Trouble: Homemade Granola
A friend who’d been reading the entry on Breakfast Parfaits asked me recently if it really was worth it to make my own granola. He said he’d considered it, but still continued to buy the bulk stuff at our local Town & Country market. I would never not make my own granola for a few reasons: I don’t like the store-bought stuff very much, I can control what goes in that which I make, and my children will actually eat it when I make it at home (well, three out of the four will)
Kellogg’s used to make a low fat granola with and without raisins (as I recall) that I thought was pretty good, but I haven’t seen it in years, and I’m sure it was loaded to the gills with things like high fructose corn syrup, and preservatives. I didn’t used to care about that sort of thing, but now I do. And if memory serves, the mass produced stuff really just tasted only faintly like the ingredients of which it was made. All the flavor seemed to have been processed out of it.
When I make my own I can vary the kind of nuts I use, or add different spices, or change the flavor with honey, maple syrup, or molasses. The most recent batch I made used sliced almonds, chopped pecans, and sunflower seeds, along with some cinnamon and ground cloves. The batch before that included chopped hazelnuts (I was feeling splurgy; you have to feel splurgy to pay the exorbitant price that chopped hazelnuts command), and ground allspice instead of ground cloves. I can include dried fruit or not, depending on the intended use (when I make these parfaits, I leave out the fruit).
The time I made the batch with the hazelnuts, three of my children had to be forcibly restrained from eating the whole pan (of course, the one with the nuts that cost as much as a semester’s college tuition. Enjoy that granola kid; that’s your freshman Biology class in that pan). I let it harden in the pan, and broke off pieces which they then ate like candy bars. Watching three children under age three snack on granola like it was candy was so rewarding that I would never consider buying even the most pristine, certified organic, all natural, fair trade, hand crafted small batch [fill in desirable quality in purchased food product here] granola in the world. Two years ago I would have scoffed at granola for a snack (well, for myself, anyway). Today it sounds like a pretty good idea.
And so, although I’ve provided this recipe before, I’m presenting it again with an urge to you to give it a try it and a picture of a recent batch. Don't, however, be wedded too closely to the recipe. Change the spices, add more cinnamon and nothing else, add some ground nutmeg, add some ground cloves, use maple syrup instead of honey, use a different combination of nuts. Maybe there's even another grain you like--add it.
Also, for those interested, I ran a quick (semi-scientific) tally on the nutritional content. It breaks down to around 285 calories and 16 grams of fat per 1/3 cup, with about 4 grams of fiber. These figures don’t include any dried fruit, which would up both calories and fiber, of course. Doubtless you could mitigate this somewhat by cutting the oil with some kind of fruit juice or maple syrup, swapping out some of the nuts with some more oats, and possibly adding more wheat bran. I haven’t tried this, so I can’t vouch for the success or failure of such changes, but if you’re concerned with calorie counts and similar, you may want to consider some or all of these modifications. But however you try it, do try it, because this beats store-bought granola by a mile.
Granola
adapted from Shelia Lukins' U.S.A. Cookbook
makes 4-6 cups of granola (the higher number if you use the dried fruit, the lower number if you don't), which serves me for a pretty long time; your mileage may vary
2 cups whole oats
½ cup wheat bran
2/3 cup sliced almonds
½ cup sunflower seeds
½ cup chopped pecans
½ cup safflower oil
½ cup packed brown sugar
½ cup honey
2 teaspoons cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 375. Combine oats, bran and nuts in a large bowl. In a small pan over medium heat combine oil, sugar, honey, spices and salt until melted and combined. Pour oil mixture into a large bowl, and slowly whisk in oat mixture, stirring to combine. Spread granola into a 9x13 pan (lining the pan with foil makes it easier to get the granola out after it's cooked) and bake 30 minutes or until just beginning to brown. Granola will not be crisp at this time, but will crisp up as it cools. Allow to cool 10 minutes, then pour into a bowl and (optional) add in dried fruit as desired (dried blueberries, dried cherries, chopped dried apricots, raisins or golden raisins—combined to equal about a cup and a half). If not adding dried fruit, allow granola to cool in the bowl, then store in an airtight container.
Kellogg’s used to make a low fat granola with and without raisins (as I recall) that I thought was pretty good, but I haven’t seen it in years, and I’m sure it was loaded to the gills with things like high fructose corn syrup, and preservatives. I didn’t used to care about that sort of thing, but now I do. And if memory serves, the mass produced stuff really just tasted only faintly like the ingredients of which it was made. All the flavor seemed to have been processed out of it.
When I make my own I can vary the kind of nuts I use, or add different spices, or change the flavor with honey, maple syrup, or molasses. The most recent batch I made used sliced almonds, chopped pecans, and sunflower seeds, along with some cinnamon and ground cloves. The batch before that included chopped hazelnuts (I was feeling splurgy; you have to feel splurgy to pay the exorbitant price that chopped hazelnuts command), and ground allspice instead of ground cloves. I can include dried fruit or not, depending on the intended use (when I make these parfaits, I leave out the fruit).
The time I made the batch with the hazelnuts, three of my children had to be forcibly restrained from eating the whole pan (of course, the one with the nuts that cost as much as a semester’s college tuition. Enjoy that granola kid; that’s your freshman Biology class in that pan). I let it harden in the pan, and broke off pieces which they then ate like candy bars. Watching three children under age three snack on granola like it was candy was so rewarding that I would never consider buying even the most pristine, certified organic, all natural, fair trade, hand crafted small batch [fill in desirable quality in purchased food product here] granola in the world. Two years ago I would have scoffed at granola for a snack (well, for myself, anyway). Today it sounds like a pretty good idea.
And so, although I’ve provided this recipe before, I’m presenting it again with an urge to you to give it a try it and a picture of a recent batch. Don't, however, be wedded too closely to the recipe. Change the spices, add more cinnamon and nothing else, add some ground nutmeg, add some ground cloves, use maple syrup instead of honey, use a different combination of nuts. Maybe there's even another grain you like--add it.
Also, for those interested, I ran a quick (semi-scientific) tally on the nutritional content. It breaks down to around 285 calories and 16 grams of fat per 1/3 cup, with about 4 grams of fiber. These figures don’t include any dried fruit, which would up both calories and fiber, of course. Doubtless you could mitigate this somewhat by cutting the oil with some kind of fruit juice or maple syrup, swapping out some of the nuts with some more oats, and possibly adding more wheat bran. I haven’t tried this, so I can’t vouch for the success or failure of such changes, but if you’re concerned with calorie counts and similar, you may want to consider some or all of these modifications. But however you try it, do try it, because this beats store-bought granola by a mile.
Granolaadapted from Shelia Lukins' U.S.A. Cookbook
makes 4-6 cups of granola (the higher number if you use the dried fruit, the lower number if you don't), which serves me for a pretty long time; your mileage may vary
2 cups whole oats
½ cup wheat bran
2/3 cup sliced almonds
½ cup sunflower seeds
½ cup chopped pecans
½ cup safflower oil
½ cup packed brown sugar
½ cup honey
2 teaspoons cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon salt
Preheat oven to 375. Combine oats, bran and nuts in a large bowl. In a small pan over medium heat combine oil, sugar, honey, spices and salt until melted and combined. Pour oil mixture into a large bowl, and slowly whisk in oat mixture, stirring to combine. Spread granola into a 9x13 pan (lining the pan with foil makes it easier to get the granola out after it's cooked) and bake 30 minutes or until just beginning to brown. Granola will not be crisp at this time, but will crisp up as it cools. Allow to cool 10 minutes, then pour into a bowl and (optional) add in dried fruit as desired (dried blueberries, dried cherries, chopped dried apricots, raisins or golden raisins—combined to equal about a cup and a half). If not adding dried fruit, allow granola to cool in the bowl, then store in an airtight container.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Play it Again: Chocolate Chip Scones
Some things you make over and over again. Casseroles that bring back childhood memories (even though they aren’t quite as good as the way mom made them), chocolate chip cookies, spaghetti with meat sauce, pancakes on Sunday morning.
Our over and over is chocolate chip scones. Long ago, before I realized that their over-the-top approach to recipes was beyond what even I could absorb, I bought an Cook's Illustrated cookbook: The Quick Recipe. I’ve made a few things from it, nothing that really wowed me, but they do have a solid, reliable go-to recipe for scones that I make just about every week. Commercial scones are expensive, and usually of questionable quality.
This recipe turns out a very nice, generally reliable scone. I’ve been told some weeks that they’re more cakey, some weeks that they’re more flaky (I don’t eat them myself—I eat granola with yogurt for breakfast mostly these days; I make these for Alex). But always they turn out fine. I have tinkered with the recipe a little. Despite what they say about having perfected it, I still felt it needed some fine tuning.
Their recipe is for currant scones, but I make them with mini chocolate chips. They also call for heavy cream, which I use now and then, but golly that’s a lot of fat. Usually I just use whole milk (we have a lot of it hanging around since we still have one baby who drinks it). I don’t notice a huge difference in the texture. I’ve also started adding a dash of vanilla to the milk before I add it to the butter and flour mixture.
The biggest changes I made were to use homemade baking powder, and use less of it. I made these one time (actually, the time shown in this picture, which was also the time that I patted them too flat and they didn’t really rise up very nicely, which is a caveat I’ll get to) and they were so sour. I was the only one that noticed (aren’t we all our own most demanding critics?). I made faces and thought about the possible cause.
Then I realized I’d used commercial baking powder. Ever since then I’ve used homemade (courtesy of Edna Lewis’s Taste of Home Cooking: 1 part cream of tartar to 2 parts baking soda, combine, run through a sifter three or four times, and store in an airtight container; can be used in place of commercial baking powder in the same amounts; this “recipe” was recently featured in an issue of Gourmet magazine, and I hope it convinces everyone in the whole wide world to make their own baking powder, because it’s well worth the 28 seconds of your time it takes).
As for technique, as crazy as it sounds, it really does make a difference in the final texture of the dough as to whether you remove the lid of the food processor and pour the milk around, or just dump it down the feed tube (do the former; the latter results in a sticky dough). And when you pat them out, don’t pat them down too thin because they don’t rise that much. Some, yes, but not enough to compensate for a really enthusiastic flattening.
I make these on Sunday afternoon or evening, and each morning during the week Alex takes one for breakfast, along with a thermos of coffee. I’ve changed up the recipe and made them savory, with some cheddar cheese (cut the sugar back to a tablespoon, at most), and made sweet variations with little dried blueberries. But mini chocolate chip are the old reliable. Sometimes the best things are the ones we make without even thinking about them, they’re always there for us, always to be counted on.
Our over and over is chocolate chip scones. Long ago, before I realized that their over-the-top approach to recipes was beyond what even I could absorb, I bought an Cook's Illustrated cookbook: The Quick Recipe. I’ve made a few things from it, nothing that really wowed me, but they do have a solid, reliable go-to recipe for scones that I make just about every week. Commercial scones are expensive, and usually of questionable quality.
This recipe turns out a very nice, generally reliable scone. I’ve been told some weeks that they’re more cakey, some weeks that they’re more flaky (I don’t eat them myself—I eat granola with yogurt for breakfast mostly these days; I make these for Alex). But always they turn out fine. I have tinkered with the recipe a little. Despite what they say about having perfected it, I still felt it needed some fine tuning.
Their recipe is for currant scones, but I make them with mini chocolate chips. They also call for heavy cream, which I use now and then, but golly that’s a lot of fat. Usually I just use whole milk (we have a lot of it hanging around since we still have one baby who drinks it). I don’t notice a huge difference in the texture. I’ve also started adding a dash of vanilla to the milk before I add it to the butter and flour mixture.
The biggest changes I made were to use homemade baking powder, and use less of it. I made these one time (actually, the time shown in this picture, which was also the time that I patted them too flat and they didn’t really rise up very nicely, which is a caveat I’ll get to) and they were so sour. I was the only one that noticed (aren’t we all our own most demanding critics?). I made faces and thought about the possible cause.
Then I realized I’d used commercial baking powder. Ever since then I’ve used homemade (courtesy of Edna Lewis’s Taste of Home Cooking: 1 part cream of tartar to 2 parts baking soda, combine, run through a sifter three or four times, and store in an airtight container; can be used in place of commercial baking powder in the same amounts; this “recipe” was recently featured in an issue of Gourmet magazine, and I hope it convinces everyone in the whole wide world to make their own baking powder, because it’s well worth the 28 seconds of your time it takes).
As for technique, as crazy as it sounds, it really does make a difference in the final texture of the dough as to whether you remove the lid of the food processor and pour the milk around, or just dump it down the feed tube (do the former; the latter results in a sticky dough). And when you pat them out, don’t pat them down too thin because they don’t rise that much. Some, yes, but not enough to compensate for a really enthusiastic flattening.
I make these on Sunday afternoon or evening, and each morning during the week Alex takes one for breakfast, along with a thermos of coffee. I’ve changed up the recipe and made them savory, with some cheddar cheese (cut the sugar back to a tablespoon, at most), and made sweet variations with little dried blueberries. But mini chocolate chip are the old reliable. Sometimes the best things are the ones we make without even thinking about them, they’re always there for us, always to be counted on.
Scones with Mini Chocolate Chips
adapted from The Best Quick Recipe
makes 8 scones, a weeks’ worth of coffee accompaniment with a couple left over to share
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for cutting board
2 teaspoons baking powder
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons chilled butter, cut into cubes
1 cup heavy cream or whole milk
½ cup mini chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 425. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.
In the work bowl of a food processor, combine flour, baking powder, sugar and salt, and pulse a few times to combine. Remove cover of work bowl, and distribute butter around in the flour mixture. Replace lid, and pulse 12 times (one-second pulses) until well combined. Remove lid and add chocolate chips. Replace lid and pulse twice more to combine. Remove lid and pour cream or milk evenly over flour and butter mixture. Replace lid and pulse 8 to 10 times or until combined and just starting to pull together.
Turn dough out onto a lightly floured board, and press into a cohesive mass. You may need to use a spatula to scrape out the food processor work bowl, and you may need to scatter a little flour over the top of the dough to keep it from sticking to your hands. Gently press dough down to combine and make an approximately 8” circle. Using a knife, cut the dough into 8 wedges.
Place each wedge on the cookie sheet about ½ - 1” away from the other pieces. Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until lightly golden. Remove from oven, and allow to cool at least 10 minutes. Can be served warm or at room temperature.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Interlude: Hostess "Recipes"
I often check out the recipes on the backs of food packaging. Sometimes they actually have good recipes (Toll House Cookies, right?), and other times, they're good for a giggle. I've also been known to browse manufacturer's websites for recipes (a bit hit-or-miss, but always interesting). So when a friend (thanks, E!) sent me some links to the Hostess site, showing various ways you can use Hostess Snack Cakes in dessert recipes, I had to go see what was up. And because I’m feeling inordinately snarkey, I decided to share them.
For starters, the site proclaims:
Hostess® snack cakes are great anytime treats, but few people know that they also make great desserts.
Leaving aside the stupidity of this statement (any product whose first four ingredients are sugar or sugar-derivatives isn’t something you’d automatically think of for dessert?), let’s take a look at some of the delightful…ah…recipes submitted by Hostess Snack Cake lovers.
We start off with perhaps a contradiction to my above statement. Who wouldn’t want some lovely Twinkie Sushi as a nice starter? Just a little something to whet the appetite, as it were. Bring on the wasabi!
And I saved the best for last. All I can say is, now I know what we’re having for dessert on Christmas Eve!!
For starters, the site proclaims:
Hostess® snack cakes are great anytime treats, but few people know that they also make great desserts.
Leaving aside the stupidity of this statement (any product whose first four ingredients are sugar or sugar-derivatives isn’t something you’d automatically think of for dessert?), let’s take a look at some of the delightful…ah…recipes submitted by Hostess Snack Cake lovers.
We start off with perhaps a contradiction to my above statement. Who wouldn’t want some lovely Twinkie Sushi as a nice starter? Just a little something to whet the appetite, as it were. Bring on the wasabi!
Of course, Twinkie Toffee Treat is a taste sensation. Twinkies, pudding, whipped topping, and toffee bars—something for the whole family! It’s worth noting right now that pudding and whipped topping seem to feature prominently in several of these offerings. With this one, you get pudding, whipped topping, and alliteration, all in the same dessert!
And speaking of pudding and whipped topping, here they are again in a slightly different presentation, mixed with some pieces of Ding Dong to bring you: Ding Dong Mousse! Scatter with sprinkles for a festive "party" touch any night of the week.
Here’s the same dessert all over again, only this time they’re using the chocolate covered version of Ding Dongs, Ho Hos! Otherwise, this is exactly the same as Ding Dong Mousse, except you layer the ingredients instead of mixing them all together. Who says there’s nothing new under the sun? In this case, I do.
And I saved the best for last. All I can say is, now I know what we’re having for dessert on Christmas Eve!!
These people are actually serious about this. You can go check out the Hostess Recipes page and see more of this sort of thing, presented with a straight face (electronically speaking).
All pictures from hostess.com
All pictures from hostess.com
Check in tomorrow...
I have to download some pictures, but as soon as I do, I have a great old-reliable recipe for you...something to make for breakfast or brunch this weekend. Stop by tomorrow and it'll be here!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Blank Slate: Mini Mince and Potato Pies
Sometimes a recipe’s biggest disappointment turns out to be its greatest charm. At least, that was what I found to be the case in these Mini Mince and Potato Pies from Donna Hay magazine # 23. I made them, hoping to be delighted, but both Alex and I looked at each other and said, “These need something.” They were a little bland, to be honest. And that’s the first time I’ve said that about a Donna Hay recipe; usually she knocks it out of the park every time.
On my way to heat some up for lunch at the office, I was walking with a coworker who was headed back to his office. He remarked on my little pies and I mentioned their lack of spunk. He asked what I thought they needed—onion? Garlic? Well, no, I said, the recipe had both of those. So what, he asked, did I mean? That started me thinking. What did I mean? Did the meat need more seasoning? Did the potato topping need more…of what? And suddenly it was like a revelation, the clouds parting and the sun beaming down. I could almost hear the chorus of angels begin to sing. Of course! They needed seasoning, punching up, but the possibilities were almost endless!
For Italian flavored pies I could stir some more tomato paste and some Italian seasoning into the meat, and then add grated Parmesan to the potatoes. For an Indian flavor, I could add curry to the meat and maybe some peas, not unlike a little samosa, and perhaps some ground cumin to the potatoes. I could go a beef stroganoff direction and stir in a little sour cream at the end, and pep up the potatoes with additional sour cream and chopped parsley.
The original recipe was a veritable blank canvas on which to paint with the seasoning palate of my choosing. Any theme I could think of that was suitable for beef and potatoes would make an interesting and unusual little tidbit. Eaten in enough quantity (three or four per person) these can make a nice lunch or light dinner, served with a salad. Of course they’re a perfect hors d’oeuvres for a cocktail party, which was their original intent.
I’m providing the base recipe here, or the recipe as I made it first. The flavor is your choice, but you do need to add something to at least the beef after it’s cooked through. At least some bar-b-que sauce, or some steak sauce (A1 or HP Sauce), or even a little soy sauce would be fine. Cook it down so it’s syrupy and cooked into the meat, then proceed with the recipe as written. These are best served hot, or warm, but can be reheated in a microwave if you’re taking them to the office for lunch. They’re not as ideal as when they’re fresh out of the oven, but they’re a big improvement over fast food.
A note on the potatoes: you can use leftover mashed potatoes. Refrigerate them overnight so that they get a little dried out and tightened up, then add the egg yolks and a splash of light cream or half and half to thin them down a bit. Obviously if you do this, you’ll be stuck with any seasoning in those potatoes, and anything you add may not combine and cohere as nicely as it would have when they were made fresh, but if you’re intending to top the pies with plain mashed potatoes, using leftovers is a fine strategy.
So this is a sort of do-it-yourself post. Your mission is to take this basic, somewhat monochromatic recipe and add zip. Make it shine. The base recipe works perfectly on its own, so all you have to do is add some pizzazz. I’d love to hear what you come up with.
Mini Mince and Potato Pies
from Donna Hay magazine #23
makes 12 pies, which made four servings of three; one to taste and determine that they needed something, and three as lunches during which I pondered what it was they needed.
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, crushed
1/2 lb ground beef
1 cup beef stock
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 bay leaves
Salt & pepper
1 pound potatoes, peeled and chopped
¼ cup ½ & ½ (or light cream)
2 egg yolks
Refrigerated pie crust
Preheat oven to 375. Heat a medium non-stick skillet over high heat. Add oil, onion and garlic, and cook 1-2 mins or until soft. Add beef and cook 5 minuntes until brown. Add stock, paste and bay leaves, bring to a boil and cook down at a simmer 10 mins or until thickened. Allow to cool.
Bring potatoes to a boil in cold salted water. Boil 12 minutes or until tender. Drain and return to pan. Add cream and egg yolks, and mash well.
Cut pastry into 2 ½” circles. Press into a greased small (1oz) mini muffin tin. Spoon tablespoonfuls of the beef into muffin cups and top with poatoes. Bake 25-30 minuntes or until pastry is crisp and potato golden.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Fruity: Mixed Berry Breakfast Parfaits
I recently admitted to eating oven roasted tomatoes with blue cheese for breakfast, but I do sometimes eat some quote-unquote normal things for breakfast now and again. I’ve expanded on one of my usual breakfasts (yogurt with granola), and I think it’s absolutely improved. I noticed this combination in an old issue of Donna Hay magazine, and the fruit compote looked easy enough, so I gave it a go.
It’s really nothing more complicated than some fruit cooked down with sugar until syrupy, but it’s a beautiful vibrant red from the berries, and thick and sweet from the sugar, and the pectin in the berries. Since it uses frozen raspberries, you can make it as soon as strawberries hit the market in the spring (which for us here in the Seattle area was last week; they’re California strawberries, which aren’t exactly local, but I just couldn’t resist).
Once you have the fruit cut up, this compote requires almost no attention beyond the occasional stir. The recipe as printed says it makes two servings, but they must be intended to serving ravenous beasts who haven’t eaten in a month, because you wind up with about two and a half cups of compote, and I’ve never been able to eat more than about a half a cup in a sitting. I mean, you know, sooner or later you get full.
Although it’s presented as a breakfast dish layered with yogurt and granola, I would think this would be super as a dessert topping as well. It would marry nicely with an angel food cake, a lemon pound cake, or ice cream, and would be an interesting change from the expected strawberries in a strawberry shortcake. You could even roll out puff pastry and use it as a sort of tart filling (it might be a little messy, but it would be delicious).
Combined with the white yogurt and the toasty brown granola, this compote is visually appealing as well. The contrast in the colors is quite marked, and even though it’s a simple as can be to make it and put the parfait together, it’s very impressive. It makes you feel like you’re having breakfast at a fancy resort, even if you’re just in your own kitchen.
It’s really nothing more complicated than some fruit cooked down with sugar until syrupy, but it’s a beautiful vibrant red from the berries, and thick and sweet from the sugar, and the pectin in the berries. Since it uses frozen raspberries, you can make it as soon as strawberries hit the market in the spring (which for us here in the Seattle area was last week; they’re California strawberries, which aren’t exactly local, but I just couldn’t resist).
Once you have the fruit cut up, this compote requires almost no attention beyond the occasional stir. The recipe as printed says it makes two servings, but they must be intended to serving ravenous beasts who haven’t eaten in a month, because you wind up with about two and a half cups of compote, and I’ve never been able to eat more than about a half a cup in a sitting. I mean, you know, sooner or later you get full.
Although it’s presented as a breakfast dish layered with yogurt and granola, I would think this would be super as a dessert topping as well. It would marry nicely with an angel food cake, a lemon pound cake, or ice cream, and would be an interesting change from the expected strawberries in a strawberry shortcake. You could even roll out puff pastry and use it as a sort of tart filling (it might be a little messy, but it would be delicious).
Combined with the white yogurt and the toasty brown granola, this compote is visually appealing as well. The contrast in the colors is quite marked, and even though it’s a simple as can be to make it and put the parfait together, it’s very impressive. It makes you feel like you’re having breakfast at a fancy resort, even if you’re just in your own kitchen.
Mixed Berry Breakfast
from Donna Hay magazine, #23
makes about 6 servings, if you’re not a ravenous beast who hasn’t eaten in a month
2 c frozen raspberries
8 ¾ oz strawberries, halved
1 green apple, cored and sliced
½ cup caster sugar
1/3 cup yogurt
1/3 cup toasted granola
Place raspberries, strawberries, apple, and sugar in a medium frying pan over high heat. Cook 20 minutes until apple is tender, stirring constantly. Allow to cool completely. Spoon fruit mixture into glasses, top with yogurt and toasted granola.
Granola recipes are a dime a dozen, but if you want yet another one, here's one I like. Because I make it specifically to go over this fruit conserve, I leave out any dried fruit. If you wanted to add dried fruit, I've included the directions for when to add it in.
Granola
adapted from Shelia Lukins' U.S.A. Cookbook
makes 4-6 cups of granola (the higher number if you use the dried fruit, the lower number if you don't), which serves me for a pretty long time; your mileage may vary
2c whole oats
½ cup wheat bran
2/3 c sliced almonds
½ cup sunflower seeds
½ cup chopped pecans
½ cup safflower oil
½ cup packed brown sugar
½ cup honey
2t cinnamon
¼ t ground nutmeg
1t salt
Preheat oven to 375. Combine oats, bran and nuts in a large bowl. In a small pan over medium heat combine oil, sugar, honey, spices and salt until melted and combined. Pour oil mixture into a large bowl, and slowly whisk in oat mixture, stirring to combine. Spread granola into a 9x13 pan and bake 30 minutes or until just beginning to brown. Granola will not be crisp at this time. Allow to cool 10 minutes, then pour into a bowl and (optional) add in dried fruit as desired (dried blueberries, dried cherries, chopped dried apricots, raisins or golden raisins—combined to equal about a cup and a half). If not adding dried fruit, allow granola to cool in the bowl, then pour into an airtight container.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Not Too Sweet: Savory Bread Pudding
I am not enamored of sweet bread puddings. When I see one on a restaurant dessert menu, I don’t, like so many people I know, say, “Oooo, bread pudding…” in the dreamy tone of a love struck youth murmuring the sacred name of this week’s crush. No, I skip on, looking for something else.
But swap out the sugar for cheese, and the chocolate for herbs, and I am enchanted. I adore savory bread puddings as a side dish. They’re something different, a change from the usual, and so versatile.
I often find myself with a fairly significant amount of stale bread of varying kinds. I don’t think we’ve ever finished a baguette, or managed to get through a loaf of artisan bread before it turned rock hard and crumbly. I know that when my three boys are older, we’ll be hard put to keep a loaf of bread around a single day, but for now when they’re all eating sliced store bought wheat bread (with peanut butter and “jello” no less), and my husband and I are the only consumers of “good” bread, we’re often left with these odds and ends.
I do make breadcrumbs out of them, and freeze them, but there are only so many breadcrumbs one needs. We’re not using them to leave trails so we can find our way to and from places, after all. Sooner or later, we have all the breadcrumbs we need, thanks. When that happens, I make bread pudding for dinner.
Really any decent bread will do. I’ve used herb breads, whole wheat breads, baguette. Just about anything, short of presliced sandwich bread, will turn out an excellent finished product. And the bread can be of just about any degree of staleness. The pudding I made most recently was a combination of bread that was so dry that it crumbled to dust in my hands, and some that needed to be cut into cubes because it still retained some degree of moistness. In fact, the combination of the two makes an interesting pudding, because the bread absorbs the milk mixture to different degrees, and you get subtly contrasting textures within the dish.
Some recipes call for heating the milk with the herbs to infuse the milk with the flavor, but I skip this step in an effort to get it in the oven more quickly. I just mix everything up in a bowl, spread the bread cubes in the pan, dump the milk over the top, and push down for a few minutes to get everything really saturated. It couldn’t be easier, and the end result is so rewarding. A soft, custardy, savory pillow of bread with a crisp, cheesy crust.
As for variations, I’ve already mentioned using different kinds of bread, but the herbs and cheese can also be customized to the meal or your personal taste. Italian herbs and grated parmesan, thyme and firm goat cheese, or sage with crumbled blue cheese. Dried herbs work just as well as fresh, and in some cases even better, which makes bread pudding almost a convenience food. Leftover bread, some of whatever cheese you have lying around, and some dried herbs. Result: impressive and yummy side dish that took no time to put together and actually helped you out by using up something you might have ended up throwing out otherwise.
serves 6-8, or makes enough for two with plenty of leftovers to have for breakfast the next morning, which isn’t as weird as it sounds.
8 cups torn stale bread
3 cups milk
3 eggs
2 tablespoons chopped fresh herbs (or 1 tablespoon dried herbs), I used rosemary
Salt & pepper
¾ c grated cheese (or more, if desired, and some extra for scattering over the top), I used Gruyere
Preheat oven to 475. Spread bread into a 9x13 pan. Combine milk, eggs, herbs, salt, pepper, and cheese in a large bowl. Pour milk mixture over bread and let sit 10 mins, occasionally pushing bread down into the milk mixture. Scatter additional cheese over top if desired. Bake pudding at 475 for 25-35 minutes or until browned and crisp on top, and center is cooked through but still soft.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Breaking Things: Oven Roasted Tomatoes with Blue Cheese
I have trouble with breakfast. All the things I like are either elaborate, not very portable, or reheat poorly in a microwave (or in some cases, all three). The things that I like that are both simple and portable get kind of old after awhile. English muffins with peanut butter, a hard boiled egg, yogurt. My ideal breakfast consists of something like toast made of thick sliced rustic bread, spread with ricotta cheese, topped with sautéed mushrooms and served with a little salad of baby arugula. You can see how that wouldn’t be the easiest thing to make at the office with the basic tools that are available there (in my case a microwave and a single-slice toaster).
However, I have found something that’s reasonably portable and downright tasty into the bargain. Oven roasted tomatoes with blue cheese melted in them. I know this sounds like an odd breakfast, but really, what is breakfast? I’m not a member of that camp that says, “Eat pizza or chicken noodle soup for breakfast! What’s important is to eat something!” necessarily, but I do have somewhat traditional (or call them hidebound) ideas of what breakfast is, and these are mere self-imposed boundaries. I need to break through my own boundaries and enter into a world where breakfast is what we make of it.
While I eat these tomatoes for breakfast, they also make a great side dish with a roast or chicken, which is how I made the recipe in the first place. I had a whole menu from Bon Appetit that I made for a Christmas dinner a few years back, and one of the side dishes was Roasted Tomatoes with Stilton. I made them and loved them, and in an iconoclastic moment, I decided to eat them for breakfast.
Oven Roasted Tomatoes with Blue Cheese
adapted from Bon Appetit, December 2006
serves 4 as a side dish, or one person four days in a row for breakfast
12 plum tomatoes, halved
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste
3-4 ounces soft blue cheese
Preheat oven to 425.
Using a teaspoon, scoop out insides of tomatoes and discard. Allow tomato halves to drain on a plate for approximately 30 minutes. Spray a large roasting pan with cooking spray, and set tomatoes cut side up in the pan.
Drizzle oil over tomato halves (you may want to use a little more olive oil—I really just pour right out of my olive oil bottle, but you want at least a half a teaspoon of oil drizzled over each half; if you’re a careful measuring type, use a half teaspoon measure to do this, then determine if more is needed. If you’re a carefree devil-may-care type, just drizzle away until the tomatoes look happily bathed in oil). Scatter tomatoes with rosemary, then sprinkle with salt and freshly ground pepper.
Roast for about an hour, or until tomatoes slump and the juices start to brown up.
If serving immediately, remove from oven and tuck about a half an ounce of blue cheese into each tomato half. Return to oven for 5-10 minutes, or until cheese melts.
When taking them for breakfast, I cool the tomatoes to room temperature, store them in the refrigerator for three or four days, and take them in my lunch bag, along with a separate chunk of cheese. When I’m ready to eat them, I cut the cheese up into small pieces (about the size of a marble), and microwave tomatoes and cheese on plate for about 45 seconds.
However, I have found something that’s reasonably portable and downright tasty into the bargain. Oven roasted tomatoes with blue cheese melted in them. I know this sounds like an odd breakfast, but really, what is breakfast? I’m not a member of that camp that says, “Eat pizza or chicken noodle soup for breakfast! What’s important is to eat something!” necessarily, but I do have somewhat traditional (or call them hidebound) ideas of what breakfast is, and these are mere self-imposed boundaries. I need to break through my own boundaries and enter into a world where breakfast is what we make of it.
While I eat these tomatoes for breakfast, they also make a great side dish with a roast or chicken, which is how I made the recipe in the first place. I had a whole menu from Bon Appetit that I made for a Christmas dinner a few years back, and one of the side dishes was Roasted Tomatoes with Stilton. I made them and loved them, and in an iconoclastic moment, I decided to eat them for breakfast.
The tomatoes start out looking like any old tomato, but they roast for an eternity to turn into something slumpy, herby and wonderful. While the original recipe called for Stilton (it was a Christmas recipe, after all), I have since switched over to the most amazing, flavorful, incredible blue cheese on the planet. It’s a French cheese called St Augr, and my husband and I now consume it by the pound. It melts down into a pool of semi-soft cream, a little white puddle inside the red, red tomato flecked with herbs.
I roast up a batch of these on the weekend, and then take them for lunch all week long. I reheat them and melt the cheese in the microwave for about 45 seconds. Since the tomatoes have already been cooked to mush, there’s nothing more the microwave can do to them. They heat up, the cheese melts, and I ascend to heaven.
The original recipe calls for draining the tomatoes, then marinating them in the herb/olive oil mixture, and then roasting them. I skip the marinating step, because I haven’t noticed a significant difference in flavor one way or the other, but the draining step is key, especially if your tomatoes are on the watery side. I also go back and forth between including a couple of cloves of chopped garlic, and leaving it out because I’m too lazy to chop both garlic and rosemary. If you’re making these as a side dish for a dinner, I think the garlic is more important than if you’re planning to eat them for breakfast, as I do. Garlic is more of a lunch/dinner component. Breakfast, unless you’re troubled with vampire infestations, can be garlic-free without the sneaking feeling that what you’re eating needs “a little something more.”
There’s some flexibility here as well. You could change these up and make them more Italian in character—use chopped basil and oregano, and top them with fresh mozzarella. Or try fresh thyme and something like grated Gruyere. I haven’t gone this route—it’s the hidebound traditionalist in me, I guess—but you could.
These are a nice transitional dish for the Spring when really great tomatoes aren’t ready yet. Plum tomatoes are fairly reliable all year long, and roasting them turns them into something soft and comforting, while the blue cheese and rosemary add a little zing. With such a delightful set of contradictions, they’re a great way to end a day, or to begin one.
I roast up a batch of these on the weekend, and then take them for lunch all week long. I reheat them and melt the cheese in the microwave for about 45 seconds. Since the tomatoes have already been cooked to mush, there’s nothing more the microwave can do to them. They heat up, the cheese melts, and I ascend to heaven.
The original recipe calls for draining the tomatoes, then marinating them in the herb/olive oil mixture, and then roasting them. I skip the marinating step, because I haven’t noticed a significant difference in flavor one way or the other, but the draining step is key, especially if your tomatoes are on the watery side. I also go back and forth between including a couple of cloves of chopped garlic, and leaving it out because I’m too lazy to chop both garlic and rosemary. If you’re making these as a side dish for a dinner, I think the garlic is more important than if you’re planning to eat them for breakfast, as I do. Garlic is more of a lunch/dinner component. Breakfast, unless you’re troubled with vampire infestations, can be garlic-free without the sneaking feeling that what you’re eating needs “a little something more.”
There’s some flexibility here as well. You could change these up and make them more Italian in character—use chopped basil and oregano, and top them with fresh mozzarella. Or try fresh thyme and something like grated Gruyere. I haven’t gone this route—it’s the hidebound traditionalist in me, I guess—but you could.
These are a nice transitional dish for the Spring when really great tomatoes aren’t ready yet. Plum tomatoes are fairly reliable all year long, and roasting them turns them into something soft and comforting, while the blue cheese and rosemary add a little zing. With such a delightful set of contradictions, they’re a great way to end a day, or to begin one.
Oven Roasted Tomatoes with Blue Cheese
adapted from Bon Appetit, December 2006
serves 4 as a side dish, or one person four days in a row for breakfast
12 plum tomatoes, halved
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste
3-4 ounces soft blue cheese
Preheat oven to 425.
Using a teaspoon, scoop out insides of tomatoes and discard. Allow tomato halves to drain on a plate for approximately 30 minutes. Spray a large roasting pan with cooking spray, and set tomatoes cut side up in the pan.
Drizzle oil over tomato halves (you may want to use a little more olive oil—I really just pour right out of my olive oil bottle, but you want at least a half a teaspoon of oil drizzled over each half; if you’re a careful measuring type, use a half teaspoon measure to do this, then determine if more is needed. If you’re a carefree devil-may-care type, just drizzle away until the tomatoes look happily bathed in oil). Scatter tomatoes with rosemary, then sprinkle with salt and freshly ground pepper.
Roast for about an hour, or until tomatoes slump and the juices start to brown up.
If serving immediately, remove from oven and tuck about a half an ounce of blue cheese into each tomato half. Return to oven for 5-10 minutes, or until cheese melts.
When taking them for breakfast, I cool the tomatoes to room temperature, store them in the refrigerator for three or four days, and take them in my lunch bag, along with a separate chunk of cheese. When I’m ready to eat them, I cut the cheese up into small pieces (about the size of a marble), and microwave tomatoes and cheese on plate for about 45 seconds.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
No Fooling: Braised Carrots with Parsley and Crisp Capers
Sometimes it’s difficult to say what draws us to a recipe. Why this one and not that one? Why this time but not last time? I have looked through my Donna Hay magazines dozens of times, and never before has the recipe for Carrots, Parsley and Crisp Caper Salad pulled me in, but this time it did.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not even that big a fan of carrots. Oh I know I should like them—helping you see in the dark and all, and it’s not that I have anything against them, it’s just that I don’t adore them. Probably this is from eating way too many canned carrots as a child (“soft carrots” my own children call them, to differentiate them from “crunchy carrots”), and way too many carrot sticks during my various Weight Watchers phases.
So when I crossed paths with Carrots, Parsley and Crisp Caper Salad again, and it caught my eye, I was surprised. “Why yes,” I thought, “I’ll make that.” And immediately another voice in my head said, “Huh? You’ll what?”
“I’m buying the ingredients for that,” voice number one shot back, “and I’m making it.”
Voice number two shrugged.
And so, two bunches of organic carrots later, I was on my way to making Carrots, Parsley and Crisp Caper Salad. The carrots for this do need to be somewhat delicate and slender, which is why I bought the organic ones. The conventionally grown ones were such brutish looking things that I suspected they might be too thick and fibrous for this recipe. Probably the very best ones would be something closer to a “baby” carrot, but those weren’t an option this time.
I wouldn’t really call this a salad, so much as braised carrots with a flavor-enhancing garnish. The original recipe did call for baby spinach leaves, which I skipped. Using the cup of flat leaf parsley that the recipe originally called for would make it more saladish as well, but I ran out of interest in chopping parsley by a quarter of cup, so my version was more Braised Carrots with Parsley and Crisp Capers.
The carrots braise in a mixture of orange juice, stock, and butter. Because there were juice oranges available when I was buying the carrots, I picked up a few. I highly recommend using fresh orange juice in this recipe. It was a delicate, subtle flavor that married nicely with the carrots and cooked down to a gently sweet syrupy glaze.
I’d like to say a word here about the Crisp Capers part of the recipe. That word is YUM. I think I’ve found a new favorite food. It seems so basic—salted capers rinsed off and cooked in a frying pan with a little olive oil, but what a transformation. They become little salty bits of melting crispness. I could eat them plain, no carrots, no parsley, no nothing else. After I’d made them and tasted them, I found myself looking around my completely empty kitchen suspiciously, as though there were others around who might try to sneak a crisp caper. They’d lose a digit if they tried it, I tell you.
This whole recipe was so strange—that I made it in the first place and that I loved it so much in the second. The carrot is not my all time favorite vegetable, I’ve never loved cooked carrots, and I would never have predicted I’d like capers fried up in a little olive oil. But I loved everything about this recipe. Sometimes there’s just no telling.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not even that big a fan of carrots. Oh I know I should like them—helping you see in the dark and all, and it’s not that I have anything against them, it’s just that I don’t adore them. Probably this is from eating way too many canned carrots as a child (“soft carrots” my own children call them, to differentiate them from “crunchy carrots”), and way too many carrot sticks during my various Weight Watchers phases.
So when I crossed paths with Carrots, Parsley and Crisp Caper Salad again, and it caught my eye, I was surprised. “Why yes,” I thought, “I’ll make that.” And immediately another voice in my head said, “Huh? You’ll what?”
“I’m buying the ingredients for that,” voice number one shot back, “and I’m making it.”
Voice number two shrugged.
And so, two bunches of organic carrots later, I was on my way to making Carrots, Parsley and Crisp Caper Salad. The carrots for this do need to be somewhat delicate and slender, which is why I bought the organic ones. The conventionally grown ones were such brutish looking things that I suspected they might be too thick and fibrous for this recipe. Probably the very best ones would be something closer to a “baby” carrot, but those weren’t an option this time.
I wouldn’t really call this a salad, so much as braised carrots with a flavor-enhancing garnish. The original recipe did call for baby spinach leaves, which I skipped. Using the cup of flat leaf parsley that the recipe originally called for would make it more saladish as well, but I ran out of interest in chopping parsley by a quarter of cup, so my version was more Braised Carrots with Parsley and Crisp Capers.
The carrots braise in a mixture of orange juice, stock, and butter. Because there were juice oranges available when I was buying the carrots, I picked up a few. I highly recommend using fresh orange juice in this recipe. It was a delicate, subtle flavor that married nicely with the carrots and cooked down to a gently sweet syrupy glaze.
I’d like to say a word here about the Crisp Capers part of the recipe. That word is YUM. I think I’ve found a new favorite food. It seems so basic—salted capers rinsed off and cooked in a frying pan with a little olive oil, but what a transformation. They become little salty bits of melting crispness. I could eat them plain, no carrots, no parsley, no nothing else. After I’d made them and tasted them, I found myself looking around my completely empty kitchen suspiciously, as though there were others around who might try to sneak a crisp caper. They’d lose a digit if they tried it, I tell you.
This whole recipe was so strange—that I made it in the first place and that I loved it so much in the second. The carrot is not my all time favorite vegetable, I’ve never loved cooked carrots, and I would never have predicted I’d like capers fried up in a little olive oil. But I loved everything about this recipe. Sometimes there’s just no telling.
Braised Carrots with Crisp Capers and Parsley
Adapted from Donna Hay magazine, issue #23
Carrots and parsley serve 4-6, Crisp Capers serve the same unless you become instantly addicted to them as I did, in which case everyone else is out of luck because you’ll eat all the Crisp Capers right out of the frying pan while standing hunched over the stove to ensure that no one sees you eating them and asks to share; you’d have to sever their arm if they reached for one.
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 tablespoons salted capers, rinsed and drained
2 bunches carrots, trimmed and peeled
¾ oz butter, chopped
¼ c fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons chicken stock
Salt and pepper
¼ to ½ cup flat leaf parsley (depending on how quickly you get bored chopping it)
Preheat oven to 475. Heat small frying pan over high heat. Add the oil and capers and cook for 2-3 minutes or until capers are crispy.
Place carrots in baking dish and add butter, juice, stock, salt and pepper. Cook 20 minutes or until carrots are tender and sauce is syrupy. Top carrots with parsley, and remaining capers, if there are any.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Not Cross Buns: Cinnamon Scrolls
This would probably have been a better recipe to share before Easter, since now you can’t possibly make these for breakfast on Easter morning, as we did. However, since it’s an awfully nice recipe, I would say you shouldn’t wait for next Easter to make it. Tomorrow would be fine.
Every year for about fifteen years now, I’ve intended to make hot cross buns for us to have on Easter morning. Having grown up on English children’s books, it just seemed the Mary Poppins-Beatrix Potter-Alice in Wonderland thing to do. Somehow, though, even before we had kids, I could never manage to get my act together. I’m not sure what it was that I found so daunting, or dissuading. Buying currants (they’re kind of traditional)? Setting the dough to rise? Waiting for the rise time? I can’t recall now, but suffice to say I still haven’t made hot cross buns.
This year, however, I made something that I’m not sure isn’t even better. Cinnamon Scrolls drew my attention as I was flipping through old Donna Hay magazines. They were the cover shot for issue #8, and they were so impressive looking, with their whirl of filling and their grand stature. I had to try them.
The dough is a simple yeast dough that the instructions say to make in a food processor, then transfer to a lightly oiled bowl for rising. I made one batch of dough and waited the hour and a half as instructed. When I returned to check on the dough, it hadn’t risen a single bit as far as I could tell. Not even a smidge. I thought back over the process of making the dough; had the milk not been warm enough? Or had the food processor rendered the yeast ineffective somehow? Can food processors mangle yeast so badly that they won’t work their little gaseous magic on dough? Was I a heartless killer of single-celled organisms??
With a sigh I consigned batch number 1 to the trash and started over. This time I made sure the milk was nice and warm (I even used the thermometer to measure it), and mixed the whole thing up in the stand mixer, just to avoid a possible murder rap. Once again I put the dough to rise and went about my business for an hour and a half or so. Once again, the dough looked exactly the same at the end of that time as it had at the beginning.
This time I shrugged and moved forward. If they flop, I told myself, they flop, and I’ll just deal with that disappointment when it happens. The recipe called for ground hazelnuts, but since I had almond meal on hand, I swapped that out. I think I’ve seen hazelnut meal in the stores, and if you want to use that, it’s what the recipe actually calls for, but I can highly recommend the almond flavor as well.
Well, they turned out to be wonderful. They rose nicely in the heat of the oven, as you can see, and actually looked as impressive in real life as they did in the magazine. This is what I love about Donna Hay—her food really does look as beautiful when you make it yourself as it does when her professional stylists get ahold of it. With Donna Hay’s books and magazines, even a rank amateur such as myself can produce something that looks like it belongs in…well, in the pages of a magazine or cookbook.
These little scrolls made an excellent Easter breakfast, and while I may one day make hot cross buns as I’ve so long intended to, for now I’m satisfied with these. The dough is firm enough to hold the filling, yet still flaky and tender. The filling itself is subtle, not too sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and almond. Their unusual shape makes them real attention grabbers, and they’re a snap to make. Even if the dough doesn’t rise, I urge you to forage ahead and make them anyway. You won’t be sorry.
Every year for about fifteen years now, I’ve intended to make hot cross buns for us to have on Easter morning. Having grown up on English children’s books, it just seemed the Mary Poppins-Beatrix Potter-Alice in Wonderland thing to do. Somehow, though, even before we had kids, I could never manage to get my act together. I’m not sure what it was that I found so daunting, or dissuading. Buying currants (they’re kind of traditional)? Setting the dough to rise? Waiting for the rise time? I can’t recall now, but suffice to say I still haven’t made hot cross buns.
This year, however, I made something that I’m not sure isn’t even better. Cinnamon Scrolls drew my attention as I was flipping through old Donna Hay magazines. They were the cover shot for issue #8, and they were so impressive looking, with their whirl of filling and their grand stature. I had to try them.
The dough is a simple yeast dough that the instructions say to make in a food processor, then transfer to a lightly oiled bowl for rising. I made one batch of dough and waited the hour and a half as instructed. When I returned to check on the dough, it hadn’t risen a single bit as far as I could tell. Not even a smidge. I thought back over the process of making the dough; had the milk not been warm enough? Or had the food processor rendered the yeast ineffective somehow? Can food processors mangle yeast so badly that they won’t work their little gaseous magic on dough? Was I a heartless killer of single-celled organisms??
With a sigh I consigned batch number 1 to the trash and started over. This time I made sure the milk was nice and warm (I even used the thermometer to measure it), and mixed the whole thing up in the stand mixer, just to avoid a possible murder rap. Once again I put the dough to rise and went about my business for an hour and a half or so. Once again, the dough looked exactly the same at the end of that time as it had at the beginning.
This time I shrugged and moved forward. If they flop, I told myself, they flop, and I’ll just deal with that disappointment when it happens. The recipe called for ground hazelnuts, but since I had almond meal on hand, I swapped that out. I think I’ve seen hazelnut meal in the stores, and if you want to use that, it’s what the recipe actually calls for, but I can highly recommend the almond flavor as well.
Well, they turned out to be wonderful. They rose nicely in the heat of the oven, as you can see, and actually looked as impressive in real life as they did in the magazine. This is what I love about Donna Hay—her food really does look as beautiful when you make it yourself as it does when her professional stylists get ahold of it. With Donna Hay’s books and magazines, even a rank amateur such as myself can produce something that looks like it belongs in…well, in the pages of a magazine or cookbook.
These little scrolls made an excellent Easter breakfast, and while I may one day make hot cross buns as I’ve so long intended to, for now I’m satisfied with these. The dough is firm enough to hold the filling, yet still flaky and tender. The filling itself is subtle, not too sweet, with a hint of cinnamon and almond. Their unusual shape makes them real attention grabbers, and they’re a snap to make. Even if the dough doesn’t rise, I urge you to forage ahead and make them anyway. You won’t be sorry.
Cinnamon Scrolls
from Donna Hay magazine, issue #8
makes 8 scrolls; how many that will serve depends on how hungry and/or how willing you are to share
3 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup sugar
¾ teaspoon salt
1 ½ teaspoons active dry yeast
1/3 cup lukewarm milk
2 tablespoons lukewarm water
2 eggs
4 oz butter, softened
Filling
3 ½ oz butter, softened
½ cup brown sugar
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
¾ cup almond meal
Preheat oven to 330 degrees F. Place flour, sugar, salt, yeast, milk, water, and eggs in a food processor and process until the mixture forms a dough. With the motor running, add the butter, a little at a time, until combined. Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a clean tea towel and set aside in a warm place for 1 ½ hours or until the dough has doubled in size (N.B. don’t get discouraged if it doesn’t rise; mine never did, not either batch).
To make the filling, place the butter, sugar, cinnamon, and almond meal in a bowl and mix to combine. Set aside.
Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface to an 18” x 10” rectangle approximately ¼” thick, with the long side facing you. Spread evenly with the filling, leaving a 1” border at the top. Roll up the dough, starting with the side closest to you, shaping it into an even roll.
Cut into 8 pieces and place in paper baking cups (available at baking supply stores) or a baking tray, or in paper cupcake liners in a muffin tin. Bake 25 minutes or until lightly golden. As always seems to be the case with Donna Hay recipes, mine took closer to 35 or 40 minutes to get golden, but start checking at 25 minutes.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Versatility and Ease: Tomato Bread Soup
Sometimes soup is just what I want, but I don’t want to go to a lot of trouble, nor do I want to eat the kind that comes out of (and tastes just like) a can. Lack of time, however, often sends me in another direction because making soup the way I want it made is labor intensive and I often just can’t manage it.
Enter Tomato Bread Soup. Although this uses some convenience ingredients (canned tomatoes and, in my case, some ready-made chicken broth), it has a homemade taste that belies its ease of preparation. It consists primarily of tomatoes, bread, and some broth to thin it down. It doesn’t get much easier than that.
This is a pretty versatile recipe, which could be made with vegetable broth (as the original recipe instructs) and served to vegetarians, or made with chicken broth as I did, and served to omnivores. I’d love to try it on a rainy summer evening, when I have fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, homemade chicken stock (although I used some homemade chicken broth in making it, I was forced to add some of the prepared kind as well), and leftover homemade bread. Even with the prepared ingredients, it was still an easy, comforting dinner.
The only complaint I heard was that it’s hard to justify dipping bread into something that already has bread in it. To which I say, get over it. Bread is the staff of life. I think this soup with a Caesar salad would be a fantastic soup and salad meal. Call it an American dinner with an Italian accent.
In the magazine article from which I got this recipe, they recommended drizzling really good olive oil over the top of it, and garnishing it with torn fresh basil. I happened to have half a jar of homemade pesto sauce left over from a pesto mayonnaise that was used on grilled proscuitto, provolone and arugula sandwiches the week before, so I swirled that in. Chopped black olives would be a nice garnish, as would a scattering of toasted pine nuts, or even some toasted buttered breadcrumbs, which could be made with the crust of the bread that goes into the soup.
The thing I think I love the very best about this recipe is that it’s so season-friendly. Really, you could make it any time of the year. In the winter you could make it with canned tomatoes and the chopped olive or pine nut garnish. In the spring it would be a peek at summer, using the first tender leaves you could harvest from the basil plants. In the summer on one of those occasionally cool rainy evenings, using immediate ingredients, it would sing and provide refreshment, comfort and warmth. In the fall when we sway between looking forward to cooler days and autumn cooking, and sadness over the loss of summer’s warmth and plenty, this soup could provide a compromise—use the last of the summer tomatoes, the last of the basil plucked before it gets nipped by frost, but make a warm, filling soup.
Enter Tomato Bread Soup. Although this uses some convenience ingredients (canned tomatoes and, in my case, some ready-made chicken broth), it has a homemade taste that belies its ease of preparation. It consists primarily of tomatoes, bread, and some broth to thin it down. It doesn’t get much easier than that.
This is a pretty versatile recipe, which could be made with vegetable broth (as the original recipe instructs) and served to vegetarians, or made with chicken broth as I did, and served to omnivores. I’d love to try it on a rainy summer evening, when I have fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, homemade chicken stock (although I used some homemade chicken broth in making it, I was forced to add some of the prepared kind as well), and leftover homemade bread. Even with the prepared ingredients, it was still an easy, comforting dinner.
The only complaint I heard was that it’s hard to justify dipping bread into something that already has bread in it. To which I say, get over it. Bread is the staff of life. I think this soup with a Caesar salad would be a fantastic soup and salad meal. Call it an American dinner with an Italian accent.
In the magazine article from which I got this recipe, they recommended drizzling really good olive oil over the top of it, and garnishing it with torn fresh basil. I happened to have half a jar of homemade pesto sauce left over from a pesto mayonnaise that was used on grilled proscuitto, provolone and arugula sandwiches the week before, so I swirled that in. Chopped black olives would be a nice garnish, as would a scattering of toasted pine nuts, or even some toasted buttered breadcrumbs, which could be made with the crust of the bread that goes into the soup.
The thing I think I love the very best about this recipe is that it’s so season-friendly. Really, you could make it any time of the year. In the winter you could make it with canned tomatoes and the chopped olive or pine nut garnish. In the spring it would be a peek at summer, using the first tender leaves you could harvest from the basil plants. In the summer on one of those occasionally cool rainy evenings, using immediate ingredients, it would sing and provide refreshment, comfort and warmth. In the fall when we sway between looking forward to cooler days and autumn cooking, and sadness over the loss of summer’s warmth and plenty, this soup could provide a compromise—use the last of the summer tomatoes, the last of the basil plucked before it gets nipped by frost, but make a warm, filling soup.
Tomato Bread Soup
from Delicious magazine, April 2008
serves 4-6 people who want something warm, bright, and versatile
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, chopped (more to taste)
2 14oz cans of diced tomatoes
2 cups vegetable or chicken broth
1 loaf Italian bread, crusts removed, insides torn up
Salt and pepper, to taste
Garnish of choice
Sautee onion and garlic in olive oil over medium heat for 8-10 minutes, until soft, but not browning. Add tomatoes, and let cook 8-10 minutes more until tomatoes start to break down. Add broth, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook for 10 to 15 minutes until reduced slightly. Add bread and cook 20-25 minutes until thick. Season with salt and pepper. The consistency should be something like porridge. Add more broth if necessary.
I also found that my bread wasn’t quite stale enough, so I broke out the stick blender. A food processor or a traditional blender could also be called into service, but don’t overdo the blending—the idea is to have a thick, rustic feel to the soup.
Garnish as desired. The original recipe calls for another tablespoon or so of really good olive oil, plus half a dozen leaves of basil torn up, per bowl.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Inspiration: Zucchini Fritters
Spring is taunting us. It’s sunny, then it clouds over and spits rain. The air is warm, then a quick breeze whips out of nowhere and chills you. To improve matters, I’ve been having a kind of rough time at work lately, which led to my working from home last Friday. After a few hours, I felt the need to cook something, to cheer me up. Problem was, nothing looked appealing. I felt like I’d been kind of heavy on the baked goods lately, so I nixed anything like that. What I really needed was something for lunch, but everything either took an hour, or used ingredients like bar-b-qued duck that I didn’t have on hand.Then, as is often the case, I saw something that looked like it might be right, and then I saw it again. Fate, I decided, had led me to the zucchini fritters. I came across them first in The Barefoot Contessa At Home by Ina Garten. Then they were part of a menu in Donna Hay magazine called Friends for Lunch: Grazing. The Barefoot Contessa called for shredded zucchini, while Donna Hay called for ribbons, and served them with a “lemon aioli.” A fried vegetable that gets served with garlic mayonnaise? Where do I sign?
Both recipes were for simple flour and egg batters with zucchini in them. I used a vegetable peeler to strip the zucchini into wide ribbons edged in dark green, but have since decided that cutting the zucchini into rounds with the peeler is the way to go. Frankly, I’m pretty lazy, and grating is way too much work, while ribbons makes them hard to cook. Cutting the zucchini into rounds makes them slip into an approximately disklike shape fairly easily. The ribbons required a certain amount of rearranging to get the fritter into a pleasing and fritter-like configuration.
Ina Garten called for some grated red onion, Donna Hay for some chopped mint. In a compromise, I used chopped chives. I felt the zucchini would need something peppy, like onion, but not as harsh as onion. Zucchini is kind of like your sweet, quiet friend who never has much to say until you get her on the right subject, and then she just sparkles. The fritters needed something to make them sparkle, but not something that would take over flavorwise.
The batter ends up being slightly soupy. It’s fried in either oil or a combination of oil and butter. I chose oil and butter for the flavor butter would give them the first time around, but the downside to that combination is that of course the butter darkens. A thin film of olive oil, or even a spray of cooking spray, works just as well.
Two spoons are helpful for picking up heaps of rounds or ribbons and slipping them gently into the pan to cook. During my first attempt, after a few minutes I flipped the first fritter over with a spatula, and was amazed. It was golden, crisp and lacy. After a few more minutes, I slipped it out onto a plate and cooked the rest of them. A word of warning—they really do require eight or so minutes of cooking time, even though they look done after only two or three per side. Heat regulation is the key. It’s a balancing act between keeping the flame high enough to keep the oil hot enough to cook the fritters, but low enough not to burn them.
I’ve read of serving zucchini fritters with ketchup, but the lemon aioli was too tempting. It turned out that the garlic in the aioli was just a little overpowering. Zucchini is such a delicate flavored vegetable that raw garlic is just too much for it. Lemon mayonnaise would be fine, with a little chopped garlic in the batter for that garlicy flavor.
I tried reheating these fritters for lunch a second day and as you might imagine, they’re pretty sog when you do (not helped by the fact that I did it in a microwave). I also tried holding them in a 200 degree oven for a little while. This can be done with greater success than reheating. It should probably be your absolute last choice, with your first choice being, eat them as soon as they’re cool enough to handle, but it’s a better choice than eating them cold.
Zucchini Fritters
adapted from Donna Hay magazine #35, and The Barefoot Contessa At Home
makes approximately 8 fritters
2 medium zucchini (about 5 ounces), cut into rounds with a vegetable peeler
½ cup self-rising flour
3 large eggs
¼ cup chopped fresh chives
Salt & pepper to taste
Combine zucchini, flour, eggs, chives, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl. Stir to combine.
In a medium skillet, heat a tablespoon (or so) of olive oil until a drop of water sizzles in it. Add about ¼ cup of the zucchini mixture and allow to cook until set, about 3 minutes. Turn the heat down and continue cooking about 5 more minutes. Flip fritter over and cook until underside is brown.
Fritters can be held in a 200 degree oven for ten or so minutes.
Lemon Aioli
from Donna Hay magazine, issue #35
Although I personally found this too strong, others may like it.
½ cup mayonnaise
1 clove garlic, crushed
Juice of ½ - 1 lemon (depending on how lemony you like things)
Combine all ingredients in a bowl and set aside while fritters cook. Serve fritters with Lemon Aioli.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Hidden Gems: Spoon Bread
I have a neurotic fear of getting rid of cookbooks. I have a collection that includes some ridiculous offerings, yet I can’t bring myself to give them away. Really, do I ever think I’m going to need “World Cuisine: Cooking of Britain and Ireland”? I suppose if I ever have a dire need for a soda bread or bread sauce recipe, I might. But the truth is, soda bread recipes are a dime a dozen, and I happen to hate bread sauce. I’d be much more worried about this tendency, except that I have a friend who feels the same way, so I know I’m not alone. If there’s one more like me, there must be lots more like me.
What if, my friend and I say, somewhere in that maze of aspics, veal kidneys and swiss steak, there’s some hidden gem? Some diamond in the rough, waiting to be polished up, updated with new ingredients to make it gleam?
As a concrete example of this, I have the Hood Basic Cook Book, originally published in 1933 and distributed by H P Hood & Sons dairy. The copy I have is from 1949. It belonged to my mother, who I suspect got it from her mother. In 1949 my mother was only 10, so a shade young for making such delicacies as Sweetbread and Cucumber Salad, or Fluffy Fruit Sauce. Also, it’s inscribed with her married name. The most likely scenario is that my mother had already gotten married, and my grandmother was packing up to move, and gave my mother the book to keep from having to pack it.
This treatise is typical of the beginner’s manual for young housewives of the time, which seems to have been the most common kind of cookbook readily available, along with Junior League type anthologies. At least, that’s what the collection I inherited from my mother seems to consist of largely.
This volume is chock full of advice about tracking food spending by category, finding a reliable market, and the necessity of being flexible with menu planning (what if recent frosts have reduced the supply and increased the cost of inferior produce? The string beans are poor, but Texas spinach is of unusually good quality and very reasonable, but there are some bargains in canned options. What to do?). I read the opening chapters of this book and immediately felt an unreasonable urge to run up and put on my full-skirted shirt dress, my pearl choker, and my three inch heels, shove a breast of veal in the oven, and vacuum the drapes while it cooked. It could have been written by June Cleaver, Margaret Anderson, and Aunt Bea.
However, I did find some recipes that genuinely seem worth making. A couple of types of bread and muffins, some cakes and cookies, and a side dish that turned out to be exceptionally good which I did make. It’s not exactly novel and undiscovered, but it’s a good recipe for something we’re all familiar with but may have forgotten about: spoon bread.
The recipe is straightforward, just a few ingredients, and at first glance the proportions look odd. A half a cup of cornmeal? To all that milk and eggs? Yes. The result is a very custardy, slightly grainy (but in a good way) puff of gold with a lovely brown crisp around the edges.
Another thing that intrigued me was the number of servings. Cookbooks from this era tend to be fairly reasonable about portion sizes. This was before the Supersize meal, so meat portions are given at four ounces per person, and so on. However, this is said to feed four people. If I’d actually cut this into four portions, it would have been four of the most enormous slabs of spoon bread I’d ever seen. This recipe can comfortably serve six people as a side dish.
Either way, it’s a nice find, and a variation on the polenta that has become somewhat ubiquitous and done to death. Everything is cyclical, and like bell bottoms and platform shoes, someday everything in these books is going to be reinvented and take the food world by storm, which is why I’m loath to get rid of them. I’ll be interested to see how they manage to update the aspic.
Spoon Bread
from The Hood Basic Cookbook
serves 6
For the cooking time, 25 minutes would have been fine in my oven. It can, I found, be held in 200 degree oven for up to 15 minutes, but plan for it to fall (this doesn’t change the flavor or texture—it’s just not as puffily impressive).
½ cup cornmeal
2 c milk
Salt
1T butter
3 eggs
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cook cornmeal, salt, and milk over medium high heat until sludgy, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add butter, stir until melted, then beat in eggs. Cook in 8” pie plates or 1 qt casserole (or pan large enough to hold the batter—mine was 7” x 10”) sprayed with cooking spray for 20-30 minutes until puffed and golden.
What if, my friend and I say, somewhere in that maze of aspics, veal kidneys and swiss steak, there’s some hidden gem? Some diamond in the rough, waiting to be polished up, updated with new ingredients to make it gleam?
As a concrete example of this, I have the Hood Basic Cook Book, originally published in 1933 and distributed by H P Hood & Sons dairy. The copy I have is from 1949. It belonged to my mother, who I suspect got it from her mother. In 1949 my mother was only 10, so a shade young for making such delicacies as Sweetbread and Cucumber Salad, or Fluffy Fruit Sauce. Also, it’s inscribed with her married name. The most likely scenario is that my mother had already gotten married, and my grandmother was packing up to move, and gave my mother the book to keep from having to pack it.
This treatise is typical of the beginner’s manual for young housewives of the time, which seems to have been the most common kind of cookbook readily available, along with Junior League type anthologies. At least, that’s what the collection I inherited from my mother seems to consist of largely.
This volume is chock full of advice about tracking food spending by category, finding a reliable market, and the necessity of being flexible with menu planning (what if recent frosts have reduced the supply and increased the cost of inferior produce? The string beans are poor, but Texas spinach is of unusually good quality and very reasonable, but there are some bargains in canned options. What to do?). I read the opening chapters of this book and immediately felt an unreasonable urge to run up and put on my full-skirted shirt dress, my pearl choker, and my three inch heels, shove a breast of veal in the oven, and vacuum the drapes while it cooked. It could have been written by June Cleaver, Margaret Anderson, and Aunt Bea.
However, I did find some recipes that genuinely seem worth making. A couple of types of bread and muffins, some cakes and cookies, and a side dish that turned out to be exceptionally good which I did make. It’s not exactly novel and undiscovered, but it’s a good recipe for something we’re all familiar with but may have forgotten about: spoon bread.
The recipe is straightforward, just a few ingredients, and at first glance the proportions look odd. A half a cup of cornmeal? To all that milk and eggs? Yes. The result is a very custardy, slightly grainy (but in a good way) puff of gold with a lovely brown crisp around the edges.
Another thing that intrigued me was the number of servings. Cookbooks from this era tend to be fairly reasonable about portion sizes. This was before the Supersize meal, so meat portions are given at four ounces per person, and so on. However, this is said to feed four people. If I’d actually cut this into four portions, it would have been four of the most enormous slabs of spoon bread I’d ever seen. This recipe can comfortably serve six people as a side dish.
Either way, it’s a nice find, and a variation on the polenta that has become somewhat ubiquitous and done to death. Everything is cyclical, and like bell bottoms and platform shoes, someday everything in these books is going to be reinvented and take the food world by storm, which is why I’m loath to get rid of them. I’ll be interested to see how they manage to update the aspic.
Spoon Bread
from The Hood Basic Cookbook
serves 6
For the cooking time, 25 minutes would have been fine in my oven. It can, I found, be held in 200 degree oven for up to 15 minutes, but plan for it to fall (this doesn’t change the flavor or texture—it’s just not as puffily impressive).
½ cup cornmeal
2 c milk
Salt
1T butter
3 eggs
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cook cornmeal, salt, and milk over medium high heat until sludgy, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add butter, stir until melted, then beat in eggs. Cook in 8” pie plates or 1 qt casserole (or pan large enough to hold the batter—mine was 7” x 10”) sprayed with cooking spray for 20-30 minutes until puffed and golden.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Brief Intermission: Cheers!
I haven't abandoned my site here. I've just been feeling completely uninspired. You know, Spring is a wonderful time of year--flowers blooming, days getting longer, warmer weather--but I realize that every year I just hate early Spring when it comes to food. We're all sick to death of squash, potatoes, and roasts, but the Spring food isn't really ready yet. The beans and fruits and things you can get are all from Chile or Argentina, and the last of the Winter produce just looks sad. I've spent hours pouring over cookbooks looking for something to uplift me, but everything either speaks of short winter days and long winter nights (stews, roasts, soups) or shorts and t-shirt weather (salads, fresh fruits, summer tomatoes). Am I alone in the feeling that this is a somewhat lackluster, frustrating time of year, despite the promise of blossom and bounty to come?
I do have a recipe for zucchini fritters that I'll be posting about tomorrow (Friday) but until then, I'll leave you with with this image. You can enjoy it in early Spring, knowing that it's not the last scraping from the bottom of the produce barrel.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Full Up: Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies
The bucket, at last, is full again. For the past four days my sons have been pointing to a kitchen cabinet and saying, in a tone reminiscent of Oliver asking for more, “Mommy, the bucket’s empty.” Horrors.
The bucket, you see, is the large, deep rectangular storage container in which we keep the cookies. I love cookies, and I love having homemade ones on hand. They take so little time and effort, and they repay you a thousand times over. There are dozens of fantastic varieties detailed on the back of any ingredient packet you care to buy, so finding a good recipe is a cinch.
Usually I make either chocolate chip, or some variation on oatmeal (plain oatmeal, oatmeal raisin, or oatmeal chocolate chip). Any of these meets with cheers of approval from the Peanut Gallery. And for my part, I know they contain butter and not partially hydrogenated anything, sugar and not high fructose anything, flour and not soy byproduct anything.
This tendency to keep homemade cookies on hand may be genetic. My grandmother still does it, even though my grandfather, for whom she primarily made them, has been dead for over ten years. She’s told me that when he was alive, they’d run out of cookies and she’d say, “Well, I’ll need to make some more cookies; we’re out. What kind shall I make?” and he’d look up and say with genuine astonishment, “What’s wrong with chocolate chip?” I’m not sure if they owned stock in Nestle, but they must have been responsible for a good portion of the sale of chocolate chips over the last fifty years.
Two weeks ago I made two batches of chocolate chocolate chip cookies, one using regular cocoa, and one using Hershey’s Special Dark cocoa. The ones made with regular cocoa were fine, but not distinguished. But of the ones made with the Special Dark cocoa, I can only say, Wowowow! This stuff is my new favorite ingredient in baked goods. I think my husband thinks I might want to marry it. These cookies were rich, complex, subtle. I adored them. Interestingly, Alex did not. His complaint was that he didn’t get the contrast between the light vanilla flavor of the cookie dough (in a traditional Toll House type of chocolate chip cookie) and the chips. But what does he know?
My children are far less discriminating. If it’s round, made with butter, sugar and flour, and in The Bucket, it’s awesome. Thank you, Mommy!
Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies
makes approximately 5 dozen cookies
If you’re familiar with the recipe for traditional Nestle Toll House Cookies, this is going to look eerily familiar. And you’re right. Because let’s face it, there are only so many ways to make chocolate chips cookies. This is a damned good one, if I do say it myself.
2 sticks butter at room temperature
¾ cup brown sugar
¾ cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 ¼ cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ cup Hershey’s Special Dark cocoa
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 375° F.Combine flour, cocoa, baking soda and salt in small bowl. Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and vanilla extract in large mixer bowl until creamy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in chocolate chips. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sleight of Hand: Profiteroles
In the culinary realm, some people prefer to do easy things. Some prefer to do hard things. I’m on the fence there—I like to do easy things, obviously, because it generally means I get to eat sooner. I also like to do hard things, mostly just to see if I can. What l like best is to do easy things that turn out a product that looks like it was hard to make.
Thus it was that this weekend I made profiteroles for dessert.
Profiteroles are just puffed up dough filled with ice cream, and drizzled with sauce. The combinations of ice cream and sauce are pretty limitless, restricted only by your imagination. In this case, I used a recipe from the March Gourmet for Profiteroles with Coffee Ice Cream with Chocolate Sauce. Instead of coffee ice cream, however, I used Bailey’s Irish Cream flavored ice cream.
The chocolate sauce is a pretty standard one, made by caramelizing sugar, adding heavy cream, chocolate, and a shot of cognac. It’s deep and velvety and complex, and would make a fabulous go-to recipe for chocolate sauce any time chocolate sauce is needed (daily? Hourly?)
The part that makes this recipe look so tricky is the cream puffs. Too daunting, just can’t do it. No indeed, I promise they are the easiest things in the world.
After making the dough, you pile it all in a pastry bag…
Hold it—you lost me. I don’t have a pastry bag.
No problem, use a plastic bag with the corner cut off. Pipe the dough into little mounds…
That word “pipe”: sorry. No piping.
That’s OK, there’s another way. Take two teaspoons out of the silverware drawer. Scoop up a ball of the dough just a shade smaller than a ping pong ball. Plunk it on a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper. Bake. Remove from oven. Marvel that these look like restaurant-quality cream puffs—golden and crisp and airy. Allow to cool slightly, then continue with recipe. Serve to guests who will think you are amazing for having made something so hard.
The wonderful thing about these puffs is that because they don’t have sugar in them they can play both sides of the field, as it were. Filled up with something savory, they could make an appetizer or starter, or something nice to have with drinks. Again, the possibilities are limited only by the imagination. Creamed mushrooms with thyme, sautéed onions with some crisp chopped bacon, even the makings of a cheese ball. They can be made large or small, depending on their use. The first time I made them I made them small, and I used the teaspoon method, and I made them savory. I’ve also used this dough spread out flat on a sheet of parchment paper as a base for a sort of pizza. It works well that way, too.
The only part of the recipe that may be slightly panic-inducing the first time around is when the eggs are added. I looked at the slippery, slimy dough I had created and wasn’t sure this was going to work out. I kept stirring, and eventually the egg was incorporated in, and the dough became shiny and smooth, just as I was promised. And they turned out to be stunning. I’ve never looked back.
Thus it was that this weekend I made profiteroles for dessert.
Profiteroles are just puffed up dough filled with ice cream, and drizzled with sauce. The combinations of ice cream and sauce are pretty limitless, restricted only by your imagination. In this case, I used a recipe from the March Gourmet for Profiteroles with Coffee Ice Cream with Chocolate Sauce. Instead of coffee ice cream, however, I used Bailey’s Irish Cream flavored ice cream.
The chocolate sauce is a pretty standard one, made by caramelizing sugar, adding heavy cream, chocolate, and a shot of cognac. It’s deep and velvety and complex, and would make a fabulous go-to recipe for chocolate sauce any time chocolate sauce is needed (daily? Hourly?)
The part that makes this recipe look so tricky is the cream puffs. Too daunting, just can’t do it. No indeed, I promise they are the easiest things in the world.
After making the dough, you pile it all in a pastry bag…
Hold it—you lost me. I don’t have a pastry bag.
No problem, use a plastic bag with the corner cut off. Pipe the dough into little mounds…
That word “pipe”: sorry. No piping.
That’s OK, there’s another way. Take two teaspoons out of the silverware drawer. Scoop up a ball of the dough just a shade smaller than a ping pong ball. Plunk it on a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper. Bake. Remove from oven. Marvel that these look like restaurant-quality cream puffs—golden and crisp and airy. Allow to cool slightly, then continue with recipe. Serve to guests who will think you are amazing for having made something so hard.
The wonderful thing about these puffs is that because they don’t have sugar in them they can play both sides of the field, as it were. Filled up with something savory, they could make an appetizer or starter, or something nice to have with drinks. Again, the possibilities are limited only by the imagination. Creamed mushrooms with thyme, sautéed onions with some crisp chopped bacon, even the makings of a cheese ball. They can be made large or small, depending on their use. The first time I made them I made them small, and I used the teaspoon method, and I made them savory. I’ve also used this dough spread out flat on a sheet of parchment paper as a base for a sort of pizza. It works well that way, too.
The only part of the recipe that may be slightly panic-inducing the first time around is when the eggs are added. I looked at the slippery, slimy dough I had created and wasn’t sure this was going to work out. I kept stirring, and eventually the egg was incorporated in, and the dough became shiny and smooth, just as I was promised. And they turned out to be stunning. I’ve never looked back.
Profiteroles with Bailey’s Irish Cream Ice Cream
adapted from Gourmet, March 2008
serves 6
adapted from Gourmet, March 2008
serves 6
For profiteroles
1 quart Bailey’s Irish Cream ice cream
3/4 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3/4 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 large eggs
For chocolate sauce
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup heavy cream
7 ounce fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (no more than 60% cacao if marked), finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 tablespoon Cognac or brandy (optional)
Make profiteroles: Chill a small metal baking pan in freezer. Form 18 ice cream balls with scoop and freeze in chilled pan at least 1 hour (this will make serving faster).
Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in middle. Butter a large baking sheet.
Bring butter, water, and salt to a boil in a small heavy saucepan, stirring until butter is melted. Reduce heat to medium, then add flour all at once and cook, beating with a wooden spoon, until mixture pulls away from side of pan and forms a ball, about 30 seconds. Transfer mixture to a bowl and cool slightly, 2 to 3 minutes.
Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well with an electric mixer after each addition.
Transfer warm mixture to pastry bag and pipe 18 mounds (about 1 1/4 inches wide and 1 inch high) 1 inch apart on baking sheet.
Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes total. Prick each profiterole once with a skewer, then return to oven to dry, propping oven door slightly ajar, 3 minutes. Cool on sheet on a rack.
Make chocolate sauce: Heat sugar in a 2-quart heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring with a fork to heat sugar evenly, until it starts to melt, then stop stirring and cook, swirling pan occasionally so sugar melts evenly, until it is dark amber.
Remove from heat, then add cream and a pinch of salt (mixture will bubble and steam). Return to heat and cook, stirring, until caramel has dissolved.
Remove from heat and add chocolate, whisking until melted, then whisk in vanilla and Cognac (if using). Keep warm, covered.
Serve profiteroles: Halve profiteroles horizontally, then fill each with a ball of ice cream. Put 3 profiteroles on each plate and drizzle generously with warm chocolate sauce.
1 quart Bailey’s Irish Cream ice cream
3/4 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3/4 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 large eggs
For chocolate sauce
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup heavy cream
7 ounce fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (no more than 60% cacao if marked), finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 tablespoon Cognac or brandy (optional)
Make profiteroles: Chill a small metal baking pan in freezer. Form 18 ice cream balls with scoop and freeze in chilled pan at least 1 hour (this will make serving faster).
Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in middle. Butter a large baking sheet.
Bring butter, water, and salt to a boil in a small heavy saucepan, stirring until butter is melted. Reduce heat to medium, then add flour all at once and cook, beating with a wooden spoon, until mixture pulls away from side of pan and forms a ball, about 30 seconds. Transfer mixture to a bowl and cool slightly, 2 to 3 minutes.
Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well with an electric mixer after each addition.
Transfer warm mixture to pastry bag and pipe 18 mounds (about 1 1/4 inches wide and 1 inch high) 1 inch apart on baking sheet.
Bake until puffed and golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes total. Prick each profiterole once with a skewer, then return to oven to dry, propping oven door slightly ajar, 3 minutes. Cool on sheet on a rack.
Make chocolate sauce: Heat sugar in a 2-quart heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring with a fork to heat sugar evenly, until it starts to melt, then stop stirring and cook, swirling pan occasionally so sugar melts evenly, until it is dark amber.
Remove from heat, then add cream and a pinch of salt (mixture will bubble and steam). Return to heat and cook, stirring, until caramel has dissolved.
Remove from heat and add chocolate, whisking until melted, then whisk in vanilla and Cognac (if using). Keep warm, covered.
Serve profiteroles: Halve profiteroles horizontally, then fill each with a ball of ice cream. Put 3 profiteroles on each plate and drizzle generously with warm chocolate sauce.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
FitFare
I have a post up on FitFare today on Decadent Double-Chocolate Cake. Stop by and check it out. It may be the next post here, but until I can get a write up done, you can get your chocolate fix there.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Simple Things: Ricotta Cheese
If you have the following in your house:
6 cups of whole milk (the higher the quality the better, although plain old milk will be fine)
2 tablespoons of white vinegar
A little salt
A pot big enough for the 6 cups of milk
A large spoon (slotted is better, but if you don’t have one, it’ll still be fine)
A candy thermometer (or an instant-read thermometer and two wooden spoons)
Some cheesecloth
A colander
A bowl large enough to hold the colander
You have the makings of the most amazing, most wonderful, most incredible thing you’ve ever eaten. It's absolutely simple, yet people will marvel that you made it. Fresh homemade ricotta cheese.
I’ve read about people making their own ricotta and always threatened to try it. In the last couple of weeks I’ve read in two different places about making cheese in general, and ricotta specifically as one of those. The first was in the spring issue of Donna Hay magazine, which I was rereading since spring is standing on the threshold. The second was in Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian. He has a section on Cheese & Eggs, and part of that section includes instructions for making one’s own cheese of various kinds, including ricotta.
I stuck more closely to Donna Hay’s method, because she was more specific with things like temperatures and overall instructions. Mark Bittman’s method was to heat the milk on medium for 10 or 15 minutes until it took on a certain appearance and then add the acidifying ingredient to make cheese. Having never done this before I was more comfortable with Donna Hay’s very specific instruction to heat the milk to 176 degrees F and then add the acidic component.
Donna Hay did call for a candy thermometer, which I didn’t have. Instead I had an instant read thermometer that I rigged up a suspension device for using two wooden spoons.
I heated the milk over a fairly gentle flame, and it did take quite a bit of time to reach the right temperature—probably 10 or 15 minutes. I never let it actually boil, or even simmer, but just heat. From Mark Bittman I did learn that a pinch or two of salt wouldn’t hurt the finished product, so I added that during the heating process. When the thermometer read 176 degrees F, I removed the pan from the heat, poured in the vinegar, and held my breath. The milk immediately took on the appearance of curdled…well, milk, of course.
I let it sit for several minutes, then began scooping the curds gently out into the cheesecloth-lined strainer (funny, to actually use cheesecloth for cheese) to drain. The gentle touch is needed, Donna Hay explains, to keep the curds intact. After a few minutes in the strainer, I moved the cheese to an old jar (I keep old jars of likely sizes—jam, pickles and the like—for just this sort of project).
With trepidation I tasted the result. Would it be any good, or would I have just trashed 48 ounces of milk for nothing?
Well. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was. Silky and smooth with the faintest milky flavor, but with the proper cheese flavor too. It was pillowy, I tell you. It looked like soft fluffy clouds as I spooned it into the jar.
I immediately added “whole milk – 2 gal.” to the grocery list I was making. Having bought it, I made another batch of ricotta.
This time I was making my children’s lunch at the same time—home made pizza. My attention was divided, I was less devoted to the ricotta-making process than before. Now I used a medium flame, but checked the thermometer (which was by now a candy thermometer that I bought at the grocery store with the milk) only when I happened to think of it. By the time I was able to focus my thoughts on cheese and cheese alone, the temperature was probably closer to 200 degrees F. I don’t even really know. I swirled the skin that had formed over the heating milk into the mixture with the probe of the thermometer, noticed that the gauge immediately shot up, and crossed my fingers as I dumped the vinegar into the milk. It curded up just the same as before.
Then I got involved with some disaster involving flour and a two-year-old and it sat in the pot for really quite some time. At least twice as long as the five minutes originally called for. Once again I carefully scooped the curds out into the prepared colander. In fact, it turned out better this time. The first time I’d felt like I was throwing away quite a bit of milk. This time the liquid left was just yellowish whey.
It also strained longer the second time, again having to do with my children’s lunch preparation schedule, and again, I felt the result was more successful than before. The ricotta was dryer this time and more closely resembled that which I could buy in the store, but with that fresher, more immediate flavor than store bought gives. This also taught me that if all I had was a regular spoon that I could let as much of the whey as possible run off as I scooped it up, and then let it drain longer, possibly turning it carefully a time or two as it drained in the colander.
I now have two jars of this wonderful stuff in my refrigerator, and bought the ingredients for lasagna at the same time I was buying the additional milk. In fact, the only disappointment in this whole experience was that it didn’t occur to me to make lasagna with the finished product. It had to be pointed out to me that it would probably make fabulous lasagna. After I made the first batch, and raved about it, Alex said, “Wow, if it’s that good, think how good a lasagna made with it would be…”
I could only smack myself in the forehead and add to the grocery list.
6 cups of whole milk (the higher the quality the better, although plain old milk will be fine)
2 tablespoons of white vinegar
A little salt
A pot big enough for the 6 cups of milk
A large spoon (slotted is better, but if you don’t have one, it’ll still be fine)
A candy thermometer (or an instant-read thermometer and two wooden spoons)
Some cheesecloth
A colander
A bowl large enough to hold the colander
You have the makings of the most amazing, most wonderful, most incredible thing you’ve ever eaten. It's absolutely simple, yet people will marvel that you made it. Fresh homemade ricotta cheese.
I’ve read about people making their own ricotta and always threatened to try it. In the last couple of weeks I’ve read in two different places about making cheese in general, and ricotta specifically as one of those. The first was in the spring issue of Donna Hay magazine, which I was rereading since spring is standing on the threshold. The second was in Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian. He has a section on Cheese & Eggs, and part of that section includes instructions for making one’s own cheese of various kinds, including ricotta.
I stuck more closely to Donna Hay’s method, because she was more specific with things like temperatures and overall instructions. Mark Bittman’s method was to heat the milk on medium for 10 or 15 minutes until it took on a certain appearance and then add the acidifying ingredient to make cheese. Having never done this before I was more comfortable with Donna Hay’s very specific instruction to heat the milk to 176 degrees F and then add the acidic component.
Donna Hay did call for a candy thermometer, which I didn’t have. Instead I had an instant read thermometer that I rigged up a suspension device for using two wooden spoons.
I heated the milk over a fairly gentle flame, and it did take quite a bit of time to reach the right temperature—probably 10 or 15 minutes. I never let it actually boil, or even simmer, but just heat. From Mark Bittman I did learn that a pinch or two of salt wouldn’t hurt the finished product, so I added that during the heating process. When the thermometer read 176 degrees F, I removed the pan from the heat, poured in the vinegar, and held my breath. The milk immediately took on the appearance of curdled…well, milk, of course.
I let it sit for several minutes, then began scooping the curds gently out into the cheesecloth-lined strainer (funny, to actually use cheesecloth for cheese) to drain. The gentle touch is needed, Donna Hay explains, to keep the curds intact. After a few minutes in the strainer, I moved the cheese to an old jar (I keep old jars of likely sizes—jam, pickles and the like—for just this sort of project).With trepidation I tasted the result. Would it be any good, or would I have just trashed 48 ounces of milk for nothing?
Well. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was. Silky and smooth with the faintest milky flavor, but with the proper cheese flavor too. It was pillowy, I tell you. It looked like soft fluffy clouds as I spooned it into the jar.
I immediately added “whole milk – 2 gal.” to the grocery list I was making. Having bought it, I made another batch of ricotta.This time I was making my children’s lunch at the same time—home made pizza. My attention was divided, I was less devoted to the ricotta-making process than before. Now I used a medium flame, but checked the thermometer (which was by now a candy thermometer that I bought at the grocery store with the milk) only when I happened to think of it. By the time I was able to focus my thoughts on cheese and cheese alone, the temperature was probably closer to 200 degrees F. I don’t even really know. I swirled the skin that had formed over the heating milk into the mixture with the probe of the thermometer, noticed that the gauge immediately shot up, and crossed my fingers as I dumped the vinegar into the milk. It curded up just the same as before.
Then I got involved with some disaster involving flour and a two-year-old and it sat in the pot for really quite some time. At least twice as long as the five minutes originally called for. Once again I carefully scooped the curds out into the prepared colander. In fact, it turned out better this time. The first time I’d felt like I was throwing away quite a bit of milk. This time the liquid left was just yellowish whey.
It also strained longer the second time, again having to do with my children’s lunch preparation schedule, and again, I felt the result was more successful than before. The ricotta was dryer this time and more closely resembled that which I could buy in the store, but with that fresher, more immediate flavor than store bought gives. This also taught me that if all I had was a regular spoon that I could let as much of the whey as possible run off as I scooped it up, and then let it drain longer, possibly turning it carefully a time or two as it drained in the colander.
I now have two jars of this wonderful stuff in my refrigerator, and bought the ingredients for lasagna at the same time I was buying the additional milk. In fact, the only disappointment in this whole experience was that it didn’t occur to me to make lasagna with the finished product. It had to be pointed out to me that it would probably make fabulous lasagna. After I made the first batch, and raved about it, Alex said, “Wow, if it’s that good, think how good a lasagna made with it would be…”
I could only smack myself in the forehead and add to the grocery list.
Ricotta Cheese
adapted from Donna Hay magazine #35, and Mark Bittman’s “How to Cook Everything Vegetarian”
makes about 1 and 1/2 cups of cheese
6 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons white vinegar
1 teaspoon salt (or more to taste)
Line a colander with cheesecloth and place over a large bowl.
Heat milk over medium heat until a candy or instant read thermometer reaches 176 degrees F.
Remove pan from heat, and add vinegar to milk. Allow to sit at least 5 minutes as curds form.
Using a slotted spoon, gently scoop curds into prepared colander. Allow to drain until fairly dry, five to ten minutes at least.
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