I have discovered the elixir of life: aioli!
Aioli is a garlicky, mayonnaise-like concoction whose main ingredients are traditionally olive oil, garlic, blood, sweat, and tears.
To say I have discovered it is a lie; I think it was very trendy in the late 90s. But I made it for the first time, and discovered there is an easy way to make it that doesn't involve stirring -- ahem, "emulsifying" -- until your arm falls off. The secret lies in the blender.
Now, if you are a baby or expecting one, don't use this method, as it mandates a raw egg. Alas, you must go the traditional mortar and pestle route, which I'm sure is at least as satisfying, if you are willing to put in the time and elbow grease. The vegans will also want to follow the sore forearm method. I'm pretty sure most vegans I know would elect to go this route anyway, egg or no egg -- they are such masochists!
Whatever your creed or condition, you must make this NOW. I served it at a barbecue, to rave reviews. It was perfect spread over some homemade bread, topped with tomatoes and herbs. I also stirred it into chicken salad in lieu of regular mayonnaise, which now seems so unexciting compared to aioli that I'm not sure I'll ever eat it again.
Recipe: Quick Aioli
Adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook. Makes about 1 cup.
1/4 c coarsely chopped garlic (about 8-10 cloves)
1 t salt
2 T olive oil, plus 1 c olive oil
1 egg
In a mortar and pestle, or in a bowl using a fork, mash together the garlic, salt and 2 T olive oil for a few minutes. Add to the blender, and blend till fairly smooth, then add the egg and blend again for a few seconds. On a low setting, slowly pour the remaining 1 c olive oil into the blender in a steady, thin stream (assuming your blender has a removable cap that you can use without making a huge mess -- if not, use the next recipe). It may taste incredibly pungent at first, but will mellow out a bit after a little while. Keeps well in the refrigerator for a few days.
Recipe: Slow Aioli (Vegan)
Adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook. Use the same ingredients for Quick Aioli, minus the egg, and a large mortar and pestle, if you have one, or a medium-size bowl. Mash together the garlic, salt, and 2 T olive oil. Add the remaining cup of olive oil, one teaspoon at a time, whisking vigorously upon each addition. This should take about 20 minutes and will build good forearm muscles.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
This is why we're fat
I don't know what's taken me so long to post the Googooberry Pie** recipe, but as soon as I saw this New Yorker review of several "weight-gain books" (as opposed to the more common "weight-loss books") -- all studies of or attempts to account for this country's obesity problem -- I knew I could no longer hold off.
You would think that reading this article would have the opposite effect; upon learning, for example, that 40 percent of young women are too heavy to join the U.S. Armed Forces, I should be more inclined to write about cabbage. But, as we all know, and as this book review elaborates, the human mind is a "calorically demanding organ," so it only makes sense that I immediately thought of the one recipe I know by heart that contains two sticks of butter, a block of cream cheese, three eggs, a whole box of powdered sugar, and a cake mix.
What else could it be but the creation of Paula Deen, Reigning Butter Queen? (Full disclosure: Gooey Butter Cakes are really a St. Louis specialty, but only Paula Deen had the guts, so to speak, to add a cake mix to the mix without apology.) Her Gooey Butter Cakes are so delicious and so popular at her Savannah restaurant, The Lady and Sons, that a Google search yields a countless number of variations: carrot cake, peanut butter, pumpkin, double chocolate, lemon, and on and on till the cows come home -- that is, if they don't tip over first.
At a glance, gooey butter cakes are easily mistaken for ordinary blondies or brownies, but their taste is otherwordly. The cake mix, egg, and one of the sticks of melted butter form a chewy crust, which is then filled with a cheesecake-like mixture of cream cheese, the other stick of melted butter, a pound of powdered sugar, and a big scoop of cocoa powder if you choose to go the chocolate route.
I've made thesed dozens of times, and I've found that Paula Deen's recommended baking time (37-40 minutes) is too long for my oven. You will want to check them first before removing -- the top should be a bit browned and crusty. The fork test will not work here. Gooey butter cakes are supposed to be gooey, after all.
There's not really any need to slice them and remove them from the pan. In fact, it's very un-American to not finish them all in one fell swoop, preferably by yourself, standing over the stove, in nothing but a size XXXL t-shirt. Don't hold back, fatty: eat the whole batch. You're in good company.
Recipe: Googooberry Pie, a.k.a. Gooey Butter Cakes
Adapted from Paula Deen.
**Googooberry Pie: Gooey Butter Cakes' unofficial and more melodic nickname, a result of a hilarious verbal misunderstanding on the part of a family member who will remain anonymous for the time being.
For the crust:
1 yellow cake mix
1 egg
1 stick melted butter, slightly cooled
For the filling:
1 block of plain cream cheese, room temperature
1 stick melted butter, slightly cooled
1 t vanilla
2 eggs, room temperature
1 (16 0z.) box powdered sugar
Heat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, mix together the cake mix, egg, and butter to form a fairly stiff dough. Press it into the bottom of a 13" x 9" metal baking dish to form a crust. Set aside. Rinse the same bowl, and in it beat the cream cheese till smooth. Mix in the butter, vanilla, and eggs. Gradually mix in the powdered sugar. Pour the mixture over the crust and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the top is slightly browned and crusty. Remove and let cool before slicing into squares.
Recipe: Chocolate Googooberry Pies
Follow the recipe above, but use a chocolate cake mix for the crust, and add a half cup of cocoa powder to the filling before adding the powdered sugar.
You would think that reading this article would have the opposite effect; upon learning, for example, that 40 percent of young women are too heavy to join the U.S. Armed Forces, I should be more inclined to write about cabbage. But, as we all know, and as this book review elaborates, the human mind is a "calorically demanding organ," so it only makes sense that I immediately thought of the one recipe I know by heart that contains two sticks of butter, a block of cream cheese, three eggs, a whole box of powdered sugar, and a cake mix.
What else could it be but the creation of Paula Deen, Reigning Butter Queen? (Full disclosure: Gooey Butter Cakes are really a St. Louis specialty, but only Paula Deen had the guts, so to speak, to add a cake mix to the mix without apology.) Her Gooey Butter Cakes are so delicious and so popular at her Savannah restaurant, The Lady and Sons, that a Google search yields a countless number of variations: carrot cake, peanut butter, pumpkin, double chocolate, lemon, and on and on till the cows come home -- that is, if they don't tip over first.
At a glance, gooey butter cakes are easily mistaken for ordinary blondies or brownies, but their taste is otherwordly. The cake mix, egg, and one of the sticks of melted butter form a chewy crust, which is then filled with a cheesecake-like mixture of cream cheese, the other stick of melted butter, a pound of powdered sugar, and a big scoop of cocoa powder if you choose to go the chocolate route.
I've made thesed dozens of times, and I've found that Paula Deen's recommended baking time (37-40 minutes) is too long for my oven. You will want to check them first before removing -- the top should be a bit browned and crusty. The fork test will not work here. Gooey butter cakes are supposed to be gooey, after all.
There's not really any need to slice them and remove them from the pan. In fact, it's very un-American to not finish them all in one fell swoop, preferably by yourself, standing over the stove, in nothing but a size XXXL t-shirt. Don't hold back, fatty: eat the whole batch. You're in good company.
Recipe: Googooberry Pie, a.k.a. Gooey Butter Cakes
Adapted from Paula Deen.
**Googooberry Pie: Gooey Butter Cakes' unofficial and more melodic nickname, a result of a hilarious verbal misunderstanding on the part of a family member who will remain anonymous for the time being.
For the crust:
1 yellow cake mix
1 egg
1 stick melted butter, slightly cooled
For the filling:
1 block of plain cream cheese, room temperature
1 stick melted butter, slightly cooled
1 t vanilla
2 eggs, room temperature
1 (16 0z.) box powdered sugar
Heat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, mix together the cake mix, egg, and butter to form a fairly stiff dough. Press it into the bottom of a 13" x 9" metal baking dish to form a crust. Set aside. Rinse the same bowl, and in it beat the cream cheese till smooth. Mix in the butter, vanilla, and eggs. Gradually mix in the powdered sugar. Pour the mixture over the crust and bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the top is slightly browned and crusty. Remove and let cool before slicing into squares.
Recipe: Chocolate Googooberry Pies
Follow the recipe above, but use a chocolate cake mix for the crust, and add a half cup of cocoa powder to the filling before adding the powdered sugar.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Getting My Groove Back
I've been so busy lately, mostly with work, which inevitably means eating badly, overspending on restaurant food, and feeling generally uninspired on the rare occasion I do cook.
But one day recently, I decided to stop at the farm stand on my way home from work. Rows and rows of blackberries, sweetpeas, and corn, all so colorful and tempting, all called my name and recited this little speech, "Diana! I cost three times as much as the stuff you find at Safeway, but I am so worth it, and even though I come from questionably local sources and may have been picked a week ago, you should -- in fact you must -- BUY ME! By the way, you NEED to buy WAY more of me than you or even you and your three brothers and two parents can possibly eat before I go bad, which I may or may not have already started to do!"
And so that is what I did; I bought a bunch of vegetables that were not at peak season and cost me a pretty penny. But they were in fact worth it, because with them I made this gorgeous salad (and, fortuitously, the corn tasted like mid August corn and even the tomatoes were good) and sort of Got My Groove Back. For a spell, anyway. I suggest you replicate this, especially in a few weeks when summer vegetables are reliably both good and cheap.
Recipe: Fresh Corn and Other Summer Veg Salad
The corn makes this. Serves 6 as main course. The leftovers can be used in an excellent frittata (below).
1/2 lb. green beans, ends removed
6 ears corn, shucked
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 cucumber, chopped into 1/2 inch cubes
1 (16 oz.) can blackeye peas, drained and rinsed
1/4 C olive oil
juice of half a lemon
pinch salt
pinch pepper
pinch sugar
some combination of herbs: basil is great, perhaps essential; I also used parsley and a bit of rosemary from my struggling herb garden
Fill a soup pot halfway with water; set it on the stove to high heat. Bring to a boil and add the green beans. Boil for about 8 minutes or until crisp-tender. Have a bowl of ice water ready, and remove the beans with tongs or a slotted spoon to the bowl to prevent further cooking. Add the corn to the boiling water and boil for two minutes. Remove and let cool. Meanwhile, chop the green beans into one or one-and-a-half inch pieces. When the corn is fully cooled, remove kernels from the ears. Stir together the beans, corn kernels, tomatoes, cucumber, and blackeye peas. Stir together the olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and sugar and drizzle over the salad you plan to eat. Toss in the herbs.
And if you still want more...
Recipe: No Longer Very Fresh Morning After Frittata
Makes two servings.
1 T vegetable or olive oil
Leftover salad veg
Salt
5 eggs
Some kind of cheese -- about 1/4 C, shredded (optional)
Herbs (optional)
More salt
Pepper
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Heat the oil in a cast iron pan over medium heat. Add whatever leftover salad veg you have, and stir around. Add some salt. Reduce heat to low-medium and cook for about 5 minutes. Break the eggs into a bowl and whisk together. Pour eggs into pan and let cook another two minutes. Sprinkle in any cheese and/or herbs you are using. Add some more salt and some pepper, and then transfer to the oven. Cook until eggs are puffed up and slightly browned, about 8 minutes.
But one day recently, I decided to stop at the farm stand on my way home from work. Rows and rows of blackberries, sweetpeas, and corn, all so colorful and tempting, all called my name and recited this little speech, "Diana! I cost three times as much as the stuff you find at Safeway, but I am so worth it, and even though I come from questionably local sources and may have been picked a week ago, you should -- in fact you must -- BUY ME! By the way, you NEED to buy WAY more of me than you or even you and your three brothers and two parents can possibly eat before I go bad, which I may or may not have already started to do!"
And so that is what I did; I bought a bunch of vegetables that were not at peak season and cost me a pretty penny. But they were in fact worth it, because with them I made this gorgeous salad (and, fortuitously, the corn tasted like mid August corn and even the tomatoes were good) and sort of Got My Groove Back. For a spell, anyway. I suggest you replicate this, especially in a few weeks when summer vegetables are reliably both good and cheap.
Recipe: Fresh Corn and Other Summer Veg Salad
The corn makes this. Serves 6 as main course. The leftovers can be used in an excellent frittata (below).
1/2 lb. green beans, ends removed
6 ears corn, shucked
1 pint grape tomatoes, halved
1 cucumber, chopped into 1/2 inch cubes
1 (16 oz.) can blackeye peas, drained and rinsed
1/4 C olive oil
juice of half a lemon
pinch salt
pinch pepper
pinch sugar
some combination of herbs: basil is great, perhaps essential; I also used parsley and a bit of rosemary from my struggling herb garden
Fill a soup pot halfway with water; set it on the stove to high heat. Bring to a boil and add the green beans. Boil for about 8 minutes or until crisp-tender. Have a bowl of ice water ready, and remove the beans with tongs or a slotted spoon to the bowl to prevent further cooking. Add the corn to the boiling water and boil for two minutes. Remove and let cool. Meanwhile, chop the green beans into one or one-and-a-half inch pieces. When the corn is fully cooled, remove kernels from the ears. Stir together the beans, corn kernels, tomatoes, cucumber, and blackeye peas. Stir together the olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and sugar and drizzle over the salad you plan to eat. Toss in the herbs.
And if you still want more...
Recipe: No Longer Very Fresh Morning After Frittata
Makes two servings.
1 T vegetable or olive oil
Leftover salad veg
Salt
5 eggs
Some kind of cheese -- about 1/4 C, shredded (optional)
Herbs (optional)
More salt
Pepper
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Heat the oil in a cast iron pan over medium heat. Add whatever leftover salad veg you have, and stir around. Add some salt. Reduce heat to low-medium and cook for about 5 minutes. Break the eggs into a bowl and whisk together. Pour eggs into pan and let cook another two minutes. Sprinkle in any cheese and/or herbs you are using. Add some more salt and some pepper, and then transfer to the oven. Cook until eggs are puffed up and slightly browned, about 8 minutes.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Most Excellent Salad
I wanted to post this quickly before I forget and all the strawberries that are now very ripe start to turn and, poof, it becomes raspberry season -- not that there is anything wrong with raspberries, of course; in fact, they too will figure in the next paragraph.
Recipe (In Narrative Form): Most Excellent If Slightly Boojy Salad
The other day I made a Most Excellent If Slightly Boojy Salad consisting of adorable, tiny, local strawberries, some crumbled goat cheese, and some candied pecans over a mix of arugula and spinach. The dressing is one of my best inventions yet, made with three parts olive oil to one part balsamic vinegar and one part raspberry preserves. I whisk everything together, add some fresh basil and salt to the concoction, let it sit for a couple hours to soak up the basil flavor, and then strain the whole thing to get rid of the solids. I also whisk in a couple teaspoons of water at the end to thin it out; I've never been fond of viscous vinaigrettes.
This salad is a lot more Martha Stewart-esque than the dishes I usually make, but it's nice for a change. If you too choose to make it, you could substitute feta cheese or candied walnuts (or a non-candied nut, if you prefer). The dressing also could be made with a different kind of preserves or another herb -- mint would be good. And although this salad may reek of privilege, you can use sparingly the more expensive ingredients, like goat cheese and candied pecans. If you want you can sprinkle the cheese finely and coarsely grind just a couple tablespoons of the nuts in a blender or food processor. This way, the flavors are still well-represented but plenty of leftover ingredients remain.
I wish I had taken a picture of Most Excellent Salad in all her beauty and refinement! Just picture for yourself a salad that might be on the cover of Martha Stewart Living, next to headlines about peonies and chiffon cake and the like.
Recipe (In Narrative Form): Most Excellent If Slightly Boojy Salad
The other day I made a Most Excellent If Slightly Boojy Salad consisting of adorable, tiny, local strawberries, some crumbled goat cheese, and some candied pecans over a mix of arugula and spinach. The dressing is one of my best inventions yet, made with three parts olive oil to one part balsamic vinegar and one part raspberry preserves. I whisk everything together, add some fresh basil and salt to the concoction, let it sit for a couple hours to soak up the basil flavor, and then strain the whole thing to get rid of the solids. I also whisk in a couple teaspoons of water at the end to thin it out; I've never been fond of viscous vinaigrettes.
This salad is a lot more Martha Stewart-esque than the dishes I usually make, but it's nice for a change. If you too choose to make it, you could substitute feta cheese or candied walnuts (or a non-candied nut, if you prefer). The dressing also could be made with a different kind of preserves or another herb -- mint would be good. And although this salad may reek of privilege, you can use sparingly the more expensive ingredients, like goat cheese and candied pecans. If you want you can sprinkle the cheese finely and coarsely grind just a couple tablespoons of the nuts in a blender or food processor. This way, the flavors are still well-represented but plenty of leftover ingredients remain.
I wish I had taken a picture of Most Excellent Salad in all her beauty and refinement! Just picture for yourself a salad that might be on the cover of Martha Stewart Living, next to headlines about peonies and chiffon cake and the like.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Losing Streak
This ain't my week. The week before was pretty bad, too. And the week before that I had the consumption, or maybe just some terrible cold, and spent most of my time watching either The Real Housewives of New Jersey (the beastliness of those women is captivating!) or various PBS cooking shows on the WETA Create channel (TRHONJ's equally captivating polar opposite). Three weeks later, the hacking cough and general yuckiness still linger on, but at least my 10-hour-a-day TV habit has been cured.
All this time as an invalid, I still never lost my appetite. But despite watching so much Lidia, Julia, Jacques, and that smug but still likeable Chris Kimball and his mad scientist brigade, I've been in a cooking slump (with one exception, which I'll get to in a few paragraphs). Not that I haven't been inspired -- a few nights ago, for example, I decided on a whim to make corn tortillas. Rather, it's the talent and foresight that seem to be missing. Now, I don't own a tortilla press, and had never before considered buying one. That evening, though, plucky resourcefulness was all I thought I needed to get by.
To make corn tortillas, you just make a dough out of 1 part masa harina (similar to corn meal, and available at most grocery stores), three-quarter parts water, and a teaspoon or so of salt. Then you form the dough into smaller balls which you then flatten with a tortilla press. If you don't have a tortilla press, you resort to dangerous and bizarre techniques, such as setting the dough ball on a plastic-wrapped wooden cutting board and thwacking it as hard as you can with a cast-iron pan. The dough never gets flat enough, a hand bone possibly shatters, and the wooden cutting board most certainly shatters. Then your roommate suggests you use a rolling pin, and you marvel at your own stupidity. But, you discover, corn tortilla dough is too brittle for a rolling pin to be very helpful, and you wish you had thought to buy a $15 tortilla press on your last trip to Target or, better yet, made something more sensible to eat, like a sandwich.
But you forge ahead with a crazy look in your eyes. You are also very hungry at this point. So you heat the same cast iron pan you were earlier using as a weapon. The pan gets extremely hot, and the smoke alarm goes off, but you casually wave at it with a piece of your broken cutting board until it stops. You return to your first pancake-thick corn tortilla, which is frying away over a dry, excessive heat for about 30 seconds on each side. You remove it, take a small bite, and think to yourself, "Not bad, if you like your tortillas the consistency of matzoh."
You then fill your tortilla -- which, you are amazed to discover, actually bends -- with the pinto beans that have been sitting on the stove all this time. You think to yourself, "When it comes to legumes, I got mad skillz yo, these pinto beans gonna be the icing on this particle board, I mean tortilla." But, horrors! you take a bite and almost spit it out! You can't understand what went wrong. You had simmered the beans over low-medium heat for a couple hours. You had doused them in delicious spices and herbs like cumin, cayenne, bay leaf, and oregano. You added plenty of salt at the end. And still they taste terrible. You have no reasonable explanation, so you think to yourself again, for maybe the 15th time in three weeks, "Today just ain't my day."
In fact, the past three weeks have been so bad that you desperately search your recent memory for a silver lining, and stop on some delicious sauteed collard greens inspired by your favorite new cookbook, Vegan Soul Kitchen. The thought of this cookbook and its charming author, Bryant Terry, makes you so happy that you open it and turn to its first recipe (the only one you have yet to try), "Citrus Collards with Raisins Redux." You may be in a slump, but at least your arsenal now contains this dish, which has completely changed how you cook collards, and which you will keep going back to again and again.
Recipe: Bryant Terry's Winning Collard Greens
Adapted and renamed from Vegan Soul Kitchen. Makes two gigantic side dish servings. Consider serving it over rice and beans for a very fast, filling, and healthy meal. Also, save the stems from the collards -- Bryant (we're on a first-name basis) also taught me this -- and cut them into one- or two-inch pieces and saute them separately in olive oil and lemon juice till they're just tender. He refers to these cooked stems as "collard confetti." I like to add them to garlicky white beans and tomatoes. People mistake them for asparagus and have no idea they are usually meant for compost!
1 bunch (about 1 lb) collard greens, stems removed
2 T olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
handful raisins
juice and zest of half an orange
salt and pepper to taste
Stack a few collard leaves at a time, roll them up, and slice them into strips about an inch wide (this is also known as julienne). Do this with all the collards. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and saute for two minutes. Then add the raisins and collards and saute for another three minutes, stirring to make sure all the collards get cooked. Add the orange juice and zest and cook for just 15 seconds and remove from the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste.
All this time as an invalid, I still never lost my appetite. But despite watching so much Lidia, Julia, Jacques, and that smug but still likeable Chris Kimball and his mad scientist brigade, I've been in a cooking slump (with one exception, which I'll get to in a few paragraphs). Not that I haven't been inspired -- a few nights ago, for example, I decided on a whim to make corn tortillas. Rather, it's the talent and foresight that seem to be missing. Now, I don't own a tortilla press, and had never before considered buying one. That evening, though, plucky resourcefulness was all I thought I needed to get by.
To make corn tortillas, you just make a dough out of 1 part masa harina (similar to corn meal, and available at most grocery stores), three-quarter parts water, and a teaspoon or so of salt. Then you form the dough into smaller balls which you then flatten with a tortilla press. If you don't have a tortilla press, you resort to dangerous and bizarre techniques, such as setting the dough ball on a plastic-wrapped wooden cutting board and thwacking it as hard as you can with a cast-iron pan. The dough never gets flat enough, a hand bone possibly shatters, and the wooden cutting board most certainly shatters. Then your roommate suggests you use a rolling pin, and you marvel at your own stupidity. But, you discover, corn tortilla dough is too brittle for a rolling pin to be very helpful, and you wish you had thought to buy a $15 tortilla press on your last trip to Target or, better yet, made something more sensible to eat, like a sandwich.
But you forge ahead with a crazy look in your eyes. You are also very hungry at this point. So you heat the same cast iron pan you were earlier using as a weapon. The pan gets extremely hot, and the smoke alarm goes off, but you casually wave at it with a piece of your broken cutting board until it stops. You return to your first pancake-thick corn tortilla, which is frying away over a dry, excessive heat for about 30 seconds on each side. You remove it, take a small bite, and think to yourself, "Not bad, if you like your tortillas the consistency of matzoh."
You then fill your tortilla -- which, you are amazed to discover, actually bends -- with the pinto beans that have been sitting on the stove all this time. You think to yourself, "When it comes to legumes, I got mad skillz yo, these pinto beans gonna be the icing on this particle board, I mean tortilla." But, horrors! you take a bite and almost spit it out! You can't understand what went wrong. You had simmered the beans over low-medium heat for a couple hours. You had doused them in delicious spices and herbs like cumin, cayenne, bay leaf, and oregano. You added plenty of salt at the end. And still they taste terrible. You have no reasonable explanation, so you think to yourself again, for maybe the 15th time in three weeks, "Today just ain't my day."
In fact, the past three weeks have been so bad that you desperately search your recent memory for a silver lining, and stop on some delicious sauteed collard greens inspired by your favorite new cookbook, Vegan Soul Kitchen. The thought of this cookbook and its charming author, Bryant Terry, makes you so happy that you open it and turn to its first recipe (the only one you have yet to try), "Citrus Collards with Raisins Redux." You may be in a slump, but at least your arsenal now contains this dish, which has completely changed how you cook collards, and which you will keep going back to again and again.
Recipe: Bryant Terry's Winning Collard Greens
Adapted and renamed from Vegan Soul Kitchen. Makes two gigantic side dish servings. Consider serving it over rice and beans for a very fast, filling, and healthy meal. Also, save the stems from the collards -- Bryant (we're on a first-name basis) also taught me this -- and cut them into one- or two-inch pieces and saute them separately in olive oil and lemon juice till they're just tender. He refers to these cooked stems as "collard confetti." I like to add them to garlicky white beans and tomatoes. People mistake them for asparagus and have no idea they are usually meant for compost!
1 bunch (about 1 lb) collard greens, stems removed
2 T olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
handful raisins
juice and zest of half an orange
salt and pepper to taste
Stack a few collard leaves at a time, roll them up, and slice them into strips about an inch wide (this is also known as julienne). Do this with all the collards. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and saute for two minutes. Then add the raisins and collards and saute for another three minutes, stirring to make sure all the collards get cooked. Add the orange juice and zest and cook for just 15 seconds and remove from the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Ruth Reichl, Mothers, French Canadian Baked Beans: A Love Story
Tomorrow night (Thursday, May 7, at 7pm), Gourmet editor-in-chief Ruth Reichl will be at Politics & Prose to discuss her latest book, Not Becoming My Mother. I'm planning to go, but I don't think I will ever read the book. For now at least, it's available only in hardcover, and the Economical Epicurean would never waste her money that way. And, besides, Not Becoming My Mother is -- surprise -- about Ruth Reichl's mother and, frankly, I'm sick and tired of Ruth Reichl's mother. Within the past few months, I've read two other Reichl memoirs, Tender at the Bone (loved it) and Garlic and Sapphires (liked it). Both of these memoirs center around Reichl's life's work -- cooking and eating. The former is about her years as a burgeoning home cook and then chef, and the latter is about her experience as the New York Times restaurant critic. Both books are engaging page-turners, filled with mouth-watering recipes and a heaping side of angst. (I think I liked Garlic and Sapphires less because I just couldn't sympathize with all the angst that apparently went with getting paid to write about four-star meals for America's most prestigious newspaper. I felt only jealousy, sometimes to the point of rage.)
Another thing these books have in common is a fixation on Reichl's literally and figuratively toxic mother. As "The Queen of Mold," she provides some great material for Reichl's more humorous pages, but for the most part she is a huge source of conflict in her daughter's otherwise enviable life. I really don't need to read any more about this difficult woman, especially since probably most of the books I read involve the tenuousness of mother-daughter relationships as a major theme. Enough, already! But I still can't get enough of Ruth Reichl, so I will go see her anyway. And I hope -- and fully expect -- that her stories of reconciliation and forgiveness are peppered throughout with stories about food, as those stories are what Reichl does best.
That reminds me of baked beans, which I used to think were disgusting. I promise, there is a proper segue on its way. As I discussed in my last post, we celebrated my friend and roommate Mike Sanders' birthday this past weekend with a barbecue. He smoked a brisket, and I made the side dishes, all traditional barbecue fare like cole slaw, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, biscuits, and baked beans. Best supporting role went to the baked beans, hands down. I had loosely followed the recipe for Maple Baked Beans from the Gourmet Cookbook, whose editor is...Ruth Reichl. (There! Segue as promised, though maybe not so proper as I had hoped it would be.)
These beans are incredibly delicious and incredibly easy, despite some lengthy hands-off cooking time. I did a bit of research on the French Canadian origins of this dish, known in Quebec as feves au lard. According to Ken Albala's Beans: A History (yes, I am a dork with a capital D), the Quebecois started making this dish, or at least writing down the recipe, in the 19th century, and would follow almost exactly the directions that now appear in the Gourmet cookbook:
Soak navy beans or Great Northern beans in water overnight. Drain and rinse. Boil covered with 2 inches of water and simmer until the beans are somewhat tender. Place in a bean pot with the cooking liquid, maple syrup, mustard, thyme, a hunk of salt pork and a chopped onion. Bake for about six hours at a low temperature. Add a little more syrup and serve.
For my version, I omitted the salt pork so the dish could be enjoyed by vegetarians and omnivories alike. Because I feared this omission might be detrimental to the depth of flavor, I added a couple teaspoons of chili powder to smoken things up. Due to time constraints, I cooked the beans for a shorter period of time -- and at higher heat, to compensate -- than the Gourmet version calls for. To keep costs down, I also used less maple syrup, and I'm glad I did -- I think following the original recipe exactly would have produced some excessively sweet legumes.
Even though baked beans are a side dish, they have great main course potential. They can be served over rice or barley or a baked potato. In the last hour or so of cooking, you could add some chopped bitter greens, like kale, collards, or mustard greens, for a boost of nutrients and an interesting twist of flavor. You could even eat them in a tortilla or pita, maybe with a sprinkling of cheese. Any way you eat them, you will be thankful for the Quebecois for coming up with the recipe, Ruth Reichl for including it in her cookbook, and Ruth Reichl's mom -- however horrifying she may have been -- for bringing this great epicurean into the world.
Recipe: Feves au Lard, or Maple Baked Beans
Adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook. Serves 12-15 as a side dish. If you're cooking this for just yourself, halve the recipe. You will have no trouble finishing it over the course of a couple days. Maple syrup aside, it costs pittance to make.
1 (16 oz.) bag of dried navy beans
1 medium onion, finely chopped
3 t salt
1 t pepper
2 T chili powder
2/3 C real maple syrup
1 t dijon mustard (the original recipe calls for dry mustard -- use whichever you have or prefer)
6 C water
Soak the beans overnight. Drain, and put them in a Dutch oven. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Stir into beans the onion, salt, pepper, chili powder, maple syrup, and mustard. Add the water to the beans. Bring to a boil on the stove, then cover and bake for an hour and a half, stirring occasionally. Remove cover and bake for another hour or until liquid is mostly absorbed.
Another thing these books have in common is a fixation on Reichl's literally and figuratively toxic mother. As "The Queen of Mold," she provides some great material for Reichl's more humorous pages, but for the most part she is a huge source of conflict in her daughter's otherwise enviable life. I really don't need to read any more about this difficult woman, especially since probably most of the books I read involve the tenuousness of mother-daughter relationships as a major theme. Enough, already! But I still can't get enough of Ruth Reichl, so I will go see her anyway. And I hope -- and fully expect -- that her stories of reconciliation and forgiveness are peppered throughout with stories about food, as those stories are what Reichl does best.
That reminds me of baked beans, which I used to think were disgusting. I promise, there is a proper segue on its way. As I discussed in my last post, we celebrated my friend and roommate Mike Sanders' birthday this past weekend with a barbecue. He smoked a brisket, and I made the side dishes, all traditional barbecue fare like cole slaw, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, biscuits, and baked beans. Best supporting role went to the baked beans, hands down. I had loosely followed the recipe for Maple Baked Beans from the Gourmet Cookbook, whose editor is...Ruth Reichl. (There! Segue as promised, though maybe not so proper as I had hoped it would be.)
These beans are incredibly delicious and incredibly easy, despite some lengthy hands-off cooking time. I did a bit of research on the French Canadian origins of this dish, known in Quebec as feves au lard. According to Ken Albala's Beans: A History (yes, I am a dork with a capital D), the Quebecois started making this dish, or at least writing down the recipe, in the 19th century, and would follow almost exactly the directions that now appear in the Gourmet cookbook:
Soak navy beans or Great Northern beans in water overnight. Drain and rinse. Boil covered with 2 inches of water and simmer until the beans are somewhat tender. Place in a bean pot with the cooking liquid, maple syrup, mustard, thyme, a hunk of salt pork and a chopped onion. Bake for about six hours at a low temperature. Add a little more syrup and serve.
For my version, I omitted the salt pork so the dish could be enjoyed by vegetarians and omnivories alike. Because I feared this omission might be detrimental to the depth of flavor, I added a couple teaspoons of chili powder to smoken things up. Due to time constraints, I cooked the beans for a shorter period of time -- and at higher heat, to compensate -- than the Gourmet version calls for. To keep costs down, I also used less maple syrup, and I'm glad I did -- I think following the original recipe exactly would have produced some excessively sweet legumes.
Even though baked beans are a side dish, they have great main course potential. They can be served over rice or barley or a baked potato. In the last hour or so of cooking, you could add some chopped bitter greens, like kale, collards, or mustard greens, for a boost of nutrients and an interesting twist of flavor. You could even eat them in a tortilla or pita, maybe with a sprinkling of cheese. Any way you eat them, you will be thankful for the Quebecois for coming up with the recipe, Ruth Reichl for including it in her cookbook, and Ruth Reichl's mom -- however horrifying she may have been -- for bringing this great epicurean into the world.
Recipe: Feves au Lard, or Maple Baked Beans
Adapted from the Gourmet Cookbook. Serves 12-15 as a side dish. If you're cooking this for just yourself, halve the recipe. You will have no trouble finishing it over the course of a couple days. Maple syrup aside, it costs pittance to make.
1 (16 oz.) bag of dried navy beans
1 medium onion, finely chopped
3 t salt
1 t pepper
2 T chili powder
2/3 C real maple syrup
1 t dijon mustard (the original recipe calls for dry mustard -- use whichever you have or prefer)
6 C water
Soak the beans overnight. Drain, and put them in a Dutch oven. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Stir into beans the onion, salt, pepper, chili powder, maple syrup, and mustard. Add the water to the beans. Bring to a boil on the stove, then cover and bake for an hour and a half, stirring occasionally. Remove cover and bake for another hour or until liquid is mostly absorbed.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Mint Juleps
The Kentbury Kompound will be hosting yet another outdoor (weather-permitting) fete this Saturday, and though it is principally a celebration of roommate Mike Sanders' birthday, it happens to coincide with the Kentucky Derby. No burgoo or hot browns for us -- we'll be enjoying brisket courtesy of Sanders' fancy new smoker instead -- but I'm planning to give Derby Day a nod with some refreshing mint juleps. I've been combing the internets for a good recipe and I'm happy to find that, unlike most things in life, mint juleps come pretty standard.
Recipe: Mint Juleps
Can serve as many people as necessary, depending on how much simple syrup you make and how much bourbon you have -- just keep in mind that each drink gets one tablespoon of the simple syrup, and 16 tablespoons equal a cup. If you make a simple syrup using one cup of sugar and one cup of water (obviously, the sugar dissolves in the water, so you don't end up with a full two cups of syrup), you should have enough for maybe 20 or so servings.
You make a simple syrup by boiling equal parts sugar and water together for five minutes. Then you stir in some mint leaves (for extra mintiness, grind them in with a wooden spoon) and refrigerate the simple syrup overnight. Before serving, fill each glass with ice, two shots of bourbon (we happen to have some Maker's Mark, but there are definitely cheaper ones out there), and one tablespoon of the minted simple syrup, and stir together. Garnish with extra mint leaves.
So classic, so elegant, so surprisingly economical! I sure hope the weather's nice because I already have in mind the perfect dress to go with my mint julep, ridiculous as that may sound. But, more importantly: Happy Birthday, Sandy!
UPDATE: The party was a great time, and Sanders' brisket was delicious, and we all got a kick out of Derby-winning jockey Calvin Borel, but it turns out I don't even like mint juleps (even though I do like whiskey) and would advise against following my recipe. Sorry. Make mojitos instead!
Recipe: Mint Juleps
Can serve as many people as necessary, depending on how much simple syrup you make and how much bourbon you have -- just keep in mind that each drink gets one tablespoon of the simple syrup, and 16 tablespoons equal a cup. If you make a simple syrup using one cup of sugar and one cup of water (obviously, the sugar dissolves in the water, so you don't end up with a full two cups of syrup), you should have enough for maybe 20 or so servings.
You make a simple syrup by boiling equal parts sugar and water together for five minutes. Then you stir in some mint leaves (for extra mintiness, grind them in with a wooden spoon) and refrigerate the simple syrup overnight. Before serving, fill each glass with ice, two shots of bourbon (we happen to have some Maker's Mark, but there are definitely cheaper ones out there), and one tablespoon of the minted simple syrup, and stir together. Garnish with extra mint leaves.
So classic, so elegant, so surprisingly economical! I sure hope the weather's nice because I already have in mind the perfect dress to go with my mint julep, ridiculous as that may sound. But, more importantly: Happy Birthday, Sandy!
UPDATE: The party was a great time, and Sanders' brisket was delicious, and we all got a kick out of Derby-winning jockey Calvin Borel, but it turns out I don't even like mint juleps (even though I do like whiskey) and would advise against following my recipe. Sorry. Make mojitos instead!
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