September 16, 2012
February 11, 2012
Sweet Beets
Nigella Lawson's recipes have a beautifully generous quality about them. She often references "Lawson portions" (i.e. BIG), which gets me very excited. Although I can't enjoy the generous portions I used to (office job! slow metabolism!) -- I get very excited about the idea of large portions. I'd give anything for my 19-year-old appetite. It was fun.
Which is why I was drawn to her beet soup recipe. It's clean and sprightly, with Dijon mustard and balsamic vinegar foiling the sweet beets. It's found in her book, "How to Eat". If there's anyone I'm willing to let dictate how I eat, it's undoubtedly Ms. Lawson. She with her butterscotch cake that made a former colleague nearly weep with joy. All the same, she has a way with brussels sprouts that makes me nearly weep. (The secret is bacon, of course.) She's the queen of both sweet and savory.
Back to the soup. The biggest task is boiling and peeling the beets, but it can be done days ahead. Once that's done, it's a matter of putting them in the blender with water, dijon mustard, and balsamic vinegar. Pour the puree in a pan, add more water until it's the consistency you like, and heat until desired. Note that the soup will thicken as it sits in the fridge; you'll want to add more water upon reheating. Also, don't wear white when you make this.
Trust me.
"How to Eat" by Nigella Lawson
Ingredients
2 large or 4 small beets (about 1.5 lbs)
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 Tbs balsamic vinegar
buttermilk or yogurt (optional)
Instructions
Put the beets in a large pot, cover with cold water, bring to a boil, and boil for 2 hours or until tender. (Less, if they're small.) Slip a knife in one to test doneness; it should insert easily. Remove the cooked beets (retaining the cooking liquid) and slip their skins off under running cold water. This step can be done days ahead.
Put beets in a food processor or blender together with the mustard and balsamic vinegar. Puree, adding the cooking liquid until the texture is as you like it. (Mine was a bit thick.) The soup will thicken as it sits in the fridge, so you'll want to add a little more water each time as you reheat. Add buttermilk, yogurt, or sour cream if desired. Snipped chives are nice, too.
January 22, 2012
A Unique Month
When the wind snaps and the snow falls, nothing offers more comfort than a hardy stew. But January is a unique month. Its chill echos December's call to hibernate, yet January offers suggestions to mend. Stews can be too much, too heavy. I want food that offers both substance and succor.
It calls itself a ragout. Page 289 of Amanda Hesser's "The Essential New York Times Cookbook" offers a Roasted Carrot and Red Lentil Ragout. The roasted carrots are deep and sweet. The lentils are impartial, but the heat is deft. Listed in the cookbook's index under the "Dinner on a Moment's Notice" section, it's a cinch to make.
It's no beauty queen, but makes up in practicality for what it lacks in eye appeal. The recipe is forgiving. Add as much or little chile powder to suit your taste. I will use less next time, as well as more roasted carrots. The ragout is happy atop rice or alongside boiled potatoes, and takes a liking to a dallop of yogurt or sour cream when eaten by itself. The rich-sweet smell of roasting carrots will have you thinking of this ragout long after your bowl is empty.
Roasted Carrot and Red Lentil Ragout
Ingredients
1.5 lbs carrots, peeled
5 Tbs. olive oil
2.5 tsp kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
3/4 tsp ancho chile powder
3/4 tsp chipotle chile powder
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1 cup red lentils, rinsed and picked over
5 cups chicken broth
1. Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Lay the carrots in a roasting pan or a baking sheet and toss with 3 Tbs oil. Season with 1.5 tsp salt and a few grinds of pepper. Roast for 20 minutes.
2. Turn the carrots, add the onion, and roast for 15 minutes, or until the carrots are brown and tender. Remove from the oven.
3. When the carrots are cool enough, cut them into 1/4 inch dice.
4. Heat the remaining 2 Tbs oil in a large saucepan. Add the carrots and onions, chile powder, and cayenne pepper, and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Stir in the lentils, add the broth, and bring to a simmer. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for 20 to 25 minutes, until the lentils are falling apart. Season with the remaining 1 tsp salt and pepper to taste.
It calls itself a ragout. Page 289 of Amanda Hesser's "The Essential New York Times Cookbook" offers a Roasted Carrot and Red Lentil Ragout. The roasted carrots are deep and sweet. The lentils are impartial, but the heat is deft. Listed in the cookbook's index under the "Dinner on a Moment's Notice" section, it's a cinch to make.
It's no beauty queen, but makes up in practicality for what it lacks in eye appeal. The recipe is forgiving. Add as much or little chile powder to suit your taste. I will use less next time, as well as more roasted carrots. The ragout is happy atop rice or alongside boiled potatoes, and takes a liking to a dallop of yogurt or sour cream when eaten by itself. The rich-sweet smell of roasting carrots will have you thinking of this ragout long after your bowl is empty.
Roasted Carrot and Red Lentil Ragout
Ingredients
1.5 lbs carrots, peeled
5 Tbs. olive oil
2.5 tsp kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
3/4 tsp ancho chile powder
3/4 tsp chipotle chile powder
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1 cup red lentils, rinsed and picked over
5 cups chicken broth
1. Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Lay the carrots in a roasting pan or a baking sheet and toss with 3 Tbs oil. Season with 1.5 tsp salt and a few grinds of pepper. Roast for 20 minutes.
2. Turn the carrots, add the onion, and roast for 15 minutes, or until the carrots are brown and tender. Remove from the oven.
3. When the carrots are cool enough, cut them into 1/4 inch dice.
4. Heat the remaining 2 Tbs oil in a large saucepan. Add the carrots and onions, chile powder, and cayenne pepper, and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Stir in the lentils, add the broth, and bring to a simmer. Simmer, stirring occasionally, for 20 to 25 minutes, until the lentils are falling apart. Season with the remaining 1 tsp salt and pepper to taste.
December 23, 2011
Merry merry
Here's the entry to a post I started about our Maui honeymoon:
A salty kiss in the ocean. Ham and pineapple scrambled eggs. $5 bags of WA apples. Mango smoothie breakfasts. Retirees. Newlyweds. Kindles on the beach. Apple bananas.
And the post sat for months, as I intended to tell you so much more. I finally see that those things sum up Hawaii for us: surprising, yet sweet and gentle. By now our tan lines have disappeared, and our swimwear couldn't be more buried in our closet. We've substituted apple bananas for clementines, and our swimwear for wool and cashmere.
The sunshine has been replaced by our Christmas lights, both on our tree and those scattered throughout our living room. Our days are much shorter (and busier!), but we're excited spending our first 'married' Holiday season together.
Happy Holidays. Eat, drink, and be merry!
A salty kiss in the ocean. Ham and pineapple scrambled eggs. $5 bags of WA apples. Mango smoothie breakfasts. Retirees. Newlyweds. Kindles on the beach. Apple bananas.
And the post sat for months, as I intended to tell you so much more. I finally see that those things sum up Hawaii for us: surprising, yet sweet and gentle. By now our tan lines have disappeared, and our swimwear couldn't be more buried in our closet. We've substituted apple bananas for clementines, and our swimwear for wool and cashmere.
The sunshine has been replaced by our Christmas lights, both on our tree and those scattered throughout our living room. Our days are much shorter (and busier!), but we're excited spending our first 'married' Holiday season together.
Happy Holidays. Eat, drink, and be merry!
September 27, 2011
We're Home
Some things don't need many words to explain. The wedding was great, guests even better, and we're slowly building on our home together. Young and happy! Here are a few shots from our home.
Apple tart to bring in fall.
My wedding bouquet.
What our movie nights looked like before our new couch.
... after couch(es).
Apple tart to bring in fall.
My wedding bouquet.
What our movie nights looked like before our new couch.
... after couch(es).
August 20, 2011
What I Know
'Write what you know.' That was the mantra rehashed by my journalism professors year after year. That, and 'omit needless words.' Since using the latter as a theme for this post would produce a snooze-fest, let's go with the first. Plus it's back-to-school season--what better way to pay homage to those old profs than listing a few things I now know since leaving my Alma mater. Here goes:
Good listeners are almost always well-liked.
A misshappen vegetable is a sign of a quality product.
A good heel can make a $20 pair of slim Levis look like a million bucks... or actually more like $30.
When in doubt, choose black or white.
Practice makes (almost) perfect.
If my cupboards were filled only with ramekins, I would be just fine.
The most essential kitchen item is a sharp knife.
"Fake it 'till you feel it," actually works.
I like 'having tea', but I don't really like tea itself.
No matter how silent they are, Coldplay will always be quietly churning out a fabulous album.
Never underestimate the power of a (or five) white Hanes cotton t-shirt as a closet staple.
The New Yorker on the iPad has to be one of the best releases in 2011 yet.
What about you? What do you know?
July 23, 2011
Time for Morning
Joining a vanpool for my work commute has several benefits, time-savings being a major one. (Learning about the best Costco-buys from my fellow vanpoolers being another.) But if I'm honest, it's having time for a coffee routine that has me thanking the Metro Transit gods.
Not being in such a hurry has surfaced simple pleasures previously overlooked, like the coziness of rumpled bedsheets.
Here's to another week of bedsheets, a routine coffee, and other simple pleasures.
Not being in such a hurry has surfaced simple pleasures previously overlooked, like the coziness of rumpled bedsheets.
Here's to another week of bedsheets, a routine coffee, and other simple pleasures.
June 25, 2011
A Few Favorites
A bright blue linen dress from a thrift store and a new striped Echo scarf, just a few things I've been enjoying now that summer has begun. The list below has also given extra sunshine to my days:
- This Ice Cream Book
- Coldplay's new single
- Whole Living Magazine
- Local beer with frozen peas as impromptu ice cubes. (The beer was warm and I wouldn't have any of that! The peas were great to nibble in between sips.)
- This Book
- Finding Nelly Furtado in the deep grooves of my iTunes library
- Finding a compact version of the Fannie Farmer Cookbook for $7
June 19, 2011
It Should Be
Today felt like June should. Warm air, flip flops, fresh fruit, sun dress, wine, nap under a tree. The air smelled of smiles, if you can imagine it.
It didn't come easy. Unimpressed with Seattle's June weekend clouds, we packed a lunch and headed east to the heart of Washington's wine country- Yakima. An icy bottle of Pinot Gris welcomed us, along with soft grass, and a shade-offering tree.
I got to spend time with this guy, my best friend and husband come September. No amount of sun dresses or fresh fruit can top spending time with him. He's my personal encyclopedia, is quick to vacuum, appreciates good tea, and makes me feel very pretty. Just how it should be.
May 31, 2011
Chocolate Caramel Tart
I wish I could sit here, on the brink of summer berry season, and wax on about the jams, pies, and tarts that will soon be finding their way to us. Truth is, I'd much rather have an apple than a piece of apple pie. A good bowl of blueberries splashed with cream can't be beat (especially when you smash the berries with the back of your spoon and infuse the cream with berry juice).
But when it comes to dessert, I go for the chocolate.
Which is why, on the last weekend of May, when the local rhubarb could have been transformed into any number of things, I decided to make Amanda Hesser's chocolate caramel tart. You wouldn't believe, but the showstopper here is neither the chocolate or the caramel. It's the sea salt--those flecks of goodness you see sprinkled above. I would even argue it makes chocolate a bit more summery, brightening up the flavor and adding some life.
Life-enhancing salt aside, below is what I got for taking these photos too close to my fiances desk, who looked over and noticed the tart had a 'smile' and proceeded to poke his finger in two times so 'it' could have eyes too.
Boys.
We were high on sunshine; I guess I don't blame him. (If you scroll back up to the first photo, you'll likely see the cracking smile that he saw, too.) Here's to a summer full of smiles--and chocolate!
But when it comes to dessert, I go for the chocolate.
Which is why, on the last weekend of May, when the local rhubarb could have been transformed into any number of things, I decided to make Amanda Hesser's chocolate caramel tart. You wouldn't believe, but the showstopper here is neither the chocolate or the caramel. It's the sea salt--those flecks of goodness you see sprinkled above. I would even argue it makes chocolate a bit more summery, brightening up the flavor and adding some life.
Life-enhancing salt aside, below is what I got for taking these photos too close to my fiances desk, who looked over and noticed the tart had a 'smile' and proceeded to poke his finger in two times so 'it' could have eyes too.
Boys.
We were high on sunshine; I guess I don't blame him. (If you scroll back up to the first photo, you'll likely see the cracking smile that he saw, too.) Here's to a summer full of smiles--and chocolate!
May 15, 2011
Yes (!)
Andrei proposed last Sunday, and I said yes. It really does call for an exclamation point, which is normally used judiciously around here. But I think we can make an exception this time, so let's try it again.
I said yes!
What else can I say except that I'm blissfully happy with the lot life has handed me. Especially since that lot currently involves rhubarb (and obvs the aforementioned engagement). Since an engagement can last half a year and rhubarb season a brief month, I made a tart from Florence Fabricant's New York Times Dessert Cookbook, which also contains wickedly good boozy cakes that have proven to be great conversation starters at office parties.
As is true with relationships, jobs, and even tarts--nothing happens overnight and the things that are really worth the effort certainly take more of it than we sometimes thought ourselves capable of. But then we find ourselves capable and are reminded of the strength in ourselves and others.
I said yes!
What else can I say except that I'm blissfully happy with the lot life has handed me. Especially since that lot currently involves rhubarb (and obvs the aforementioned engagement). Since an engagement can last half a year and rhubarb season a brief month, I made a tart from Florence Fabricant's New York Times Dessert Cookbook, which also contains wickedly good boozy cakes that have proven to be great conversation starters at office parties.
As is true with relationships, jobs, and even tarts--nothing happens overnight and the things that are really worth the effort certainly take more of it than we sometimes thought ourselves capable of. But then we find ourselves capable and are reminded of the strength in ourselves and others.
April 24, 2011
Our Tea Time
I don't have a recipe for these cookies that I made with Andrei's mom in Belarus, as I was too busy deciphering Russian--trying to decide if she was talking about child-rearing or a visit to the dentist. Nonetheless, they were delicious and gave us a reason to tinker in the kitchen together. What I can say is that they contain flour, margarine (I think?), a pinch of salt, and tvorg (Russian cottage cheese). They're light and tasty, especially with tea and a bit of jam.
I wasn't having tea with the Queen, but I was having tea with a woman who comes from a line of Russian aristocracy, and who gave Andrei and I two silver spoons for our apartment--with strict orders to use them every day because "every day is a celebration."
These cookies are the perfect thing to have with this sort of woman, while she tells you why "we" is the best word, why a woman needs to take good care of herself first before she can take good care of her family, and why Jackie O. is her favorite American. A pair of gloves she gave me (roughly this color) sealed the deal. This is a start to a long (and colorful!) friendship.
So here's to Belarus--its thick dairy, bountiful sunflowers, gentle sunlight, and for being a place to look forward to visiting often.
April 12, 2011
From (Bela)Russia With Love
After many sleepless hours and declining several glasses (5!) of complimentary wine on our Luftansa flight, we arrived to Belarus--only a train ride away from finally laying our heads down in a room that one of us called home. And a flower from a father who was awaiting our arrival.
Belarus won't be found on the list of the world's top places to visit, but it's truly a charming city in its own regard. A best-kept secret as I like to think of it. Oddly bright-colored houses dotting the countryside, old babushkas that give a long cold stare before it melts into a warm smile, Soviet-style buildings that demand attention, stern taxi drivers that listen to Eurotrash and probably don't give correct change but nobody cares, and of course the many various delicacies of the table.
My boyfriend's father grew up in a small village outside of Brest and is a master of all things pickled, fermented, forraged, and homemade. One of these gems I can't believe it took flying across the world to learn. It's called compote. It's dead simple and incredibly tasty--qualities that are reflective of almost anything you'll find on the Eastern European table. Compote, in essence, is homemade juice made from boiled apples and whatever spices or sweeteners you'd like.
Make sure the apples are sliced thinly (fresh or dehydrated), pour in the desired amount of water (less for a stronger flavor), give the mixture a squeeze of lemon and drop in any spices or herbs you'd like--maybe cloves, anise, or even thyme. Boil gently until the flavor is to your liking and keep the apples in the mixture while you store it. The flavor only gets better. You can drink this hot or cold, before or after a meal. Sweeten to taste with honey or sugar. Here, they usually drink it after a meal, in-lieu of tea or coffee in the middle of the day.
Compote barely scratches the surface of all that I've experienced and learned so far--like 'Russian Wassabi', pelmini, marinated mushrooms, pickled cabbage, poppy seed cheesecake, halvah, golden-yolked eggs, and not to mention the Cuban treats (honey, guavas, or rum, anyone?) that my boyfriend's mother brought back with her from a recent trip. But I'll leave all this for another time, until then-- "Dasvedanya"!
Belarus won't be found on the list of the world's top places to visit, but it's truly a charming city in its own regard. A best-kept secret as I like to think of it. Oddly bright-colored houses dotting the countryside, old babushkas that give a long cold stare before it melts into a warm smile, Soviet-style buildings that demand attention, stern taxi drivers that listen to Eurotrash and probably don't give correct change but nobody cares, and of course the many various delicacies of the table.
My boyfriend's father grew up in a small village outside of Brest and is a master of all things pickled, fermented, forraged, and homemade. One of these gems I can't believe it took flying across the world to learn. It's called compote. It's dead simple and incredibly tasty--qualities that are reflective of almost anything you'll find on the Eastern European table. Compote, in essence, is homemade juice made from boiled apples and whatever spices or sweeteners you'd like.
Make sure the apples are sliced thinly (fresh or dehydrated), pour in the desired amount of water (less for a stronger flavor), give the mixture a squeeze of lemon and drop in any spices or herbs you'd like--maybe cloves, anise, or even thyme. Boil gently until the flavor is to your liking and keep the apples in the mixture while you store it. The flavor only gets better. You can drink this hot or cold, before or after a meal. Sweeten to taste with honey or sugar. Here, they usually drink it after a meal, in-lieu of tea or coffee in the middle of the day.
Compote barely scratches the surface of all that I've experienced and learned so far--like 'Russian Wassabi', pelmini, marinated mushrooms, pickled cabbage, poppy seed cheesecake, halvah, golden-yolked eggs, and not to mention the Cuban treats (honey, guavas, or rum, anyone?) that my boyfriend's mother brought back with her from a recent trip. But I'll leave all this for another time, until then-- "Dasvedanya"!
March 19, 2011
Buckwheat Loves Chocolate
In honor of our upcoming trip to Belarus (i.e. Meeting The Boyfriend's Family For The First Time) my attention for all-things baking has centered around buckwheat. (Eastern Europeans eat buckwheat like Americans eat Cheerios.) If there's one book on my shelf that saves the day when a random sack of flour (buckwheat, teff, spelt) is found in the cupboard, its Kim Boyce's Good to the Grain. And she had just the thing - Chocolate Buckwheat Muffins.
Boyce's recipe actually calls for persimmons, but that is not in on the regular rotation of our fruit bowl, so it got left out of the fun. The muffins were delicious nonetheless. Every time a baking recipe works out for me, I have to say I'm a bit shocked. I'm not a baker by nature. I like to improvise, I'm okay with ambiguity, and I can be found to have little patience in the kitchen. But my ever-piqued curiosity wouldn't let me take another pass at the bag of buckwheat without giving this recipe a shot.
And I'm telling you, buckwheat loves chocolate. Both are sweet yet bitter, and something about the depth of the chocolate made buckwheat immensely interesting, giving it almost a nutty quality.
Now that I know how nicely these once-miscellaneous bags of random flours play with the more extolled items in my larder, I'll be grabbing for them more often. (Recipe can be found here.)
February 21, 2011
It's Quite Something
When it comes to winter, I'm torn. On one hand it's an excuse to stay in on the weekends and work my way through this behemoth, revisit music from college, cook next week's dinners, and go on an occasional drive when the sun eventually shines its face.
On the other hand, it means the vegetable scene is a bit grim. Which is why, during these months, soup is the mainstay of this apartment.
That we have beans and legumes to sustain us during these barren months, I will forever be grateful. Red lentil soup with lemons is reminiscent of tomatoes; green lentil soup with bacon could pass as, well, green lentil soup with bacon. (I tried.) And then there's the split pea family - yellow and green. God bless them. They could almost get by being called a vegetable.
To say that the only good thing these months offer is pea soup would be a grave disservice to this most-peaceful of seasons. Despite the complaints above, I couldn't get on without this rest. It's quiet, and I like that.
As our ever-changing landscape of technology can be noisy and distracting, quietness is a great ally for me. In last week's New Yorker, Adam Gopnik wrote an essay reviewing books about how technology is changing us. Although this topic has been written about ad nauseum, Gopnik hit it spot on when he said, "Once it [technology] is not everything, it can be merely something."
The latter part is how I feel about winter's limited food selection. It's no bounty, but it's certainly quite something in its quietness.
Yellow Split Pea Soup with Frankfurters
From 'The Book of Jewish Food'
This is the next soup recipe on my list, found in Claudia Roden's Book of Jewish Food. Although I'm as WASP-y is they come and Jewish food isn't a regular occurrence around here (but it soon may be), I simply love that this recipe gives hot dogs an air of class.
Roden suggests butter beans or red lentils could also be used here. Also, consider halving the recipe. (It serves 10.) I like split peas, but everything has its limits.
Ingredients
1 large onion, chopped
2 carrots, sliced
3 Tbs light vegetable oil
1 lb. yellow split peas, soaked overnight
13 cups chicken or beef stock (or 2 bouillon cubes)
A bunch of celery leaves, chopped
Salt and pepper
2 bay leaves
3/4 lb. skinless frankfurters or wurst sausages, sliced
Juice of 1/2 lemon or more to taste
Instructions
In a large pan, gently fry the onion and carrots in the oil till they soften. Add the drained yellow peas and about 2/3 of the stock and bring to a boil. Remove the 'scum', add the celery leaves, and simmer, covered on very low heat for about 1 hour, or until the peas are soft. Liquefy the soup in a blender or food processor and return it to the pan.
Add salt and pepper, the bay leaves, and the rest of the stock-the amount depends on the consistency that you prefer. (Author's Note: The reason for adding it at this stage is to make blending easier with less liquid.) Cook 1/2 hour longer. Add the sausages and lemon juice, and a little water if necessary, and cook a few minutes more. Serve very hot.
On the other hand, it means the vegetable scene is a bit grim. Which is why, during these months, soup is the mainstay of this apartment.
That we have beans and legumes to sustain us during these barren months, I will forever be grateful. Red lentil soup with lemons is reminiscent of tomatoes; green lentil soup with bacon could pass as, well, green lentil soup with bacon. (I tried.) And then there's the split pea family - yellow and green. God bless them. They could almost get by being called a vegetable.
To say that the only good thing these months offer is pea soup would be a grave disservice to this most-peaceful of seasons. Despite the complaints above, I couldn't get on without this rest. It's quiet, and I like that.
As our ever-changing landscape of technology can be noisy and distracting, quietness is a great ally for me. In last week's New Yorker, Adam Gopnik wrote an essay reviewing books about how technology is changing us. Although this topic has been written about ad nauseum, Gopnik hit it spot on when he said, "Once it [technology] is not everything, it can be merely something."
The latter part is how I feel about winter's limited food selection. It's no bounty, but it's certainly quite something in its quietness.
Yellow Split Pea Soup with Frankfurters
From 'The Book of Jewish Food'
This is the next soup recipe on my list, found in Claudia Roden's Book of Jewish Food. Although I'm as WASP-y is they come and Jewish food isn't a regular occurrence around here (but it soon may be), I simply love that this recipe gives hot dogs an air of class.
Roden suggests butter beans or red lentils could also be used here. Also, consider halving the recipe. (It serves 10.) I like split peas, but everything has its limits.
Ingredients
1 large onion, chopped
2 carrots, sliced
3 Tbs light vegetable oil
1 lb. yellow split peas, soaked overnight
13 cups chicken or beef stock (or 2 bouillon cubes)
A bunch of celery leaves, chopped
Salt and pepper
2 bay leaves
3/4 lb. skinless frankfurters or wurst sausages, sliced
Juice of 1/2 lemon or more to taste
Instructions
In a large pan, gently fry the onion and carrots in the oil till they soften. Add the drained yellow peas and about 2/3 of the stock and bring to a boil. Remove the 'scum', add the celery leaves, and simmer, covered on very low heat for about 1 hour, or until the peas are soft. Liquefy the soup in a blender or food processor and return it to the pan.
Add salt and pepper, the bay leaves, and the rest of the stock-the amount depends on the consistency that you prefer. (Author's Note: The reason for adding it at this stage is to make blending easier with less liquid.) Cook 1/2 hour longer. Add the sausages and lemon juice, and a little water if necessary, and cook a few minutes more. Serve very hot.
January 30, 2011
Lemon Love
If I had it my way, it wouldn't be lemonade that one supposedly should make when life hands them lemons, but lemon curd.
Luckily, the only lemons in my life are these beautiful golden jewels below, which are like globes of sunshine in this tiny apartment. The thing about lemon curd is that it isn't too much of any single sensation (tart, sweet, rich, light), but is the quiet sum of them all. I like to call it 'Lemon Love'. The other thing it has against lemonade is that it's spreadable, and who doesn't love slathering a layer of a delicious-anything over buttered toast in these chilly months?
This curd's uses are endless: spread on toast, top a pancake, layer a cake, dollop on ice cream, stir into yogurt. Heck, I've even stirred it into Earl Grey tea to both sweeten the tea and give it a kick of lemon. Why not?
This recipe is actually adapted from a lime curd recipe, and I substituted the lime juice for the same amount of lemon juice. Also, vanilla was a last-minute addition to warm up the flavor.
It must be noted that the cookbook this recipe came from, Nigella Lawson's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess', is divine. As with many of Lawson's books, its pages are filled with wit, luscious photography, and style - the type of cookbook that easily passes for bedtime reading. Tea, toast, and lemon curd are sometimes required.
Lemon Curd
Adapted from 'How to Be A Domestic Goddess'
Ingredients
6 Tbs unsalted butter
3 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup lemon juice (about 4 lemons)
1 tsp vanilla, optional
zest of 1 lemon
Instructions
Melt the butter in a heavy-based saucepan, add all the other ingredients and whisk to a custard over a gentle heat. Let cool before filling a jar - or a cake - with it. Keep it in the refrigerator. Makes about 1 3/4 cups.
Luckily, the only lemons in my life are these beautiful golden jewels below, which are like globes of sunshine in this tiny apartment. The thing about lemon curd is that it isn't too much of any single sensation (tart, sweet, rich, light), but is the quiet sum of them all. I like to call it 'Lemon Love'. The other thing it has against lemonade is that it's spreadable, and who doesn't love slathering a layer of a delicious-anything over buttered toast in these chilly months?
This curd's uses are endless: spread on toast, top a pancake, layer a cake, dollop on ice cream, stir into yogurt. Heck, I've even stirred it into Earl Grey tea to both sweeten the tea and give it a kick of lemon. Why not?
This recipe is actually adapted from a lime curd recipe, and I substituted the lime juice for the same amount of lemon juice. Also, vanilla was a last-minute addition to warm up the flavor.
It must be noted that the cookbook this recipe came from, Nigella Lawson's 'How to be a Domestic Goddess', is divine. As with many of Lawson's books, its pages are filled with wit, luscious photography, and style - the type of cookbook that easily passes for bedtime reading. Tea, toast, and lemon curd are sometimes required.
Lemon Curd
Adapted from 'How to Be A Domestic Goddess'
Ingredients
6 Tbs unsalted butter
3 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup lemon juice (about 4 lemons)
1 tsp vanilla, optional
zest of 1 lemon
Instructions
Melt the butter in a heavy-based saucepan, add all the other ingredients and whisk to a custard over a gentle heat. Let cool before filling a jar - or a cake - with it. Keep it in the refrigerator. Makes about 1 3/4 cups.
December 13, 2010
Staying In
The combination of spattering rain, laundry begging to be done, holiday travel packing needing to be planned, and the acquisition of a new cookbook all leave me with no choice but to do one thing on the weekend - stay in.
That, and we've had some beautiful breads grace our kitchen lately. What more does one need? (Butter, yes - but that's a given.) So that's what we did this weekend. And by 'we' I mean 'I', although I had my partner by me, cleaning and tasting all the while.
The Europhile in me cannot get enough of Nigella Lawson's cookbooks lately (note the new purchase above) and this Brit has been inspiring me left and right. She's got an arms-wide-open approach to both cooking and life that I just love. See her for yourself.
So, here's to good bread and being inspired. Hope you all have a great Holiday.
That, and we've had some beautiful breads grace our kitchen lately. What more does one need? (Butter, yes - but that's a given.) So that's what we did this weekend. And by 'we' I mean 'I', although I had my partner by me, cleaning and tasting all the while.
The Europhile in me cannot get enough of Nigella Lawson's cookbooks lately (note the new purchase above) and this Brit has been inspiring me left and right. She's got an arms-wide-open approach to both cooking and life that I just love. See her for yourself.
So, here's to good bread and being inspired. Hope you all have a great Holiday.
November 25, 2010
Giving Thanks
I'm fortunate enough to have mentors who know themselves very well, and I'm most thankful to have them in my life. Self-awareness is a character trait I greatly admire in others.
That said, if there's one thing I've learned about myself this year - it's that I'd much rather just do something than talk about it. I'd rather get my stand mixer out and start creaming the butter and sugar than wax poetically about the virtues of using organic, unsalted butter -which is indeed what I use. (Speaking of butter and sugar, they were definitely present in this beauty of a breakfast this morning.)
My inclination to do, rather than chat, is why - going forward - you're likely to see more photos and less chit-chat around here. For example, here are some amber jewels of kuri squash we had the other night, and whose leftovers I'm about to make into a savory squash pie for Thanksgiving dinner. Not much else needs to be said, the photo hopefully speaks for itself.
A photo is worth a thousand words, so I'm going to spare myself the small-talk and get to the point of what I really like to do around here- share photos of our table-life. Thanks to those who have helped me to grow as an individual this year and to realize that the most important thing to know is one's self.
Happy Thanksgiving.
That said, if there's one thing I've learned about myself this year - it's that I'd much rather just do something than talk about it. I'd rather get my stand mixer out and start creaming the butter and sugar than wax poetically about the virtues of using organic, unsalted butter -which is indeed what I use. (Speaking of butter and sugar, they were definitely present in this beauty of a breakfast this morning.)
My inclination to do, rather than chat, is why - going forward - you're likely to see more photos and less chit-chat around here. For example, here are some amber jewels of kuri squash we had the other night, and whose leftovers I'm about to make into a savory squash pie for Thanksgiving dinner. Not much else needs to be said, the photo hopefully speaks for itself.
A photo is worth a thousand words, so I'm going to spare myself the small-talk and get to the point of what I really like to do around here- share photos of our table-life. Thanks to those who have helped me to grow as an individual this year and to realize that the most important thing to know is one's self.
Happy Thanksgiving.
October 24, 2010
Almond Cake
Although it may take a lot to ruffle my feathers, it doesn't take much to tickle my fancy. Take almond cake, for example.
We're talking four ingredients here: almonds, sugar, eggs, and flour. That's it.* These four ingredients, thanks to Marcella Hazan, provide me a path to autumnal bliss. I wouldn't be the first to exalt Hazan's Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, nor will I be the last.
That said, I may be one of the few Hazan devotees who speaks of her as though Hazan has been working in-flesh with me in the kitchen. After the boyfriend comments on the deliciousness of the cake, I proceed to explain how Hazan "had me whip the egg whites until they formed stiff peaks." He looked at me as though I had been talking to dead people. Hazan is like that, she'll jump right out of the page and ensure your egg whites have the stiffest of peaks, and that your cake is the most delicious of desserts.
Hazan aside, who can resist nuts? Not me, in any case. On any given day, it could very well be that 1/3 of my caloric sustenance comes from nuts. I'm nuts about nuts, so it only makes sense to sneak them into a cake. Plus, when you bake with nuts, it eliminates the need for any other fat. Take this recipe for an example, you won't see any butter, oil, or egg yolks. It's just nuts.
*In full disclosure, I did omit the mention of a pinch of salt and grated lemon. The lemon is optional (yet highly encouraged), but the salt actually has a pragmatic role in getting the egg whites to stiffen.
Almond Cake
Marcella Hazan
Ingredients
10 ounces shelled, unpeeled almonds, about 2 cups
1-1/3 cups granulated sugar
8 egg whites (keep the yolks, be creative with them)
Salt
The peel of one lemon, grated without digging into the white pith beneath
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
An 8-or 9-inch springform pan
Butter for greasing the pan
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 350.
Place the almonds and sugar in a blender or food processor and grind to a fine consistency, turning the motor on and off. Don't let them turn to a paste. (Then you've got almond butter, which is great too!)
Beat the egg whites together with 1/2 teaspoon salt until they form stiff peaks.
Add the ground almonds and the grated lemon peel to the egg whites, a little bit at a time, folding them in gently, but thoroughly. The whites may deflate a bit, but if you mix carefully there should be no significant loss of volume.
Add the flour, shaking a little of it at a time through a strainer and again, mixing gently.
Thickly smear the pan with butter. Put the cake batter into the pan, shaking the pan to level it off. Place the pan in the middle level of the pre-heated oven and bake for 1 hour. Before taking it out of the oven, test the center of the cake by piercing it with a toothpick. If it comes out dry, the cake is done. If it doesn't, look a bit longer.
When done, unlock the pan and remove the hoop. When the cake has cooled somewhat, and it is just lukewarm, loosen it from the bottom of the pan. Serve when it is completely cold. It will keep a while if wrapped well.
We're talking four ingredients here: almonds, sugar, eggs, and flour. That's it.* These four ingredients, thanks to Marcella Hazan, provide me a path to autumnal bliss. I wouldn't be the first to exalt Hazan's Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, nor will I be the last.
That said, I may be one of the few Hazan devotees who speaks of her as though Hazan has been working in-flesh with me in the kitchen. After the boyfriend comments on the deliciousness of the cake, I proceed to explain how Hazan "had me whip the egg whites until they formed stiff peaks." He looked at me as though I had been talking to dead people. Hazan is like that, she'll jump right out of the page and ensure your egg whites have the stiffest of peaks, and that your cake is the most delicious of desserts.
Hazan aside, who can resist nuts? Not me, in any case. On any given day, it could very well be that 1/3 of my caloric sustenance comes from nuts. I'm nuts about nuts, so it only makes sense to sneak them into a cake. Plus, when you bake with nuts, it eliminates the need for any other fat. Take this recipe for an example, you won't see any butter, oil, or egg yolks. It's just nuts.
*In full disclosure, I did omit the mention of a pinch of salt and grated lemon. The lemon is optional (yet highly encouraged), but the salt actually has a pragmatic role in getting the egg whites to stiffen.
Almond Cake
Marcella Hazan
Ingredients
10 ounces shelled, unpeeled almonds, about 2 cups
1-1/3 cups granulated sugar
8 egg whites (keep the yolks, be creative with them)
Salt
The peel of one lemon, grated without digging into the white pith beneath
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
An 8-or 9-inch springform pan
Butter for greasing the pan
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 350.
Place the almonds and sugar in a blender or food processor and grind to a fine consistency, turning the motor on and off. Don't let them turn to a paste. (Then you've got almond butter, which is great too!)
Beat the egg whites together with 1/2 teaspoon salt until they form stiff peaks.
Add the ground almonds and the grated lemon peel to the egg whites, a little bit at a time, folding them in gently, but thoroughly. The whites may deflate a bit, but if you mix carefully there should be no significant loss of volume.
Add the flour, shaking a little of it at a time through a strainer and again, mixing gently.
Thickly smear the pan with butter. Put the cake batter into the pan, shaking the pan to level it off. Place the pan in the middle level of the pre-heated oven and bake for 1 hour. Before taking it out of the oven, test the center of the cake by piercing it with a toothpick. If it comes out dry, the cake is done. If it doesn't, look a bit longer.
When done, unlock the pan and remove the hoop. When the cake has cooled somewhat, and it is just lukewarm, loosen it from the bottom of the pan. Serve when it is completely cold. It will keep a while if wrapped well.
October 18, 2010
What Fall Is About
We should have discussed this pie a looong time ago. My apologies. Usually, the summer months are what bring people outdoors, dipping toes in the sand and splashing in the water. But outdoor fun is all about the fall months for me. So I've been trapsing about the area, hunting for the best apples, driving 2 hours to obtain thick bratwursts (the kind whose casings buckle under your teeth) and German beer at a local Oktoberfest.
But I digress, I came to talk about pie and hot chocolate. In an attempt to bring in fall the proper way and have a reason to return to the bloggosphere, I baked a pumpkin pie for some coworkers a few weeks back.
This pumpkin pie recipe is not only from The New York Times Dessert Cookbook, it was developed by a former White House chef, Ronald Mesnier. (Doesn't he look like he knows what he's talking about, pie-wise?) It may sound like it'd be a fussy recipe, but it's nothing extreme.
The usual pinches of fall cinnamon, ginger, and cloves are involved, as is the assumed canned pumpkin puree. There are two elements that make it a bit more luxurious. That's the additional egg yolks (three eggs and two egg yolks) and the heavenly, additional cup of cream. If you'd like the recipe, pass me a note and I'll gladly pass it along.
The other fall treat I've been reveling in is hot chocolate.
In my book, good hot chocolate is dependent on two things: whole milk and unsweetened cocoa powder. When it comes to milk, don't mess around - go whole. To the full-fat phobics I say this: just have the fat, revel in its flavor (because that's what it's all about), and be done with it. There is absolutely no substitute for its flavor. As for the unsweetened cocoa powder, it gives you more control regarding the sweetness and character of the final product.
Call me crazy, but I prefer making this over the stovetop rather than the microwave. It allows me to adjust the flavor as it heats, ensures there are no cocoa powder chunks, and richly sweetens the air in our 650 square foot apartment. My process is the following: put a saucepan on medium heat, add some milk and unsweetened cocoa powder, and whisk until thoroughly combined and there are no more chunks. Have a tasting spoon and jar of sugar on hand, and continue to add milk and cocoa powder until it's at the quantity and flavor you like. Add sugar as desired.
From there, the hot chocolate can take on any personality you're in the mood for. You can add vanilla, cinnamon, a squeeze of an orange, dark liquor (if you're into that), or anything else that strikes your fancy with chocolate. Or just leave it plan. Tonight I was in the mood for something dark and rich, so I didn't add that much sugar, but I did add vanilla extract.
Warm, spicy, and sweet things from the kitchen - that's what fall's about for me. That, and traditional German celebrations of course.
But I digress, I came to talk about pie and hot chocolate. In an attempt to bring in fall the proper way and have a reason to return to the bloggosphere, I baked a pumpkin pie for some coworkers a few weeks back.
This pumpkin pie recipe is not only from The New York Times Dessert Cookbook, it was developed by a former White House chef, Ronald Mesnier. (Doesn't he look like he knows what he's talking about, pie-wise?) It may sound like it'd be a fussy recipe, but it's nothing extreme.
The usual pinches of fall cinnamon, ginger, and cloves are involved, as is the assumed canned pumpkin puree. There are two elements that make it a bit more luxurious. That's the additional egg yolks (three eggs and two egg yolks) and the heavenly, additional cup of cream. If you'd like the recipe, pass me a note and I'll gladly pass it along.
The other fall treat I've been reveling in is hot chocolate.
In my book, good hot chocolate is dependent on two things: whole milk and unsweetened cocoa powder. When it comes to milk, don't mess around - go whole. To the full-fat phobics I say this: just have the fat, revel in its flavor (because that's what it's all about), and be done with it. There is absolutely no substitute for its flavor. As for the unsweetened cocoa powder, it gives you more control regarding the sweetness and character of the final product.
Call me crazy, but I prefer making this over the stovetop rather than the microwave. It allows me to adjust the flavor as it heats, ensures there are no cocoa powder chunks, and richly sweetens the air in our 650 square foot apartment. My process is the following: put a saucepan on medium heat, add some milk and unsweetened cocoa powder, and whisk until thoroughly combined and there are no more chunks. Have a tasting spoon and jar of sugar on hand, and continue to add milk and cocoa powder until it's at the quantity and flavor you like. Add sugar as desired.
From there, the hot chocolate can take on any personality you're in the mood for. You can add vanilla, cinnamon, a squeeze of an orange, dark liquor (if you're into that), or anything else that strikes your fancy with chocolate. Or just leave it plan. Tonight I was in the mood for something dark and rich, so I didn't add that much sugar, but I did add vanilla extract.
Warm, spicy, and sweet things from the kitchen - that's what fall's about for me. That, and traditional German celebrations of course.
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