chouxettes

September Weekend in Catalonia

2011-11-08T15:41:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

The sudden snowstorm last week caught me by surprise. I found myself wholly unprepared for the onslaught of sleet and wet snow. Tromping around Midtown in a pair of canvas sneakers, I was longing for hot September weekends in the Catalan countryside. It seems almost cruel now to flip through my photos, when out my window, the changing leaves are blowing wildly in the wind.

A few weekends before my departure from Europe, I was fortunate enough to be a guest at a friends’ country home in the Montsant region of Catalonia. The dark green shrubbery and rocky terrain reminded me of the twisty mountainous stretch that winds down to Half Moon Bay in California. The soil, rich in slate, supports a broad spectrum of agriculture from hazelnuts and almonds to peaches and olives. But, the area is probably most famous for its almost endless rows of vines, heavy with clusters of grapes when I arrived in late September.

I have a weakness for small town celebrations. The allure of the annual wine festival was irresistible. Sporting the light tan of a city dweller, I popped out into the unrelenting sun of the country and threw myself into the boozy mix of red wine and heat.

The whole town, and neighboring towns, crowded into the narrow streets of the twelve street village of Poboleda. Baskets of raw hazelnuts, bunches of grapes, and porrones filled with wine welcomed visitors and locals alike. A band of twenty or so Priorat-based wineries set up small tasting tables in the stone archways that lined the central arteries of town. After a few glasses of wine, the crisp mountain water from the town fountain was a welcome relief in the 90 degree heat. The morning’s festivities concluded with a late lunch: a large paella (it fed over 500 people) and green salad.

The rest of the weekend was spent in relative tranquility. In the morning, we enjoyed a filling breakfast of hot chocolate and pastry before heading out to the family vegetable garden. Soon, baskets loaded with freshly harvested beans, tomatoes, beets, lettuces, carrots and squash found their way into the trunk of the car. I wandered off to gather blackberries which grew in a tangle of thorns and thin branches along the banks of the creek.

My visit ended with the weekly Sunday lunch at a friend’s mother’s table. She had prepared a spectacular assortment of finger foods followed by three courses of rustic country home cooking with vegetables grown in her garden and meat hunted by her husband.

Stuffed Artichokes

2011-10-12T12:52:00.004-04:00

Dear Devon,

Two weeks ago, I left the temperate Mediterranean climate of Barcelona for skyscraper city New York. The decision to leave was based in reason, but as is often the case, emotions and reason don't always align. The adjustment has been smooth but not without frequent thoughts of Barcelona or of my friends lucky enough to call Barcelona home. So, while I try to launch myself back into New York life, my archive of photographs reminds me of that fantastic year in Barcelona.

Since returning, I have spent many afternoons trying to organize the room: wedging books into shelves and jamming clothes under the bed. Sorting through my digital folders, I found this post from last autumn that I never put up. It is amazing how much changes in a year. Wild mushrooms are still a priority but perhaps not as important as securing that elusive full-time job or a perfect apartment...

(From October 2010)
While all of Catalonia is in the throes of wild mushroom season, I am enjoying the dwindling supply of this autumn’s artichoke harvest. Though noticeably smaller than when I first arrived, they continue to pop up in Barcelona markets, and I am taking full advantage. Unlike their giant globe counterparts in the US, these chokes boast delicate, tightly packed leaves, and are unmarred by long overland transports. One of the tastiest parts is the stem, which extends four or five inches from the base and still supports long curling leaves. But what I love best is the absence of sharp prickles. These artichokes are defenseless. I’m going to attack with full force!

Given their abundance in local markets, James Beard’s baked stuffed artichokes was the inspiration I needed. Artichokes can seem intimidating, unapproachable, and even diabolical, but bolstered by Beard’s energetic and witty prose, any home chef can easily prepare an elegant serving of artichoke for a first course or a light luncheon.

I can count on one hand the number of times that I have prepared artichokes that didn’t come out of a jar. I love their distinct tang and buttery richness, but my last encounter with this prickly tuber left me searching for dragon skin gloves and a samurai sharp knife. And so it was with a bit of lingering doubt that I purchased four small, tightly packed buds in my local market. Unhampered by stinging needles, preparation was significantly easier than I had imagined. A whole artichoke fit snugly in my hand, allowing for greater dexterity and speed. Soon my cooking pot was bubbling away with freshly shorn chokes.

With the upper leaves removed and the fuzzy choke hollowed out, an artichoke makes a neat container. Beard provides several possible fillings, including crabmeat salad, cubed avocado, duck with mayonnaise, sweetbreads in cream, and chicken hash– but my eye fell on a hearty French-Italian inspired filling of mushroom, sausage, and herbs.

It would have been easy to make this a purely Spanish dish, stuffed with wild Catalonian mushrooms and bits of jamón. But I opted for a closer interpretation of the recipe. I doubt Beard would have minded, either way. He was a big supporter of local ingredients, and anyone who loves food like he did could hardly have objected to the addition of some bright orange rovellons. In the end, white button mushrooms worked just as nicely, but I did manage to sneak in a bit of Spain in the form of fuet, a salty, porky, cured Catalonian sausage. A few slices go a long way, so I limited myself to 2 tbsp of diced fuet.

Often it is the artichoke hearts that get all the attention, but at least with these, the stem has great flavor too. As breadcrumbs were in short supply, I resisted trimming the stem to a short knob. I cooked the artichoke, stem and all. Then I diced the cooked stems and folded them into the prepared stuffing. I worried that without this extra bit of flavor, the distinct taste of artichoke would get lost in the rich meaty stuffing. This is about artichokes.

I served these fresh from the oven as a first course. This kind of dish is best eaten among close friends: Roll up your sleeves, put your elbows on the table, and by all means, use your teeth! The leaves were easy to separate from the core, surrendering the soft flesh buried under the savory blanket of stuffing. The juice dribbling down my arm meant I had lost that battle of decorum, but shouldn’t enjoyment take precedence in these circumstances?

PS. Beard says they’re good cold, too– and he is right again. The leftovers made a tasty lunch the next day.

Stuffed Artichokes
adapted from James Beard American Cookery
(makes 4)

4 small artichokes, trimmed and cleaned
lemon, halved
1 clove garlic, crushed
¼ cup mushrooms, chopped
¼ cup leek, chopped
¼ cup parmesan cheese, grated
¼ cup cured sausage, chopped
¼ cup breadcrumbs
2 tbsp butter
½ cup white wine
salt and pepper

To prepare artichokes, trim off the woody, dried bit at the end of the stem. Using a paring knife, strip the first layers of fibrous skin from the tip of the stem to the base of the artichoke. Remove a few layers of the outer leaves. With a heavy duty, sharp knife, remove the tips of the artichokes. Trim any remaining leaves that may have sharp prickles. Place the entire artichoke in a pot of water with a few wedges of lemon. Continue with remaining artichokes. Bring the pot of water to a boil and cover. Simmer for 30 to 40 minutes, until the leaves are tender and pull away from the center when lightly tugged. Remove from the hot water and allow to cool, about 20 minutes.

In a sauté pan, melt butter and add leeks, garlic, mushroom, and cured sausage. Cook over medium heat to lightly brown. When mixture is nicely browned, add breadcrumbs, a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Gently toast breadcrumbs and allow crumbs to soak up all the delicious fat from the sausage and melted butter. Remove mixture from the pan and allow to cool in a medium sized mixing bowl. Add parmesan cheese and mix well.

Remove the stems and scoop out the center leaves to create a small bowl. Finely dice stems and removed central leaves. Add to the parmesan-mushroom mix.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Gingerly separate the leaves, be careful not to detach the leaves from the central choke. Scoop filling into the central cavity and tuck into the gently opened leaves. I find it is easiest to hold each artichoke in the palm of my left hand and use my forefinger and thumb to fill the chokes and leaves. Place each stuffed artichoke into an ovenproof casserole dish. Add liquid (white wine or broth) and place in the oven for 30 minutes, basting twice with the pan juices. The artichokes are done when the tops are nicely golden brown, moist, and tender.

Apricot Cake

2011-09-06T06:34:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon,

Summer, is perhaps my favorite season, not because of its relaxed balmy nights or the promise of vacations, but because of the sweet, ripe fruits. Every summer, I look forward to filling my fridge with apricots, peaches, watermelons, pears, and strawberries. Unfortunately, the fruits of recent summers resemble only in name and shape the fabulous fruits of years past. I can’t tell you the number of times that I have been disappointed by hard peaches, mealy pears, and green apricots. It always broke my heart to walk past those perfect looking but tasteless summer fruits. And, I am sure it’s going to be harder once I return from Barcelona. The fruit here is how I remember fruit from my childhood to taste, feel, and smell.

Juicy, sweet, and gently blushed, apricots are again my favorite summer fruit. Apricots come in two sizes, big and small. It is not the most sophisticated of classification systems, but it’s the best that I can get out of my fruit vendor. I’m partial to the smaller ones, which have a more intense honey-like flavor and are a bit more delicate. Alas, the season is already over for these gems; I will have to make it through with their larger counterparts.

The apricots are so tasty that I debated whether to bake with them. In the end, the temptation to experiment was too strong. I pieced together two of Dorie Greenspan’s recipes and invented an olive oil based cake flavored with lemon infused sugars and a splash of hazelnut oil. The cake turned out nicely, but it also turned me out of the apartment. Barcelona has been experiencing a mild summer, but August brought an inescapable wave of humidity, blinding sun, and scorching heat. (Every tourist wears a sunburn like a badge of honor. I am hidden under dark sunglasses, hat, and an impenetrable layer of spf 75 sunscreen). My tiny apartment is a death trap, especially with the oven on. But when perfectly ripe, juicy, fat apricots are in season, I can set aside temporary discomfort for a delicious slice of cake (or so I thought).

Apricot Cake
(makes one 9 inch round cake)

1 pound apricots, halved
¼ cup white sugar
2 lengths of lemon peel
½ cup brown sugar
9 tbsp olive oil
2 eggs
1 tsp hazelnut oil
1 ½ cup flour
½ cup cornmeal
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
½ cup milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a springform pan and set aside until ready to use.

Pick over and wash apricots, cleaning off any dirt and removing any bruised portions. Using a sharp knife, halve apricots and remove the stone. Continue until all the apricots are halved and pitted. Set aside until ready to use.

Put white sugar and lemon peel in a large mixing bowl. Using your fingertips, crush the lemon peel into the sugar, infusing the white sugar with the fragrant citrus oils. Discard peel and add brown sugar. Add olive oil and mix until a thick soupy consistency. Beat in one egg at a time, followed by hazelnut oil.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, cornmeal, baking soda, and salt. Measure out milk. Alternating between flour mixture and milk, add to the sugar-oil batter, beginning and ending with flour.

Pour batter into prepared cake form. Nestle halved apricots into the batter, creating a roughly circular pattern.

Bake in the oven 55 to 65 minutes, until golden brown and fragrant. The cake test works well. Allow to cool on a wire rack before serving.

It is best eaten the day it is made, but will keep well in an airtight container for 2 days after baking.

Valencia, Spain: Horchata

2011-08-21T14:16:00.004-04:00

I hadn’t read much about Valencia before jumping into a friend’s car and driving three hours south. After all, we were to be the guests of a real Valenciana who was eager to show off her city. With such an enthusiastic host, I wasn’t too worried about the itinerary. I had only two requests: to taste a real paella, and to cool down with the best horchata in town.

Nowadays paella and arroz caldoso are available in most Spanish cities, but these dishes sustained Valencian families long before they appeared on tourist menus. Local restaurants specialize in the preparation of rice, proudly displaying large paellas, diameters exceeding three feet, mixed with shrimp, vegetables, and chicken in restaurant windows. Savvy clients pre-order their paellas before arriving at the restaurant to avoid the hour-long cooking time. We weren’t that well organized. But the inky black rice with cuttlefish and seafood paella with giant shrimps and mussels were definitely worth the wait.

Valencia is also famous for a little American known crop called chufa. The root of a tuber called tigernut in English, chufa is the main ingredient in the summer drink, horchata. The drink has only a few ingredients but its production is so involved that when I inquired about home brewing, even locals at the market warned me against it.

After hours of walking in the sun, our friend pulled us into a local watering hole for the typical Valenciana merienda of ice cold horchata and sweet fartons. Clearly, there were only three things on the menu: the classic horchata, horchata granizada (like a slushy), and fartons (a fluffy baton of bread covered with a thick layer of hardened sugar). The décor of white tiled walls, marble tabletops, and closet-like bathrooms suggested both age and authenticity.

Good horchata can be found in Barcelona, but Valencia has the definitive recipe. I opted for the horchata granizada, a blend of horchata and crushed ice. It arrived in a tall clear glass on a white saucer. The texture was fine and fluffy, like soft snow, and the color was a dull off-white. The taste was also distinct, a subtle combination of nutty and sweet. The added delight of a sugary farton rejuvenated me for hours of site-seeing that lasted almost until midnight.

Mercado Central de Valencia

2011-08-15T10:40:00.004-04:00

Dear Devon,

Every town I visit, I try to pop in at the local market. I find, it is the fastest way to familiarize myself with the local foods and kitchen practices of any given town. I am always amazed with the variety of the products and the enthusiasm of the vendors. In theory, markets should all operate on the same basic principles but in practice, it seems that every market is truly original.

No visit to Valencia would have been complete without a stop at the central market. Housed in an elegant iron and glass structure, the market holds numerous vendors specializing in a range of goods from vegetables to shoes, horchata and olives.

Queviures J. Murria

2011-08-07T13:45:00.006-04:00

Dear Devon,

Help! Send some tips for photographing buildings. I am trying to build up my own digital library of architectural photographs. I am using a shift lens to get the best images, but it has proven a bit tricky. Perseverance seems to be the only solution.

Queviures J. Murria, a turn of the century gourmet grocery store, has carried on the tradition of providing impeccable service and selling luxury import food products for generations. Walking into one of these impeccably organized shops in the Eixample is like stepping backwards in time: You can almost hear the clomping of horses’ hoofs over the roar of modern automobiles. Colmados, or Queviures (as they are called in proper Catalan), migrated from the historical city in the late 1800’s, following their high profile clientele to the Eixample’s tree-lined streets and spacious, well-lit apartment buildings. Today, workers dressed in light blue smocks chat with clients, advising on purchases and handling orders. Service is friendly, but formal, with many products kept out of the client’s reach, behind the counter. Receipts are hand tallied, and payment is made at a separate cashier’s desk. These grocers aren’t your run of the mill food-sellers, but rank as some of Barcelona’s most respected gourmets and boast some of city’s leading chefs as regular clients.

But, aside from the delicacies inside, it was the exterior facades that first caught my attention. Hand-painted advertisements from the 19th century continue to promote delights from a by-gone era. The collection is anchored by the famous Anis del Mono painting by Barcelona native and modernista phenomenon Ramon Casas, who created a prize-winning poster La Mona y el Mono (the stylish lady and the monkey) for the anis-flavored liquor in 1898. While the Casas design is the most recognizable, I never tire of the fashionably dressed lady, of Marques de Monistrol cava’s advertisement, emerging from the picturesque vineyards of Alt Penedes.

To the unpracticed amateur, photographing this storefront was a challenge. Between cars moving at highway speeds, annoying reflections, and operator errors (of which there were many), it took a solid week of return visits at varying times of day to get acceptable pictures. My unfamiliarity with the shift lens was my biggest challenge. Working with a manual lens mounted on a digital camera, and light meter blind, I was a bit overwhelmed. I completely forgot to focus the lens! Of course, I didn’t realize this until I got home and opened the files. If I was Monet, it would be acceptable, but in today’s digital age of crisp high definition, there is no excuse for blurry images.

After four consecutive days of return visits, the owner thought I was stalking them. So, he came out to talk to me. A Mark Twain-like figure (broad mustache and frizzed hair), Mr. Murria was friendly and enthusiastic to share his knowledge. He confirmed that the advertisements were indeed originals, though some were not original to his storefront.

For now, I will attempt less challenging photographic projects. As for return visits, there have been many, but this time to focus on the cheese.

Fried Zucchini Blossoms

2011-08-05T12:37:00.002-04:00

Dear Devon,

The first time I ate fried zucchini blossoms was in your steamy Brooklyn kitchen many summers ago. The blossoms had been purchased that morning at the Union Square Farmer’s Market along with fresh goat’s milk ricotta. Watching you remove the interior stems and carefully fill each blossom with a ricotta cheese mixture, I was in awe of your confidence and skill. You dipped each prepared blossom in a bubbly tempura batter before easing them into hot oil, for a few seconds. It was fantastic to witness and needless to say, the blossoms tasted wonderful. I was thankful for having such an adventurous cook as a friend and marked this dish as something to be ordered in the restaurant but certainly not cooked by me. But, life has a funny way of catching up with you…and the markets of Barcelona have a powerful hold over me, especially when zucchini blossoms are involved.

Though the vendor gave me a full tutorial on zucchini blossom preparation and a number of good ideas, a wave of panic set in as soon as I entered my kitchen. I scanned the internet for assistance; but it only brought a more intense wave of panic. Do I have female or male zucchini blossoms? What exactly do plant reproductive organs look like and do I need to remove them before deep-frying?

The websites confirmed my suspicions that I was working with female zucchini blossoms. Now began the laborious process of removing the interior stamens. The first two tries were a bit dodgy but I soon got the hang of it. I cannot brag speed, efficiency, nor consistency, but soon they were ready for the hot olive oil.

Frying was never a cooking technique that I favored. I have a fear of spattering hot oil and grease clogged foods. But after visiting several Barcelona home kitchens, where the deep fryer is a regular appliance, I have adjusted my stance. Given the right conditions, fried foods can be relatively oil-free not to mention crisp and crackling. With the oil at temperature, my first blossom coated in a thin layer of tempura-like batter, I lowered the zucchini blossoms into a pool of hot oil. The blossoms immediately began frying, quickly turning a nice golden brown and developing a delicate crust. The process seemed so natural. The fried underside naturally rolled in the oil, like the tanning beach bums lining the sandy shore of Barcelona. After a few seconds, the golden brown blossoms were ready for a voluminous pile of paper towels and a generous sprinkling with Mallorcan sea salt.

Any notions of stuffing the blossoms were put off for a future attempt, of which I am sure there will be many. I never thought I’d rank among those who fried zucchini blossoms, but I suppose I do…and I won’t be stopping any time soon!

Fried Zucchini Blossoms
Serves 4 (at 3 a piece)

400 g flour
1 egg yolk
400 g carbonated water
½ tsp salt
12 zucchini blossoms
2 - 3 cups olive oil (perhaps more)

Sift flour and salt into a large bowl. Whisk in egg yolk and carbonated water. The batter should be thick and a bit bubbly.

Using a wet paper towel, gently clean the blossoms. Carefully remove the yellow fuzzy stem from inside the blossom. Twist the petals closed and set aside.

Fill one large pot with oil. There should be enough oil for the blossoms to easily float on the surface. Heat oil to frying temperature. I don’t have a thermometer, so I drop a small spoon of batter into the hot oil to see how quickly the batter begins to fry.

When the oil is hot, dredge the blossoms in the batter. Ease the coated blossom into the oil. Avoid overcrowding the pot. Be aware that the temperature of the oil will drop with each additional blossom. To avoid a dramatic decrease in frying temperature, I fry three at a time. Transfer the finished blossoms to a paper-towel-lined plate. Dust with a generous bit of sea salt.

These are best eaten immediately.

2011-07-22T12:35:00.004-04:00

Hey Devon,

Last year around this time I half put together this recipe for chouxettes... then time went by and it was past blueberry season, and I decided to hold off. This recipe is meant for this time of year, when you can get fresh, inexpensive blueberries. It’s pretty festive too, if you are into 4th of July themed foods.

My great grandmother made this recipe, in fact it is written in her very old copy of the Joy Of Cooking. She lived to be 101, and made this well into her 90s. Coincidentally her sister passed away this week at 101 also. Now my mom mainly carries on the tradition of blueberry buckle, I’d say we have it at least 4 times a summer. She makes it for parties, out of town visitors... birthday breakfasts (with a more traditional birthday cake later on).

For me, blueberry buckle tastes like summer, and must be eaten on a napkin, while standing up, in the kitchen of the beach house, trying to avoid crumbs going all over (its inevitable, and probably shouldn’t be eaten that way). The thing is, you have to eat standing up so that when you are done you can cut another oddly-shaped piece to disguise how much of the cake you are taking. It is typically gone within a couple hours, though in our defense there are a lot of people there, waiting to pounce on it.

You can double the recipe and make it in a 9”x13”, as pictured here.

Blueberry Buckle

Mix thoroughly:

¾ Cup Sugar
¼ Cup Soft Butter
1 Egg

Stir in:

½ C Milk

Sift together and stir in:

2 Cup Flour
2 tsp Baking Powder
½ tsp Salt

Carefully blend in

2 Cups (well drained) Blueberries
(can sub in frozen in off season, just defrost and drain, though they will bleed more into the batter)

To make crumb topping, mash together with a fork until course crumbs are formed:

½ Cup Sugar
⅓ Cup Flour
½ tsp Cinnamon (I’d double that)
¼ Cup Soft Butter

Spread batter into a buttered and floured 9” square pan. Sprinkle with topping.

Bake at 375 Degrees for 40-45 minutes (I think around an hour if you double it). Cake is done when it feels solid and no batter sticks to a tooth pick, crumbs and blueberry mush are to be expected.

That’s Bea’s handwriting (my great-grandmother and middle-namesake).

Hope to see you soon,

Amanda

Chocolate and Sea Salt Tostadas

2011-07-22T07:23:00.002-04:00

Dear Devon,

Short post today. I am leaving in a few hours for a weekend adventure to Valencia with a carload of friends. Packing is still on the “to do” list, as is lunch, both eating and making. But I wanted to tempt you with something to think over or possibly try this weekend.

My last half dozen posts have featured one ingredient: chocolate. I don’t confess to be a full-blown chocolate fiend (not yet that is), but I do have a completely new appreciation for it. The Spaniards love their chocolate dark, bitter, and pure. Here, chocolate is made from only three ingredients: cacao, sugar, and vanilla. No chemicals, no additives, no extra flavorings, just three ingredients, and it definitely shows in both the flavor and its shiny surface. The chocolate is richer, smoother, not overly sweetened and without that gross waxy texture that I’ve known all my life.

For the past few months, I have regularly stopped in at some of the best chocolate shops in the city. I am slowly befriending the staff and gleaning ideas for desserts and savories. Some of these shops have been in business for over 100 years, using the same techniques, recipes, and even grinder, delighting generations of Barcelonans. I can’t brag to have tried the entire stable of truffles or bonbons at any one place. Let’s just say, I have a completely new respect for chocolate and Hershey’s ranks below crayola.

My inspiration for this recipe is a bit hazy. I’ve seen variations of this flavor combination on menus, chocolate bars, and even in the NY Times. All I know is that it’s delicious, especially when you use the finest chocolate, bright sea salt and pungent olive oil. Since there are only four ingredients (bread counts too), you really need to invest in the best products. Set aside the table salt and crayons for another dish, real fleur de sel and good chocolate will make all the difference.

Chocolate and Sea Salt Tostadas
(makes 12)

1 baguette, sliced
large chunk of good dark chocolate (71% is best)
1 generous pinch of sea salt
3 tbsp olive oil

Arrange sliced baguette on a cutting board. Grate chocolate over the slices. A vegetable peeler works well, cutting the chocolate into long swirling strips. Sprinkle with a good pinch of sea salt and olive oil.

These are best eaten right away. Serve as an afternoon snack or a light dessert.

Our M. Wells Diner Dinner

2011-07-16T12:50:00.002-04:00

Dear Michelle,

You must come back IMMEDIATELY. I have had one of the top ten meals of my life.

I have many things to tell you about: Thomas Keller’s split pea soup, my time at home, naan cooked on the grill, rose infused vinegar, but this trumps all of them. Jeff heard about this place a while ago, a little diner car restaurant called M. Wells in Queens run by two transplants from Montreal, and decided to take me there for our first anniversary.

I was fairly excited, having read good things about escargot, bone marrow, calves brains, you know, the things I tend to get curious about. We took the G train up into Long Island City, and walked a short way to the diner.

The sun was setting, the night was mild and pleasant, and my hunger suddenly piqued to the point where I start getting a little weird. We entered the unassuming little diner car to an enclave of clatter and chatter, full of happy faces and promising smells. We wanted to try several things, and our waiter recommended five to six small dishes, so we hemmed and hawed and finally chose those that most intrigued us.

The escargot with bone marrow was one of the dishes I’d read about and had really wanted to try, and immediately when it arrived I popped a piping hot snail covered in fat, parsley and bread crumbs in my mouth. I was lucky I didn’t burn myself! After that first hot but satisfying bite, I tried the cold dish that Jeff had wanted to order, Porchetta Sierra, while the escargot cooled a bit.

I had not been all that excited about this dish; it was described as thinly sliced pork with a mackerel mayo and fried caper berries. Roast pork isn’t my favorite, but I was interested enough by the idea of it with fish mayonnaise. This ended up being my favorite dish, so elegant in its simplicity. The very juicy, thinly sliced roast pork had plenty of melty, not chewy, fatty bits. It was laid out in a circle on a plate, and the inner part of that circle was spread with a greyish mayo, and sprinkled all over were fried capers.

This mayonnaise was the perfect amount of salty and umami for the pork, and the fried capers added a pop of much needed color and crunch. I don’t even like capers, which usually taste like mildew to me, but fried they are delicious! Jeff didn’t like it as much because mayonnaise weirds him out, but he did like his first ever taste of escargot, which was delicious, perfectly cooked. I was disappointed, and this was my only disappointment, that the marrow was liquid. I don’t know if this was by design or not, but I’d have liked spreadable marrow for the crunchy little toasts on the side instead of molten marrow that needed to be soaked up from the plate.

Next out was caesar salad, Grouper cordon blue, and smoked chicken legs with fries. I don’t remember in what order we ate, but I am sure the level of gluttony we reached might have been just short of a deadly sin. The salad, Jeff’s idea as a light addition to the meal, was just that. It was a beautiful pile of green with a few golden croutons, all covered with a generous feathery fluff of fine, long bits of grated cheese. The dressing was made with smoked herring instead of anchovies, a nice touch.

The Grouper cordon blue was good, although I was starting to recognize the physical limits of my stomach at this point. The fish was fried, with a crispy thin crust (I’m guessing cornmeal), combined with mortadella, pickled ramps (YUM), and a sour cream dressing on a thin toasted sourdough roll. That sauce was so good that even after I was uncomfortably stuffed, I was eating the leftover roll with the dressing soaked in.

The most impressive dish of the night was the smoked chicken legs with fries. You see that description, and you think of a plate of drumsticks on fries, maybe with some sort of sauce, right? I did. What we got was a giant platter with a WHOLE CHICKEN LEG, thigh to claws, on top of biscuits and thin crunchy fries, all dripping with the best barbeque sauce ever. I say bbq sauce, but it was more like a cross between that and gravy (and it would have made an excellent poutine), thick and glossy and sweet and smoky and spicy. When I try to replicate this, I will make a white roux, then add chicken stock, tomato paste, apple cider vinegar, cayenne, paprika, and brown sugar. We each ate enough of the leg to taste it, as it was the most likely to be good reheated. That will be our dinner tonight, and the bones will go in with a ham hock and bacon to some baked beans I’ll make later in the week. You can bet I’ll try to make them taste like that sauce.

When our waiter came by to ask about dessert (sigh), I told him this was the best meal I’d had all year, that it was exemplary. He returned with a bottle of maple syrup liquor (delicious!), and did a shot with us. It was a truly memorable evening, and we MUST go back when you return!

Frozen Chocolate Truffles

2011-07-07T15:02:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon,

In an effort to get a bit more language practice, I registered for a cooking class at my local civic center. Unfortunately, there are no molecular gastronomy courses, but at 50 Euros a semester, I was hardly going to register a complaint. I put my money down for a chocolate themed dessert class. I had hoped that I’d learn to make liquor-filled bonbons but the class was more focused on baked goods than confections. In practice and theory, I knew how to make most of the recipes. In hindsight, it was for the better. My language skills are steadily improving but my comprehension greatly depended on my prior baking experience.

The partial meltdowns of my anxious teacher could fill an entire volume. In many ways, the course was particularly cruel to her. The kitchen is hardly equipped for teaching let alone actually baking. There was the constant threat of equipment malfunction (fridge or microwave), lack of basic materials like bowls, whisks or scale, and then there was the portly student from whose mouth issued a constant and unrelenting stream of advice, stories, loosely-linked words, and general nonsense. In six weeks, I know more details about her life than yours.

Given these setbacks, the class altered my perceptions of what is actually possible in the kitchen. The obvious lack of materials and occasional mistake didn’t stop us from making some really fantastic desserts. Sure, it had the distinct look of homemade and yes, at times, there was the failed, trash bound cake or cookies. She proved to me that it was possible to make and not just purchase macaroons. Truffles are delightfully easy to make and can even serve as the base for an amazingly decadent, dark chocolate cake.

I have been mulling over the recipes and the class for a few weeks, trying to decide where or if to begin experimenting. I admit, when looking over the packet of recipes, I am largely uninspired but then again, it usually isn’t the recipe that inspires me to start cooking, it’s the market.

There’s a wonderful stand at La Boqueria that specializes in foods of the forest. In the fall, the stand overflows with morels, truffles, wild mushrooms, and strange looking roots. Summer’s bounty includes zucchini blossoms, white asparagus, and wild strawberries. These berries are wonderful. They are about the size of my fingernail but intensely sweet and amazingly fragrant. One tiny berry is tastier than an entire giant American strawberry. I eat them like candy. Encasing them in chocolate truffle seemed the next logical step.

Frozen Chocolate Truffles
(makes 36)

100 grams of butter
50 grams of sugar (confectioner’s is best, but granulated will do)
100 grams of chocolate (70 % cacao)
1 egg yolk
1 tsp hazelnut oil (optional)
1 tsp espresso
24 frozen wild strawberries
¼ cup cocoa powder
1/4 cup coconut (optional)

Wash and gently dry wild strawberries. Place berries without touching one another on a small tray and freeze. Leave overnight.

Gently melt butter over a pot of simmering water. Remove melted butter from the heat and whisk in sugar and egg yolk. In a separate bowl, melt the chocolate with hazelnut oil and water. Add the butter mixture to the melted chocolate and thoroughly mix. Cool in the fridge until firm to the touch, roughly 2 hours.

When the chocolate mixture is set and the berries have frozen, begin forming the truffles. Using two spoons, scoop a bit of the ganache into each spoon. Center one frozen berry in one of the two spoons and cover the berry with the ganache from the second spoon. Work the spoons around each other, to form a small ball. It is similar to forming quenelles.

In a small bowl, sift in cocoa powder. Roll the freshly formed truffle in cocoa powder. I had some extra truffles so I rolled them in coconut. Set the finished truffle on a platter and continue with the remaining berries. Freeze the entire tray of truffles until set, roughly 2 hours.

Store in the freezer in a plastic container.

Note: Be sure to work quickly. The truffle mix will begin to soften if left out too long and will make forming the truffles difficult. If this happens, pop the bowl back into the fridge for a bit until the mixture hardens again.

Fira Lactium: Vic

2011-06-25T17:56:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon,

Last November, fresh off of six weeks of intensive Spanish lessons, I tested my new skills at my first Barcelona dinner party. Seated with eight other guests around a large wooden table and a generous dinner of wild mushroom risotto and braised chard, I listened to the excited chatter. The conversations moved quickly and fluidly. I strung together snippets of phrases and pieces of dialogue, my tongue stilled by their effortless chatter.

The conversation shifted to food, specifically cheese. One cheese-loving guest praised a soft, fragrant cheese from the Basque Country in emotional terms, finally pounding his fist on table in excitement and frustration with the gentle teasing of our fellow table companions. I had to interrupt. How often do I run across such an ardent cheese enthusiast? That’s when he told me where to find cheese heaven, otherwise known as the Fira Lactium in Vic, the largest town in the Catalan comarca of Osona. Like Christmas, it comes only once a year in May. I jotted down the details and even made a note in my calendar to remind myself to look for the fair in April. Six months later we were on a train headed north to the Fira Lactium.

Vic was in the full throws of its Saturday market, but the big event of the day was the cheese fair. Vegans and lactose-intolerants be warned: This is glorious dairy indulgence. I was warned to restrain myself to avoid overwhelming my tastebuds. The sour, flowery, rich smell of cheese was everywhere, as were the samples! Producers’ stands lined the street and a temporary eating hall had been erected at the heart of the fair.

When we arrived, the cheese competition was in full swing. Four tables of judges scribbling, sniffing, poking, and eating cheese filled most of the tent. Two sample plates with an assortment of hot and cold cheeses were being sold. Buying both of these meant trying sixteen different cheeses. For our panel of three, these two plates were more than enough. One cheese in particular had our heads spinning. We brought the sample to the front to ask for more details, only to be told that since the competition was still in progress, the name and origin of the cheese could not be revealed. Undeterred, we took our small sample to the each of the thirty-odd cheese stands, hoping the vendor would recognize his cheese. Unfortunately, this didn’t work either: We never did find our mystery cheese, but we boarded the train to Barcelona carrying artisanal yogurts, cheesecake, and of course, cheese.

The real surprise of the excursion was that we bumped into our fist-pounding friend, whom we found tasting the very same cheese from the Basque country that he had praised to us six months earlier.

Coconut & Sea Salt Brownies

2011-06-18T10:33:00.002-04:00

Dear Devon,

A few months ago, Melissa Clark had a recipe in the Times for brownies made with olive oil, sea salt, and shredded coconut. I bookmarked the recipe, and ran to the store to buy some shredded coconut, but it wasn’t until last week that I got around to making the brownies.

I thought I knew how to bake the perfect brownies: Moist, dense, fudgy squares with a crunchy crust. But Ms. Clark’s recipe gave me something to think about. She substitutes olive oil for butter, runs a layer of coconut through the brownie, and dusts the top with sea salt for extra flavor. Her tweaking of a classic recipe and play with unusual ingredients grabbed my interest right away.

I’ve only started to experiment with olive oil as a baking ingredient very recently. The wide variety of good and reasonably priced Spanish olive oil, plus my lack of an eggbeater, has made me reconsider recipes in which I always used butter. It’s broadened my repertoire. I’ve found that olive oil gives a nice fruitiness to cakes and baked goods, and renders a moist crumb that is sometimes lacking in butter-laden recipes.

Following Melissa Clark’s advice, I sprinkled the top of my brownies with good quality sea salt from Mallorca. This topping gave the brownies an unusual character and flavor, a bit peppery, and even buttery. Since buying a box of sea salt, my palette has felt the sparkle of salt. It’s become indispensible on my kitchen table, topping everything from fresh salads to pastas primavera. If I keep discovering new gastronomic delights, I’ll have to throw out all my clothes to make room for them in my suitcase.

Coconut & Sea Salt Brownies
(adapted from Melissa Clark NY Times 2/4/2011)

½ cup plus 2 tbsp water, boiling
1/3 cup cocoa powder, unsweetened
2 oz chocolate, coarsely chopped (70% or higher)
3 large eggs
1 egg yolk
1 tsp hazelnut oil
1 cup sugar
1 ¾ cup all-purpose flour, sifted
¾ tsp salt
2 ½ oz chocolate, chopped
1 cup shredded coconut
1 tbsp fleur de sel

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9 x 13 inch pan. Set aside.

Sift cocoa powder into a large mixing bowl. Pour in boiling water and whisk until cocoa is dissolved. Add 2 oz chopped chocolate. Stir until chocolate is melted. Add olive oil and hazelnut oil. Beat in eggs one at a time, until the yolks disappear. Gradually add sugar. The mixture will look curdled and at first the olive oil will not mix into the chocolate, but keep working. With steady whisking, the batter will come together into a smooth chocolatey-mixture. Using a rubber spatula, fold in flour and table salt. Fold in 2 ½ oz chopped chocolate.

Pour batter into the oiled pan. Sprinkle with sea salt and shredded coconut. It is easiest to start with the sea salt. It’s amazing how easily the sea salt hides in the finely shredded coconut.

Bake 25 to 30 minutes. The toothpick test doesn’t work here, so be sure your oven is at the right temperature. I also like to turn on the broiler for just a bit, to get the coconut nicely toasted.

Cool on a wire rack. Cut into nicely sized squares.

Red Onion and Cherry Tomato Pizza

2011-06-15T03:44:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

There are some combinations of flavors that should be repeated, and repeated often. For me, red onion and fresh cherry tomatoes with roasted garlic is one of those unbeatable combinations. About two weeks ago, I walked past an artisanal pizza shop. A fresh tray of hot pizza topped with red onions and cherry tomatoes had just been set in the display window. The clean white tiled interior and chalkboard menu drew me into the shop. It was dangerously close to dinnertime, but I bought a slice, anyway, and walked home munching on warm pizza.

Fingers barely wiped clean of grease, I thought to myself: I can do this, and I can do it better. I set a frozen ball of pizza dough out to defrost and made a mental list of ingredients: cherry tomatoes, red onion, garlic, and basil.

Don’t expect to get the most scrumptious results without using the best quality ingredients. Lately, I have been getting some delicious red cherry tomatoes from the local market. Sweet and bright, these tomatoes are great in salads, sauces, or as a refreshing snack. I have taken to eating them cold, straight out of the fridge. My other recent luxury is fresh basil– I was planning to make a big batch of pesto– so a few big leaves made it onto my pizza, as well. A few slices from a wedge of raclette cheese added that last touch to the rich flavors fo the pizza. Requests for a second round have already been recorded!

Red Onion and Cherry Tomato Pizza

Pizza dough
1 red onion
5 cherry tomatoes, sliced
3 cloves of garlic, smashed and sliced
¼ to ½ cup tomato sauce
cheese

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

Roll out dough on a lightly floured surface, forming a large disk. Sprinkle a bit of cornmeal on the pizza board and set the prepared dough on top. Spread a generous spoonful of tomato sauce over the dough. Top with thinly sliced red onions and garlic. Next, top with cheese and tomatoes.

Bake in the oven until golden brown and the cheese is nicely melted, about 15 minutes.

Chocolate Chip Cookies - Crispy Style

2011-06-06T09:19:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

There may be amazing desserts in Europe, but there isn’t anything quite like a good old American chocolate chip cookie. I am a full-blown cookie monster, and for the past seven months, I’ve have been satisfying my cravings with European “cookies.” Flat, hard, crunchy, more like crackers than the buttery, sweet, dense morsels that we call cookies. They are adequate, but some days, a girl just needs her cookies!

I asked a Europe-bound friend to bring a box of brown of sugar, so I could get a bit of the US into my Barcelona apartment. I am thrilled that she dragged it eastward in her suitcase (warm hugs to her boyfriend, who ran to the corner store to pick up my last minute request). Brown sugar in hand, I prepared for a chocolate-chip-cookie-baking marathon.

About half way through the recipe, I realized that I was ½ cup short on flour. I was hardly going to run to the store for an extra ½ cup of flour. Instead, I substituted that ½ cup of flour for an equal amount of shredded coconut. How big of an effect could it have?

Well… do you know Tate’s Bake Shop? They turn out amazingly crispy and almost caramel-like chocolate chip cookies. Unassumingly packed into clear plastic bags with big green labels, these cookies were an occasional afternoon treat in my New York office. And while I never turned down a Tate’s cookie, I was not convinced that their style could be recreated in the home kitchen. In my current state of deprivation, impatience was a virtue… I inadvertently discovered the magical proportion of butter to flour to chocolate that must be the secret of Tate’s chocolate chip crisps!

As a side note, these cookies are best eaten cold, with a nice cup of tea or coffee– they’re actually not all that great for ice-cream sandwiches.

Crisp Chocolate Chip Cookies
(makes about 6 dozen small cookies)

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
½ cup shredded coconut
1 tsp salt
¾ tsp baking soda
8 oz butter, at room temp (2 sticks)
1 cup sugar
2/3 cup light brown sugar (packed)
2 large eggs
12 oz dark chocolate, chopped into large chunks
1 cup hazelnuts, chopped

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Line baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, shredded coconut, salt, and baking soda. Set aside.

In a second large bowl, beat butter until smooth with a wooden spoon (or to save your arm strength for carrying groceries from the subway, use an electric mixer). Add brown and white sugars, mix until well-blended. Beat in eggs one at a time until each is well-incorporated. In three portions, mix in dry ingredients, nuts, and chocolate chunks. Cool in the fridge for 1 hour, until the dough is firm and set.

Using two spoons, carefully transfer dough onto baking sheets. Set far apart, about 2 inches. The cookies will spread in the oven.

Bake the cookies, 8 to 12 minutes. Checking the oven at the 8 minute mark. When the cookies are nice and brown, pull the sheet from the oven and let cool for 1 or 2 minutes. The cookies will harden as they cool. Set aside on a wire rack.

Repeat with the remaining dough, cooling baking sheet between batches.

Mallorca, the real ensaimada

2011-06-03T11:06:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

One of my favorite treats is a fluffy, spiral-shaped ensaimada. Dusted with a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar, the simple yeasted pastry has a history that extends back to the Middle Ages. The story goes that the spiral shape was modeled after the ends of Torah scrolls. The ensaimada can be found in every pastry case. (I am particularly fond of the ones offered at my corner shop.)

Mallorca claims to make the true ensaimada. I suppose Paris could claim to make the true croissant, but are such declarations necessary? The island of Mallorca seems to think so. A sticker denoting geographical indication, similar to the French system of Appellation d'origine controlée, appears in every ensaimada-selling establishment, as does a bright orange sticker on each ensaimada box. The poster sums up their feelings.

A week ago, I was fortunate enough to sample the “real” ensaimada. A friend, who made a quick two-day jaunt to the sunny town of Palma, brought one up to Barcelona. Transported in an octagonal blue box patterned with white dots and stamped with the orange Consell Regulador Indicació Geográfica Protegida sticker, the ensaimada rested under a soft blanket of powdered sugar and white tissue. Larger than any reasonable single serving, this could easily feed four people. I later learned that some reached the size of small dining table: Imagine putting one of those in the overhead bin!

I whipped out my camera, took some pictures, and couldn’t wait until morning, when this pillowy treat would be my breakfast. I wasn’t disappointed. The bread was light and fluffy, filled with a subtly sweet jelly-like paste, and perfect with that first cup of coffee. Is it better than the Barcelona varieties? I’m not so sure. But, I think it’s a perfect excuse to head over to my corner shop for a second look.

Tarte Au Citron

2011-05-29T11:36:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon

Hands down, Anne Willan’s recipe for tarte au citron is the best. One of my all time favorite desserts, tarte au citron is one of late afternoon, last minute desserts. I have experimented with graham cracker crumb crusts, whizzed whole oranges with sugar in food processors, and topped pale yellow tartes with fresh raspberries. Julia Child, Dorie Greenspan, Patricia Wells, Ina Garten, all have their tarte au citron recipes (which I have meticulously ranked), but Anne Willan’s recipe recently catapulted to the top.

A few weeks back, I hosted a small dinner party. The menu included a creamy blanquette de veau, simple garden salad, and two desserts: tarte au citron and a lovely fruit-topped, whipped cream laden cake from the pastry shop. Dinner was followed by an all night marathon of friendly poker, after which that wonderful cake was a welcome sight. It was a great evening and reminded me of why I love hosting dinner parties. I have a chance to serve a variety of recipes that would otherwise remain in black and white print.

Except for one adjustment, I followed her recipe exactly. The recipe called for ¾ cup almond flour. I’m still not so good with the numbers, so I ordered too small a bag from the dry goods stand. So, I added dried coconut to equal the full ¾ cup. The coconut was a nice addition, subtly balancing the tartness of the lemon filling. However, the biggest surprise was the call for pulverized almond instead of cream. I was a bit hesitant at first, but am now a firm believer in almond flour over cream in all tarte au citron recipes. The tart had a nice light texture and held its shape nicely after each slice. I will never go back to cream, when almond flour can be substituted.

Whipping the egg and lemon juice to the ribbon stage nearly killed me. My shoulder muscle is cramping as I type. I have a new respect for those pre-KitchenAid chefs. I have temporarily shelved an attempt at chocolate mousse in favor of the less labor-intensive dessert of cut fruit.

I intended to top the tarte with macerated strawberries. But at the last moment, I opted to serve the berries at the end as a finishing course. The tarte is so good, that it doesn’t need further embellishments. It is a stand alone dessert.

Pull your copy of The Country Cooking of France from your shelf and try it. I’m dying to hear your thoughts, but please use your electric beater.

Tarte Au Citron
(serves 8)

Pate a Sucre
I used Julia Child’s recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Lemon Filling
½ cup ground almonds
¼ cup shredded coconut
3 /4 cup granulated sugar
3 eggs
grated zest of 2 lemons
¼ cup lemon juice
2/3 cup butter melted

Prepare pate a sucre according to Julia Child’s recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Blind bake the tart shell until light golden brown.

For the filling, beat eggs and sugar until the mixture until thick and pale yellow. The mixture should leave a ribbon trail when the whisk is lifted. Stir in the lemon zest, lemon juice, and butter. Stir in the ground almonds and the coconut.

Set the tart shell on a hot baking sheet and pour in the filling. Bake until set and golden brown, 25 to 30 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack before unmolding. Serve at room temperature.

Pan Roasted Zucchini Sandwiches

2011-05-26T10:59:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

I can’t believe a whole month has passed since I last wrote. As of late March, my life has been busy with visits from friends and family, all eager to enjoy the sunshine, fresh seafood, and explore the streets of Barcelona. And then there was all the travel: Two trips to Madrid, a weeklong stay in Andalucia, and a short daytrip to Montserrat.

Renee came out for a month long visit, took a week of Spanish classes, and was a willing traveling companion. She organized a short trip to Madrid, which included a visit to the Royal Palace, Sunday morning rambling at El Rastro (the biggest flea market in the world), and an afternoon at the Prado Museum. In between those stops, I dragged her through the streets of Madrid, scouting out churches, convents, and… restaurants. If you are vegetarian, Madrid isn’t the friendliest of cities, but if you love pork, you’ve hit the jackpot. After her departure in early May, two more guests took their turns sleeping on the inflatable mattress in the living room.

Our last guest left early Monday morning. The air mattress can finally get its much- needed rest. The process of putting the house back together began this morning, with long neglected errands penciled in for the afternoon. I am easing back into my routine and gearing up for a hot, hot summer. Thanks to one of my guests, we discovered that some of the best ice cream in Barcelona is blocks from the apartment. Our brand-new, and all-too-necessary ice cube trays are cooling in the freezer, and today, the all-important fan will be broken out of its box.

Today’s lunch will also be low key. Pan roasted zucchini, fresh tomato, and Mahon cheese between slices of grilled baguette. A cow’s milk cheese from the Balearic Islands just south of Barcelona, Mahon cheese is smooth and rich with a sharp floral note. I usually serve it with a slice of crisp apple, but have found that its strong flavor complements the butter-like taste of roasted zucchini. It’s the perfect, limited prep sandwich for maximum taste.

Pan Roasted Zucchini Sandwiches
(serves 2)

One loaf of fresh baguette (or day old works nicely too)
1 zucchini, sliced lengthwise
1 tomato, sliced into generous ½ inch slices
Mahon cheese, sliced
1 garlic clove, peeled
Olive oil
Salt

Heat up a skillet with a drop of olive oil. Halve baguette and slice lengthwise. Lightly drizzle sliced bread with olive oil. When the skillet is nice and hot, set baguettes cut side down into the skillet. Slowly toast, until golden brown. Remove. Scrape the peeled garlic clove over the hot, toasted bread. Top with tomato. Place sliced cheese on the second half. Set aside. Add a drop more olive oil. Over medium heat, slowly cook sliced zucchini until golden brown. Set cooked zucchini over cheese and bread.

Ripoll, Catalonia

2011-04-28T17:49:00.008-04:00

Dear Devon,

As much as I love urban life, sometimes it is nice to know that an entirely different world awaits me only an hour’s drive from the city limits. In that spirit, we packed up a rental car with a few sandwich-making goodies including loaves of bread, cheese, chocolate (wait, that’s not for sandwiches), cured meats, and apples, and headed to the Pyrenees.

Fortunately, I was not pressed into service as a driver, so I lounged in the back seat, thoughts focused on the intermittently rocky and verdant scenery. Guided by an antique, but still serviceable road atlas and the most recent edition of Lonely Planet Spain (which we tried to ignore), we turned what started as a one-day excursion into a two-day affair. There was no definite plan, and no hotel reservation, no real discussion of endpoints or mealtimes.

We stopped around lunchtime in the town of Ripoll, famous for its Romanesque monastery. It was a beautiful day, so we parked at the train station, and grabbed our lunch and strolled into town. The Saturday market was in full swing. A dusty street was given over to mobile stands of hanging sausages, tubs of olives, crates of vegetables, and other sensual things that caught our attention before we could find our way to the monastic complex at the center of town.

Though we had dutifully brought our own lunches, the smell of slow roasted, herb spiced chicken at a truck parked on the market street was irresistible. For eight euros our humble sandwiches were upstaged by a piping hot roasted chicken, roughly cut by the vendor with a pair of large, and obviously very sharp scissors. Lacking utensils or napkins, we dove into our lunch. Ten minutes later, we were sitting on a bench in front of the church-museum, debating the merits of lunch versus cultural edification. Bellies full and a bit pleased with our lack of decorum, we crossed the street to the monastery, only to find the doors closed for… lunch. Undeterred, we found an empty table in the sun-filled plaza, ordered coffee, and spent two hours in relaxed conversation.

By the way, despite having been very enthusiastically restored a century ago, the monastery is worth the visit, even on non-market days.

Quiche Lorraine

2011-04-22T11:24:00.002-04:00

Dear Devon,

Farm fresh eggs. A friend gave me a present of four eggs, real farm eggs from her grandmother’s chicken coop in a small Catalan mountain village. I’ve tried to explain the difference between American and Catalan eggs for my friends from Barcelona. I am still surprised by their natural creaminess and neon orange color. That’s when the egg-collecting grandmother entered the discussion. Her small flock of chickens lays eggs for her city living granddaughter.

In the interest of continuing my education, several eggs were carefully packed in newspaper and given to me. That’s the thing about the people here; they are exceedingly generous. If you show the slightest interest in anything, it will be insistently pressed into your hand. Refusal is not an option.

To enjoy this gift to the maximum, I dusted off the tart form and settled on Anne Willan’s decadent Quiche Lorraine recipe. Eggs, crème fraiche and lardons are the major players in this over-the-top quiche. It’s the perfect mix of creamy eggs and smoky freshly fried bacon enclosed in a flaky and buttery crust. It comes out of the oven puffed and steaming hot. Willan suggests eating it straight from the oven for maximum flavor, which we did, but we also enjoyed cold slices for breakfast the next day and the next.

Quiche Lorraine
(from Willan, Anne. The Country Cooking of France p. 46)

Pate Brisée
1 2/3 cups flour
1 egg yolk
¾ tsp salt
3 tbsp water
6 tbsp butter

Filling
1 tbsp butter
7 oz lean smoked bacon, cut into lardons
2 eggs
1 cup crème fraiche

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

In a food processor, combine cubed, chilled butter with flour and salt. Pulse until small peas form. Add egg yolk and pulse, three or four times. Add water, tablespoon by tablespoon, pulsing the machine until the dough just comes together. The amount of water used depends on the humidity of your kitchen. You may not need to use all the water. When a rough dough forms, turn out the dough and lightly knead on a floured surface. Form into a ball and rest in a lightly oiled bowl. Cool in the fridge 15 to 30 minutes.

Roll the chilled dough to ¼ inch thick on a lightly floured surface. Line tart pan with dough. Using the tines of a fork, prick the dough all over and fill with pie weights. Bake the shell until light golden color, roughly 20 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool on a cooling rack.

For the filling, cook lardons until lightly browned and crisped. Remove from the pan using a draining spoon and cool on a plate lined with super absorbent paper towels. In a bowl, whisk together eggs and crème fraiche. Line the cooled pie shell with lardons and pour in the egg mixture. Bake until the filling is set and golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes.

Fira de Bellcaire, Barcelona

2011-04-19T10:43:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, the calls of spirited vendors rise and fall like contrapuntal melodic lines in the Fira de Bellcaire, Barcelona’s open air flea market. I still haven’t found any rare and unrecognized masterpieces in their heaps of junk, but from time to time I feel the gravitational pull of this bustling arena. Perhaps it is the energy of the market that keeps me returning? More likely, it’s the fortuitous location, an easy fifteen-minute walk from my apartment. There is some fascinating people watching here, not to mention enough random dust-covered clutter to keep a third rate antique store fully stocked for years.

Despite my many ventures into the crowded market, I still feel a bit discombobulated every time I walk in. It’s that frenetic energy and the anticipation of hitting the jackpot. I move through the crowded aisle of ancient LPs, rusted hand tools, and yellowing photographs. I want to get to those vendors who display their wares on large plastic tarps. There you can find some potentially good stuff: chipped porcelain dishes, garish golden statues, bolts of brightly patterned fabric, and of course, carved dark wood headboards. I’ve seen people carry some crazy stuff out of the gate.

But while I enjoy the idea of the hunt, the fact is that I lack both the patience and the talent to be more than an occasional treasure hunter. In the end, I always lose interest in these makeshift stands and find myself in the friendly company of a man who sells kitchenware. Gruff, beard yellowed by an ever-present cigarette, and dressed in blue overalls, his appearance contrasts with his almost delicate, soft voice and encyclopedic knowledge of kitchen equipment. If you get him started on paella pans, you’ll be there for at least 15 minutes. Don’t misunderstand me, I am completely captivated by him and I almost never leave without purchasing something, to the annoyance of the person who will be carrying my suitcase home.

My latest purchase is a stainless steel paella pan. When my mother visited, she mentioned wanting to bring one back to the States. So we paid him a visit, but after he went through a long explanation of paella maintenance (not dishwasher safe), she decided against it. Younger, and less experienced, I purchased one. I don’t exactly regret the purchase, but taking care of the light steel pan is a bit of a pain. The pan has to be thoroughly dried and lightly coated in olive oil after every use to prevent rusting. In the end, this shouldn’t be such a problem, but I am spoiled by American no-stress cookware. I love cooking pots, gadgets, storage containers, spatulas, and wooden spoons. I just hate doing dishes!

Clarified Butter and Ghee

2011-03-30T13:54:00.001-04:00

Dear Michelle-

Those eggs sounded so good that I made soft-scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast today. I added a creamy blob of butter halfway through, and some rosemary salt from The Meadow in Portland on top. It was amazing. I love the table cloth you are using in the photos of the eggs!

I've been on a diet of sorts the past two weeks or so. It's not a losing weight diet, but the cleansing sort. It is designed to be easily digestible, to reduce the amount of energy the body puts into dealing with digestion and daily elimination of toxins, which leaves more energy for eliminating built-up toxins and inflammation. Exciting, huh? Just wait! Not allowed is any grain with gluten, refined sugar, alcohol, caffeine, soy, or any animal products besides chicken meat (apparently very easy to digest--who knew?) and Indian clarified butter, ghee.

As you can see, there's not much variety called for in the diet, but it's not supposed to be about gastronomy. This was perhaps the hardest thing for me to deal with. My daily diet consisted of oatmeal with applesauce (unsweetened, organic) in the morning, and lunch and dinner were servings of kichadi, a mixture of spices with mung beans, rice, and vegetables. It wasn't so bad, and I found a spice mixture that was to my liking, but there's no way to get around that kichadi=mush. The things that made it more exciting were an allowance of chutneys and ghee. I bought a couple of chutneys, whipped up an additional easy apple-apricot-ginger chutney, and have made two batches of ghee.

I thought until recently that ghee and clarified butter were one and the same, but that's not the case. Butter is made up of three things: fat, water, and milk solids. Clarified butter is just the fat; ghee is the fat after the milk solids have toasted a little, lending to it a delicious nutty flavor and a gorgeous golden color. The advantage to using this "purified" butterfat over regular butter is that it does not burn as easily, so it can be used to impart a buttery flavor to foods in which you'd otherwise have to use oil. I don't know if this technically means that ghee has a higher smoke point than butter does, but the milk solids present in butter do burn before the oil does.

Ghee is also okay to eat for those people who are sensitive to dairy, a big treat if you have otherwise been avoiding butter. I know that there are supposedly good butter replacements out there, but let's be honest here for a minute--all things being equal, would anyone choose margarine over good, old fashioned butter?

Because the milk solids and water have been taken out, all clarified butters have a longer shelf life than regular butter does. One can see why that would be so valuable in a hot country like India, so it is not surprising that ghee has a sacred role in some Hindu rituals, as well as a hymn dedicated to it. It is much used in Ayurveda, traditional Indian medicine.

When making clarified butter or ghee, it is important to start with organic butter. I was told once that added hormones accumulate in the fat of animals, and that was enough to keep me buying organic butter. Though I do not buy organic across the board, I am careful to only buy organic dairy, eggs, and meat.

Making ghee is pretty easy. So easy, in fact, that I don't even need to write out a real recipe. Put butter in a deep pot. I used a pound, and most sites say that you'll lose about a quarter of volume in the process of cooking. Heat the pot on very low. The butter will melt, then develop film. It will pop and sputter, and fill your kitchen with a heavenly scent. The film on top becomes harder (this can be skimmed, I don't bother), and some milk solids will fall to the bottom of the pot. Once the popping and sputtering stops, about a half hour in, you have clarified butter. If you want to make ghee, watch the pot closely at this point; you want the milk solids on the bottom to brown lightly, BUT NOT TO BURN. Once browned and toasty-smelling, pull from the heat. The easiest way to decant this is to line a strainer with cheesecloth and poor through to a medium sized mason jar. This should hold indefinitely in the fridge. Below are photos of the various stages that butter goes through to clarify. I'd recommend cooking it in a large enough pot that the uncooked butter covers most of the bottom of the pot; I made some ghee recently that burned before it had stopped popping, I think because the melted butter was too shallow.

Softly Scrambled Eggs with Fava Beans

2011-03-18T11:28:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon,

Thoughts of your celery kimchi have my mouth watering. I’m imagining a spicy, crunchy and refreshing bite soaked in a salty and tangy brine. Homemade kimchi is probably the easiest bit of “cooking” out there. I have made several batches since moving to Barcelona, calling upon local ingredients and rather inventive brining methods (fridge is small). But my next batch, will definitely involve celery.

Something else I’ve been drooling over is Anne Willan’s The Country Cooking of France. This book has become the standard by which I judge all other cookbooks. It has absolutely gorgeous photographs for almost every recipe in the book, and includes detailed instructions. Never underestimate the importance of detail when explaining how to prepare pig’s feet or soufflé techniques.
And while I consider myself fairly handy in the kitchen, her text does leave me a bit intimidated. She seduces me with recipes that seem easy to execute but conjure battle scenes with an unwieldy giant in my imagination. Am I exaggerating? You’ve known me for years and you must know that I tend to embellish.

It is time to stop reading and move towards the stove. I’m living next to some of the greatest markets and pork products in the world. I should embrace some of Willan’s more adventurous recipes. When else will I have this chance? Plus, I am lucky, my dinner guests these days are forgiving, adventurous types.

For a warm up exercise, I chose Willan’s recipe for softly scrambled eggs with wild mushrooms. If you haven’t tried softly scrambled eggs, I suggest you to crack some eggs and try it tonight. The texture is buttery and light. The trick is to scramble the eggs over low heat. It takes an extra 10 minutes or so, but is definitely worth the wait. Overflowing from every market stand when I first arrived in Barcelona, wild mushrooms have disappeared into their damp retreats until the fall. Undeterred, I substituted fresh fava beans.

Softly Scrambled Eggs with Fava Beans
Adapted from Anne Willan’s The Country Cooking of France

1 pound fava beans in the pod
1 slice of unsmoked bacon, cut into chunks
4 eggs
¼ cup milk
1 pinch salt
toasted bread

Bring a large pot of water to boil. Drop in the fava beans (in their pods). Boil roughly 5 minutes before removing from the stovetop. Drain and soak in cold water. When the beans are cool enough to handle, break open the pods and remove the beans.

In a sauté pan, slowly fry bacon. When the bacon is nice and crisp, remove from the pan and reserve in a small mixing bowl. Add the shelled fava beans to the bacon fat. Cook over medium heat until nicely browned. Remove from the pan, adding favas to the bowl with the bacon.

In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs and milk with a pinch of salt. Wait for the pan to cool down, before cooking the eggs. Turn the flame to medium-low. Add egg mixture. Using a wooden spatula, stir the eggs, scraping the sides and bottom of the pan. The goal is to prevent the eggs from setting too quickly or clumping. Vigilant stirring is the key. Cook for about 10 minutes. The eggs should be loose but not runny, without any traces of raw egg. At the last moment, stir in the favas and bacon. Freshly chopped herbs would be a nice addition. I recommend: chive, chervil, dill or parsley.

Serve over toast and with freshly grated black pepper.

Kimchi Party!

2011-03-15T18:47:00.000-04:00

Dear Michelle-

Oh man that pizza looks good! I had been hoping you were going to follow up "how to make pizza dough" with some actual pizza. I'll have to try that recipe sometime, but I have to admit that it's hard to give up our shortcut--pizza dough bought from Carmines, the pizza place on our block. In the pros and cons of New York City list that I'm sure every non-native New Yorker has, general proximity to pizza joints is definitely a pro.

Another wonderful thing about New York is the constant movement of the city--people connect, create, build, and come up with things like the Brooklyn Brainery, a space dedicated to hosting cheap classes ($5-$25) in which you can learn about a variety of subjects. It's pretty awesome. Jeff had seen something online about a kimchi party they were having on a Sunday in January and thought I might be interested, which, duh, of course I was.

Here's the gist of kimchi: in its purest form, it is a fermented cabbage, much like sauerkraut. However, it can be made with other vegetables, turnips being commonly used, and is generally quite spicy. The kimchi we made used cabbage, shredded carrot and daikon radish, a sweet rice porridge, garlic, ginger, scallion, fish sauce, flaked pepper, sugar and salt. The second kimchi that I made had celery instead of cabbage, but everything else was the same. In case you think I'm greedy for making two, I'll add that I did share my celery (and was pleased to see that it was almost gone by the time I left!). Once you're done mixing your kimchi, you can eat it immediately or let it sit out at room temperature for a few days to ferment. This makes it bubbly and pungent. I never took a photo of my finished product, sorry. It was good, though. I'll certainly make it again! We love Kimchi, and it will be nice to experiment with different vegetables.

Amy and Mary and I met at the G-train, and somehow managed to turn a two-minute walk from the subway into fifteen. I figured, no problem, as we'd planned to arrive at the beginning of the five-hour window of the come-when-you-will workshop. It was packed. I wish I'd taken a photo of the space, and of the crowd, but it was all I could do to follow my friends around taking photos and then dart in line to make my own kimchi.

Jeff and I had tried a kimchi plate at Mrs. Kim's in Greenpoint a while ago, on which the celery kimchi was both unexpected and unexpectedly good. I brought a bunch of celery with me to the party, hoping to make a jar with that and one with cabbage. The people running everything were really nice about it, pointing me to a sink and a knife and cutting board to prep, along with exclaiming what a good idea the celery was.

I chopped while the short presentation went on, and then watched the free-for-all begin. I exaggerate a bit--there was a line--but it was difficult to squeeze in to take photos. The best part was at the end of the ingredients line, where people were mixing and packing their creations everywhere. They were taking turns holding the bowls for each other, mixing on the floor, really anywhere they could. There was kimchi everywhere! I headed over to a table that most people had overlooked somehow.

Despite how hectic everything was, everyone was good-humored. I guess a $5 make-your-own kimchi (ingredients-included) party makes people happy. It certainly was a good deal, especially for the people who brought GIANT containers and filled them up with the spicy fragrant cabbage mixture.

The recipe below is only a guideline, as the amounts of various ingredients differs greatly from recipe to recipe. I let my kimchi sit out for three days before moving it to the fridge, though next time I might only do two, as it got a little soft for my taste. I also might go heavier on the ginger, and add more scallions. If you use celery, don't forget to de-string the stalks!

There are a variety of things you can do with Kimchi: I like it tossed with with miso butter and soba noodles, in stir-fry or fried rice, or blended into a sauce for vegetables or tofu. It is commonly eaten as one of several small side dishes that are served with Korean meals, or made into kimchi pancakes or kimchi stew. I love that something that seems so specific--spicy fermented cabbage--can be used in so many dishes.

This workshop happened just a couple of days before the snowstorm here in January, so here is a link to some photos of that.

Kimchi, Brooklyn Brainery style

This recipe is what the Brooklyn Brainery had up on the wall during the party, and also what they sent out via email afterwards. It is verbatim.

Use a little more garlic or a little less ginger, do whatever you think you’ll like!

• 1 tsp garlic

• 1 tsp ginger

• ¼ cup shredded radish

• 2 tbl shredded carrot

• pinch of green onions (3 tbl, but it’s tough to measure)

• 1 tsp sugar (or ¼ c rice porridge)

• 1 tbl onion paste

• 1 tbl fish sauce

• 1-3 tbl red pepper flakes

• 1 ½ cups cabbage

If you’d prefer to make cucumber kimchi, follow the exact same instructions, just stuff the ingredients into a cucumber at the end!

And radish kimchi? Just mix in the cubed radishes!

Kimchi Technique

With any kimchi recipe, there are three steps.

1: Brining

After you cut up your cabbage, you need to salt it to draw out the water and do some magic on the texture and flavor.

Method 1: Mix 1 cup of salt into the cut-up cabbage for every 10 pounds of cabbage. Let sit for 1 ½ hours, mixing every half hour.

Method 2: Mix 2 cups water with ½ cup salt for every pound of cabbage. Cut the cabbages into quarters, sprinkle salt on the stems, and submerge them in the salty water for 4-5 hours.

2: Mixing

Mix together everything except your cabbage.

Tip: The more finely you mince your garlic and ginger, the better the end product will be. If you can get it paste-like with the held of a food processor you’re in good shape!

Now mix it up with your cabbage.

3: Fermenting

While you can eat your kimchi right away, it doesn’t get awesome until it’s started to ferment. Fermentation happens when little friendly bacteria work their way through the sugars, turning them into acids and CO2.. This is what makes kimchi taste sour.

How do you ferment? Just leave your kimchi alone and they’ll get started without you. It happens a lot more quickly on the countertop than in the fridge – I like to set my kimchi on a table in the kitchen for a couple days before I move it into the fridge. Don’t worry about it spoiling – the good bacteria have all sorts of methods they use to keep everything clean. If you notice a little white scum on top, scoop it off before you put it in the fridge.

Once it’s been around for 3-4 weeks, it’s probably gotten to the point where it’s pretty sour and a good candidate for kimchi stew!

Pizza Dough Part II: Mushroom and Garlic

2011-03-04T12:00:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

Ever since I discovered how easy it is to make fresh pizza dough, I have made pizza for lunch and dinner several times. I am surprised that I never thought to try it before. How foolish of me, to have avoided yeast-based recipes simply for fear of pulling dense, unleavened bricks from the oven!

While the process of making dough is a constant, toppings offer a freedom of imagination almost unparalleled since the “recipe” for fried rice. Of course, there is the standard use of tomato sauce and cheese, but beyond that… the possibilities are endless. Rummaging through the fridge has produced a lengthy list of unusual, but delicious combinations. In a pinch, I have used smashed garlic and onions. It was all I had in the house. It was delicious, though gum was helpful after lunch. The roasted garlic gave the pizza a surprisingly strong smell and a hint of burnt sweetness. Why isn’t this a standard topping?

Picking my own toppings is definitely the best part of making pizza at home. I don’t limit myself to the ones that you can find in pizzeria display cases. I’ve found success with a variety of toppings both in combination and by themselves. Thinly sliced eggplant rounds, goat cheese, mushrooms, spring onions, rosemary, fresh tomato, and of course, garlic, just to name a few. But don’t let me inhibit your imagination!

P.S. You’ll notice that I’m using a paella pan as a pizza board. I like to think that living in Spain is taking my resourcefulness to new heights.

Mushroom and Garlic Pizza

Prepared pizza dough, enough for a 12 inch pizza
3 to 4 white button mushrooms, sliced paper thin
3 cloves of garlic, smashed
1 round of fresh mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
¼ cup tomato puree
cornmeal for dusting
salt

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. To get that crisp texture, make sure the oven is at temperature before putting the pizza in. Lightly sprinkle the pizza board or pan with a bit of cornmeal.

Lightly flour a work surface. Roll the dough roughly circular, adding additional flour as necessary. Carefully lift dough and place onto baking pan. Spread tomato sauce leaving a ½ inch crust. Top with cheese, mushrooms, and garlic.

Bake in hot oven for 15 minutes, until the cheese is melted and the crust is nicely browned. I like to turn on the broiler for about 2 minutes at the very end. I prefer my pizza slightly burned.

Double Celery Soup

2011-03-03T10:37:00.003-05:00

Dear Michelle-

I am so ready for Spring. We just got back from a trip to Oregon to visit my in-laws and meet our new niece, and though it was rainy, even a little snowy, Winter is on its way out there. Crocuses and periwinkle were blooming, and the daffodils were on the cusp. Portland was green and mossy, beautiful when the sun made a brief appearance.

We had a great time. We played with the baby, watched cable on the huge TV, and took advantage of much lower food and movie costs. There's a great lunch spot in Salem, OR, that deserves a mention here called the Wild Pear; I've been there several times over the years and it never fails to please. My sister in law and I had a terrific lunch there followed by gelato (also very good), and then I went back for both with Jeff and his mother the next day! We also went to see both Somewhere and Black Swan. Somwhere was very much what you'd expect of a Sophia Coppola movie, but in a good way (with the exception of the ending- what? really?). It was beautiful, and more about mood than it was plot. Black Swan was fantastic. I've heard it called melodramatic, by more than one person, but it is after all a psychological thriller, and very, very intense. Go see it if you can!

When in Portland, we went out to karaoke with some friends, which was great fun. You know I rarely drink, but karaoke is not something best done sober, at least not for me. I tried it once, but I never will again! We went to Voicebox, and I tried several of the sakes there, but I was blown away by one of them, Hou Hou Shu Sparkling Sake, described as, "Heaven in a bottle." Damned right. That stuff was amazing- light, floral but not too sweet, with a hint of coconut. Unfortunately it was also not so cheap, but I split one with someone and made do with the Sake2me sparkling sake after that, which was perfectly good. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my karaoke skills, but I do have a lot of enthusiasm.

So now we are back in Brooklyn, wishing for Spring, and having seriously overindulged while away. It was the perfect time to make a Patricia Wells recipe I had fond memories of, double celery soup. This is a very simple, restorative soup with few ingredients: celery root, celery stalks, leeks, stock, and salt. She suggests adding a bouquet garni, but I didn't want to spend money on fresh herbs and added some herbes de Provence instead.

The soup is intended to be served as diced vegetables in broth, but I've found I like it as well, if not better, pureed with a little butter added. I served it with buttered bread, and crutons would be good too. Added is a photo of Jeff post-dinner that fit the color scheme. Also, here are some photos of Portland.

Double Celery Soup from Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells pg 31, recipe is verbatim

1 medium celery root, (about 1 lb; 500 g), peeled and diced
10 celery ribs, cubed
3 leeks (about 9 ounces; 270 g), trimmed, well rinsed and cut into thin rounds
Bouquet garni: 1 large sprig of thyme, 3 imported bay leaves, several sprigs of parsley, tied with string
2 quarts (2 l) chicken stock, preferably homemade
Salt and freshly ground pepper
A handful of chopped fresh herbs for garnish: including chervil, chives, flat-leaf parsley

In large saucepan, combine the celery root, celery, leeks, and bouquet garni. Add the stock, and season gently with salt and pepper. Bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Simmer until the vegetables are soft, about 25 minutes. Adjust the seasonings. Pour into warmed shallow soup bowls. Sprinkle with the chopped herbs and serve immediately. Yield is 6 to 8 servings

Hush Puppies, My Contribution to the Office Christmas Party Dinner

2011-02-24T23:02:00.002-05:00

Dear Michelle-

My, you have been busy! And eating very well. I've been a very different sort of busy, filling in for a friend at work, and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning my apartment. Even the work I was doing was cleaning, albeit a digital archiving system! So this past month has been one big purge and organize for me, and I've come out of it feeling much calmer and far less cluttered. Do you ever find that sometimes you just can't do ANYTHING until you've cleaned the space around you?

I've been cooking, and I have several backed-up recipes to share with you, but first I'd like to share these hush puppies, and photos from the office Christmas party.

I don't work in a traditional office. In fact, I very rarely work in an office at all, but when I did it was Paul's. I did various things in his office, as well as assisted for him, before I "left" to retouch from home. I've always also worked for other people, but most of my work has and does come from Paul. The number of people in the office (where I still go when I need to drop off files) varies from 1-6 at any given time, depending on who is in, and including Paul and his wife, Ulla.

Every single one of the people that works there, and that I've known who worked there and then moved on, is awesome. Not, like, how my friends describe their "work friends" as nice people who break up the tedium of the day, but they don't want to hang out with outside of work; these are truly awesome, interesting people I'm proud to call my friends.

All of us do things on the side, mostly fine art, and all of us are supported and encouraged in these endeavors by Paul and Ulla. It's really more like a family or a social group that works together than it is an office, which makes it a very rewarding place to be. Everyone gets along, and even better actively enjoys each other.

So, we tend to have really awesome Christmas parties. Usually we go out to the Warchols' house in Pennsylvania, and we feast and they put us up in the B&B across the street for the evening, but this year a former employee who now shares office space with the PW group proposed she have the party in her apartment, and make gumbo.

Amy's apartment is terrific, a large space with high ceilings and a lot of light, beautifully decorated, plus it's only about a ten-minute walk from my place. Paul picked up some extra tables and we fit about 20 of us in there.

Amy made gumbo and rice, Ulla and Paul made various salads and vegetable dishes, their daughter Lucinda whipped up a beautiful pie, and I made hush puppies and sour cream ice cream.

A member of our party avoids gluten, so I looked online for a gluten-free hush puppy recipe, and found several. Here is the one I used, and I substituted rice four for the "gluten-free flour mix." They were SO GOOD. I made way too many, and they were all eaten; I ate so many "testers" while cooking that I ruined my appetite, which was a shame! So many times people tend to be scared off (maybe rightly so) by recipes that have substitutions as a result of dietary restrictions.

Well, these are the lightest, fluffiest hush puppies I've ever had, and I don't think I'll ever use another recipe. They are light as air on the inside, lightly flavored with onion, and crispy crunchy on the outside. With more forethought, I'd have served them with some honey or maple butter, but it's really not necessary.

Hush Puppies

1 cup corn meal

1/2 c rice flour
3 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
1t sugar ( I think I may have foregone this)
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1/8 t baking soda
1 cup chopped shallot or onion
oil for frying (I prefer peanut)

Mix dry ingredients except for baking soda together. Mix eggs and buttermilk in another small bowl, then mix in baking soda; add mixture to the dry ingredients. Mix in shallots. Drop large spoonfuls of batter into hot oil and fry until golden.

Pizza Dough

2011-02-22T06:43:00.005-05:00

Dear Devon,

In recent weeks, my craving for a good slice of pizza has almost brought me to a standstill. I didn’t think I was the type who would miss a hamburger, everything bagels, and a crispy slice of New York pizza, but it turns out I am. My sister had asked me to post something on pizza. Renee is one of the few people in the entire world that I will indulge. Anyway, I wanted pizza.

My New York self six months ago must have anticipated that pizza would bring my daily routine to a halt, because I packed a photocopied pizza dough recipe from Cindy Mushet’s The Art and Soul of Baking. Although I had never tried this recipe, I have found success with many others from her book. Once I succeeded in converting English to metric, I was ready to start kneading pizza dough.
Mushet’s The Art and Soul of Baking is one of my all time favorites, but her dependence on the classic KitchenAid stand mixer disappoints me. I do not have the counter space, storage facilities, or the resources to call this irreplaceable tool my own. It would certainly be handy for making bread and whipping egg whites, but until I own that sprawling California kitchen, I’ll make do with good old arm strength.

After two anxiety attacks, I adapted the recipe to a non-mechanical process. A few practice rounds later, I streamlined the process, making fresh pizza dough a simple morning task.

Mushet’s recipe makes enough dough for 2 large pizzas. I highly recommend making the recipe in full. The dough is relatively easy to make and the results are fantastic. If you halve the recipe, which I did at first, you will regret it as soon as you finish that last bite. After dividing the dough into halves (or thirds, in fact), I make one pizza for the oven and wrap and seal the remaining dough in a ziplock bag destined for the freezer. Defrosting the dough is simple and takes only a few hours in the fridge. I also like to date whatever goes in the freezer. Sometimes, things go in and don’t come out. I don’t recommend eating that two-year-old lamb curry in the back corner of your freezer.

Fresh Pizza Dough
(adapted from Cindy Mushet, The Art and Soul of Baking, p. 77-78)
makes 3 pizzas

¼ cup warm water (110 to 115 degrees F)
2 ¼ tsp active dry yeast, or 1 ¾ tsp instant yeast
3/4 cup water
2 tbsp olive oil
3 ¼ cups bread flour or unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp salt

In a bowl, mix together yeast and warm water. Add a pinch of sugar and whisk until well blended. Wait five minutes until the mixture gets a bit frothy and milky. Add water and olive to the bowl, mixing to blend (as best you can). The mixture should smell like fresh yeast, sweet and pungent.

On a clean surface, dump out measured flour and salt. Loosely blend with your fingers. Pull the flour together into a roughly pyramidal mound. Make a large well in the center, pushing flour outwards to create a roughly 8-inch “bowl.”

Pour the yeast mixture into the center of the well. Using a fork, slowly incorporate the flour into the mixture, continuously whisking to get rid of any lumps. Continue adding flour with the fork, moving around the base of the flour mound. When the mixture becomes too difficult to mix with the fork, begin breaching the flour walls by adding flour from the top of the wall. Work quickly or the loose dough will run all over the board. Continue to add flour until a rough dough forms. It should be sticky, pungent, and roughly textured. Work into a lump and set in a bowl to rest for 20 minutes. Cover with a lint free cloth.

On a well floured surface, turn out dough. With floured hands, knead for 8 to 10 minutes. The dough should be smooth and elastic. Add more flour as needed. It is a fairly resilient dough. A touch more flour will not affect its final outcome. Set in a lightly oiled bowl to rise for 40 to 60 minutes. Cover with a lint free cloth.

At this point, the dough can be frozen or refrigerated for future use. If destined for the freezer, be sure to divide the dough into halves, wrap in plastic wrap and place into an airtight ziplock bag. Mushet says the dough will stay good up to one month in the freezer. I recently made an eggplant and olive pizza using the frozen dough. It turned out great, just plan a few hours for defrosting and you’re all set.

Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake

2011-02-14T19:18:00.006-05:00

Dear Devon,

Last year on Valentine’s Day, slightly blue scones— made with blood oranges— appeared on your kitchen table. I thought I’d pick up where you left off. This morning, I threw together a blood orange and olive oil cake. Blood oranges are in season. And the fiery skinned fruits are all over the market stands.

These oranges were bursting with juice and color. The smell was completely intoxicating. I felt a bit wasteful using the juice to flavor my cake. It seemed much more appropriate to drink the sweet and slightly acidic juice. I called the still groggy eyed boy into the kitchen to share in the sweet flowery smell of freshly squeezed juice.

I have tried to keep kitchen equipment and utensils to the bare minimum. Not an easy task, given my love of smooth ceramic mixing bowls, enamel coated Dutch ovens, and silicon molds. I am now forced to be a bit more resourceful. This is how I ended up using my terracotta cazuela as a baking dish.

A traditional cooking vessel, the cazuela is used for just about everything: roasting, boiling water, stewing…the list continues. Baking a cake seemed a natural extension. The thick clay walls would act almost like an oven within the oven, insulating the cake nicely and providing even heat. I suspected that these same properties would result in a beautiful crunchy crust. (I was not disappointed).

In general, it is good practice to measure the capacity of the baking vessel before filling it with batter. I only wish I had thought to measure the capacity of my mixing bowl too! Half way through the recipe, I realized that it was not possible to mix the liquids and the flour in my medium sized bowl. A bit frantic, I had to press my aluminum pot into service.

Mixing the blood orange juice into the batter, I issued a silent prayer that my cake would not turn out that light blue color of your scones. I reread your post before starting for some advice. To try to avoid the blue effect, I mixed in tangy yogurt instead of lowfat milk. I hoped the acid from the yogurt would help balance the pH of the batter.

As I poured my gooey batter into my lightly oiled cazuela, I admitted my doubts aloud. My remarks were answered with an eager request to lick the sides of “mixing bowl.” The largest spoon in the house was plopped into the mixing bowl and handed over.

The cake emerged from the oven golden on top with a wonderful crusty edge. It was moist and light with the subtle orange flavoring. The cazuela baked the cake evenly and a bit surprisingly, released the cake easily and in one piece. I cut two generous slices and served the cake with a cup of strong dark coffee. My slice wasn’t quite generous enough and as I rose to cut myself another piece, a bright voice asked for a second slice even though there was still half a slice remaining on the plate!

Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake
Makes one 10 inch round cake or one 12-cup bundt cake

2 ¼ cup flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp blood orange zest and lemon zest
2/3 cup blood orange juice (roughly 3 oranges)
3 eggs, beaten
8 oz olive oil
1 cup yogurt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly oil the baking round. I used a 12-cup capacity baking dish. The recipe is styled for a 12-cup bundt pan or equivalent round cake pan.

In a large mixing bowl, mix together flour, baking soda, and salt.

Zest one blood orange and half a lemon. Juice three blood oranges. In a second mixing bowl, mix citrus zest and sugar. Whisk in three beaten eggs, olive oil, orange juice, and yogurt.

Pour wet ingredients into the flour mixture. The mixture will look a bit curdled but it will be fine. Gently whisk until combined. Transfer batter to the prepared baking dish. Bake for 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean.

Bake 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes.

Note: my baking time may vary from the standard metal baking dishes. Clay cazuelas generally take longer to heat up and probably take a bit longer when baking. I advise checking the cake at the 45-minute mark.

A Restorative Day Trip

2011-02-11T08:16:00.006-05:00

Dear Devon,

The New York Times and various friends have relayed stories and photographs of trials by snow, rain, and cold. Images of slushy puddles and cars trapped in the snow only strengthen my resolve that winter does not have to be this way. There are places where winter is indistinguishable from fall or spring, and that suits me just fine.

Locals say this winter has been unseasonably cold. Two weeks of temperatures in the low 30’s hardly seem a hardship, but this city has only had one day of snow in 10 years. Sitting in the glow of the fading sun, I am completely secure in my decision to run away from New York, at least for a bit.

Friends of ours, tired of a dreary East Coast winter, decided to take advantage of our restorative locale and made the seven-hour journey over the Atlantic for an all too brief visit. They requested two things: fresh seafood and the beach. Though some leather- skinned locals have already started prancing around in the sand, at this time of year, a gust of sea breeze gives me goosebumps, so I suggest shoeless walks in the surf, clothes on.

We boarded an early morning train and made the short coastal trip to the lovely seaside resort town of Sitges. Standing on the platform in Sitges, the train continuing on its way to Tarragona, my shoulders relaxed as I drew in the crisp salty air. Sitges lay before us, bathed in the early morning glow of the Mediterranean sun. We quickly shed our Barcelona layers of hats, coats, and scarves and followed the promising sound of lapping waves. After an hour of strolling the beach, my pocket was full of shells. I was calm, a bit sun-kissed, and scouting out my lunch options.

Lunch happened on the boardwalk, under the shade of a sprawling canvas umbrella and in the company of idle old men and their sun-worshipping dogs. We feasted on local specialties, including thick slices of bread with tomato puree and Sitges’ classic salad of olives, brined codfish, and tomatoes. Next came a giant black pot of steamed mussels and clams in a garlicky, olive oil rich broth. Fervent discussion about seafood safety proliferated, as the boys eager to indulge in all the wonders of the Mediterranean insisted on prying open the tightly-closed clams. (Don’t worry, Mom, the girls won that battle). The entire meal was capped with a 24-inch pan of squid ink fideuà, a paella-like dish made with thin noodles. Purplish-black, peppered with baby squids, sticky and delicious, the fideuà left dark rings on our lips, stained our fingertips, and smudged the tablecloth. By the time lunch was over, we had drained a bottle of red wine mixed with two bottles of soda water.

Back in my apartment in Barcelona, even I have to return to reality, but this lunch memory will remain long after my tongue returns to its normal color.

Veal Chop with Wild Mushrooms

2011-02-07T05:58:00.005-05:00

Dear Devon,

I traded you Alice Waters for Patricia Wells. With the number of cookbooks published every year, I am surprised that trading cards of superstar chefs have not yet been included in every issue of Saveur. Cookbook trading, or borrowing, in our case, is better than laminated cards.

Our cookbook swap is still affecting the way I think about food long after Patricia Wells’ Simply French returned to your library. You had dog-eared a recipe for veal chops with wild mushrooms and asparagus. In addition to Wells’ mouth watering writing and the luscious photograph on the facing page, your high regard for the recipe made me pay closer attention. I studied it and copied it down for later use.
I am not sure if it was the excitement of seeing crates of wild mushrooms, or the blood red loins of beef, but it wasn’t until I walked through the market a few weeks ago that I finally made Wells’ recipe. Of course I made some slight changes. I traded baby asparagus for leftover thin green beans and seasoned one side of each chop with herbaceous za’atar seasonings. Friends of mine brought this tasty mix back from their trip to Israel last summer, and I loved it so much I brought it to Barcelona.

My weekly meat consumption includes cold cuts and sometimes chicken, but in general, I am not a big meat eater. (I confess, I have a weakness for good hamburgers, which are a rarity over here). This was one of the best steaks I have ever eaten. The meat was perfectly cooked, pink and soft inside, but with a salty, herby thick crust. When the knife pierced the juicy meat, my mouth instantly began to water and nothing beats that satisfying crunch of a nicely crusted aromatics. The fragrant mushroom port sauce enhanced every bite, bringing out the sweet grassy undertones of the meat.

You will probably run to your bookshelf in search of her recipe. I wish I had a copy of her book here, so I could continue my dialogue with Ms. Wells. After the success of this recipe, I am eager to try more. I can’t believe I waited half a year to make this!

Veal Chop with Wild Mushrooms
Roughly adapted from Patricia Wells
(serves 2)

2 veal chops
2 tbsp za’atar seasoning
100 g wild mushrooms
2 handfuls of thin green beans
¼ cup port
1 tbsp butter

Let meat come to room temperature. Liberally salt and pepper both sides. Generously sprinkle za’atar spices on one side of meat. Gently pat into the meat. Set aside to rest for a few minutes before cooking.

Sear veal chops za’atar side up over high heat in a large sauté pan in a bit of olive oil. Once the meat has settled into the pan, avoid the temptation to touch the cooking meat. This will ensure a nice browned crust. Depending on the thickness of the meat (mine was ¾ of an inch), sear 5 to 7 minutes before flipping. Continue cooking over a medium high flame for an additional 3 to 5 minutes. I prefer my meat rare-medium rare, but I know many who prefer well done. In any event, cook the meat to your desired temperature. Remove from the pan and set aside on a warmed plate, then cover with foil or a dishtowel.

Over a medium flame, deglaze the pan with port and add the mushrooms. Gently cook the mushrooms in the reducing port sauce. Cook for five or seven minutes before adding thin green beans with their stems removed. Cook for an additional two or three minutes. Add a lump of butter and melt into the sauce.

To serve, top steak with mushroom port sauce. Serve with bread and butter and a green salad.

Mini Chocolate Walnut Cakes

2011-01-25T14:32:00.003-05:00

Dear Devon,

I am not usually drawn to chocolate cakes. Sure, I enjoy the occasional bite of chocolate, and will never turn down an opened bag of peanut M&Ms, but in the end, I tend to prefer desserts without chocolate. So, it is a bit surprising that I falling into the world of chocolate obsessions.

The discovery of bricks of 70% chocolate has changed my world. Technically, the Catalans do not use this type of chocolate for baking but rather for their rich afternoon hot chocolate, usually taken with churros or melindros. Initially ignorant of this differentiation, I grabbed a bar for random snacking and occasional baking. It was a lucky mistake. Now I am embarking on a new adventure: chocolate desserts.

The chocolate is so rich that it needs something more to balance the heady chocolate flavor. I tried making this cake in a larger, traditional cake form with port-infused prunes. Delicious, but the prunes were lost in the smooth, rich chocolate flavor. Next, I tried adding grated ginger, but even 1 ½ tbsp of ginger could not stand up to this intense chocolate flavor. Perhaps the best alternative is nuts: walnuts, pistachios, or my personal favorite, hazelnuts. I set out this morning to try my theory. Will the addition of nuts bring my chocolate cake to a new level?

I was a bit too caught up in my lofty goal to make adequate preparations to ensure optimum success and low levels of stress. The truth is, no matter how large your kitchen, there is never enough counter space, the sink is full of dishes, or you need two whisks and can only find one. I was a bit frantic in the kitchen trying to pull this one together. But now, seated in front of my glowing laptop screen, chocolate cake by my side, I have almost forgotten that I splashed melted chocolate on my blue sweater and that I forgot to turn on the oven.

And even with my organizational challenges, I plan to add this recipe to my rotation. It is not a difficult recipe. It does not require an entire battery of bowls, knives, or whisks. But it does call for a bit of planning. In the end, the rich moist cake studded with creamy buttery walnuts, cloaked in the intense flavor of chocolate, will make the chore of scrubbing bowls seem insignificant.

Next on the list: Flourless Chocolate Cake

Mini Chocolate Walnut Cakes
Makes 6 small cakes or one large 9 inch cake

6 oz butter
4 oz chocolate (70% cacao)
2 eggs
1 tsp red port
¼ cup walnuts, chopped
½ tsp cinnamon
1/3 cup sugar
½ cup flour
¾ tsp baking soda
2 pinches of salt

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter and lightly flour muffin tin or cake pan. Set aside on a large baking sheet until ready to use.

Dice butter and coarsely chop chocolate. Set a heatproof bowl over a pot of simmering water. Add butter and chocolate to the bowl and gently melt, stirring occasionally to encourage even melting. Stir in port. When the mixture appears smooth and glossy, remove and set aside to cool.

Sift together flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside until ready to use.

In a large bowl, whisk eggs for about 30 seconds, just to break them up. Gradually begin adding sugar, whisking vigorously until all the sugar has been incorporated. Whisk until the egg-sugar mixture is about double in volume, thick and a bit frothy. It should be a light lemon yellow color. Add flour in two additions, mixing just until the flour is incorporated. Fold in melted chocolate-butter mixture and 2/3 of the chopped walnuts.

Spoon batter into prepared pan. Sprinkle with remaining chopped nuts. Bake in pre-heated oven for 30 to 35 minutes or until a toothpick or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack before serving.

Botifarra and Onion Marmelade

2011-01-13T11:22:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

In early December, the Wall Street Journal published an article on botifarra, a traditional Catalan sausage made of ground pork and simply seasoned with salt and pepper. I was not surprised to see botifarra appear front and center on WSJ’s food page. I have been enjoying its rich and meaty flavor for weeks. One bite of this subtly seasoned sausage laced with black truffles will send anyone running to the butcher for more. I am especially fond of botifarra incorporated into tomato sauces or slowly braised with shredded cabbage. But my recent obsession has been in the form of a lunchtime sandwich. I pan fry the botifarra in a bit of olive oil. The links satisfyingly crackle and sizzled on the hot pan, the ends curl, and the skins crisp up nicely.

Found in every meat stall and butcher shop in Barcelona, botifarra at its most basic form is a lean pork sausage, without any of the trappings of luxury. Beyond this, the flavors are limitless ranging from the expected: wild mushroom, eggplant or basil to the wildly adventurous like pizza or chocolate flavors. It comes in four types: fresh, white (made with eggs), a black blood variety, and offal. I prefer fresh or botifarra blanca.

A sausage this good calls for a worthy condiment, something beyond bright yellow mustard or vinegary ketchup. I whipped up a quick dressing that I dubbed caramelized onion marmalade. It consists of sweet, golden caramelized onions mixed with fresh, crunchy diced red onions, a touch of spicy Dijon mustard, a splash of balsamic and a drizzle of olive oil. This marmalade was inspired by some of your creamy and tangy mustard sauces of lunches past.

Baguettes were sliced and toasted and smeared with a generous mound of onion marmalade. For “nutritional” value, I added a few pieces of leafy greens. The just-cooked through botifarra was eased on top, tucked into the lettuce and onions and topped by a second piece of toasted baguette.

For both our sakes, I will forgo tasting details. It would be too tortuous. Let’s suffice it to say that I will be enjoying this for lunch again soon.

Onion Marmalade
1 medium-sized red onion, thinly sliced
¼ cup red onion, small dice
2 sprigs rosemary
1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp port wine
1 ½ tbsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp olive oil

2 sausage links (botifarra, if you can find it)
1 large baguette
lettuce

In a medium-sized skillet, heat 1 tbsp of oil. Add onions and rosemary sprigs and turn heat to low and slowly carmelize onions, 15-20 minutes. Throughout the carmelization process, add a touch of port to the onions to prevent scorching. When the onions are evenly browned, take off the burner and allow to cool.

While the onions are cooling, finely dice red onion, place into a medium sized mixing bowl. Add cooled carmelized onions, Dijon mustard, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Mix thoroughly. Set aside for 10 minutes before serving.

In a non-stick skillet over high heat, cook sausage, roughly 7-10 minutes. The skin should bubble up and be a bit charred.

Halve baguette. Using a serrated knife, slice lengthwise. Spread a generous spoon of onion marmalade onto the bottom slice of each halved baguette. Top with lettuce and sausage. Place remaining slice of bread on top to close the sandwich.

Eggs over Bacon-Infused Croutons

2011-01-11T12:57:00.005-05:00

Dear Devon,

If you haven’t already guessed, one of my biggest anxieties is an empty kitchen. Normally, my kitchen is never in such a barebones state that this should be a worry, but a fridge without eggs or milk is empty by my standards. Given the Spanish penchant for holidays, I am never sure when the market will be opened or closed. I had planned a short midweek vacation before the holidays. I did a whole round of grocery shopping before leaving just to be safe.

My list included fresh bread. Nothing beats the smell or taste of fresh bread. But, unfortunately, it has drawbacks, namely preservation. Generally, this is not a problem, but this time I was gone for three days, leaving my bread on the counter. I returned home to a rock hard loaf. I now understand how recipes like bread pudding, croutons, and panzanella originated.

I pulled together a quick breakfast, by frying cubes of the hardened bread in a bit of bacon-infused olive oil. Onions and rosemary were tossed in for some extra flavor and a bit of warmth. Crispy fried eggs topped this savory mountain of old bread. I was careful to keep the yolk loose. I wanted the broken, gooey yolks to ooze into the crannies of the hardened bread. It’s a little messy but definitely worth the clean up.

Eggs over Bacon-Infused Croutons
(serves 2)

½ loaf of stale bread
2 slices of thick bacon
1 small onion, sliced
1 sprig dried rosemary
1/3 cup to ½ cup olive oil
2 eggs

With a heavy knife, dice hard bread. Be careful with your fingers. I found cutting through the bread a bit scary. Fry chopped bacon in a sauté pan. Remove the browned pieces of bacon from the pan and set aside. Add a touch more olive oil, about ¼ cup of fat, including bacon fat. Gently fry cubed bread in oil. Sprinkle in dried, crushed rosemary leaves. Drizzle with olive oil as the bread cooks to encourage even browning and flavoring. The bread will soften as it soaks up the fat and eventually begin to toast up into crunchy morsels. Add sliced onion and cook until translucent. At the end, toss in the bacon. Remove the entire mixture to an awaiting bowl. In the same pan, fry eggs sunny side up.

To serve, scoop out a generous spoonfuls of toasted bread mixture onto a plate or bowl.

Note: I avoided salting this dish, as the bacon is already quite salty.

Embotits de Nadal/Baby Romaine Salad

2010-12-25T15:31:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

Happy December 25th! I am picturing you standing next to a Douglass fir decorated with glistening ornaments and holding a warm mug of eggnog. Most likely, you are busy organizing your Christmas feast. Tell me what’s on the menu! Does it involve roasted goose baked in puff pastry, coquille St. Jacques, or tarte tatin? My Christmas preparations will be decidedly less involved and downright low-key. Though miles away from friends and family, I am not without holiday spirit. Barcelona greeted me this morning awash in warm golden light. The damp air of stormy days earlier this week has vanished. After a quick lunch of embotit de Nadal, a local Christmas treat, I plan to lace up my sneakers for a long stroll through the old city.

I have committed the butcher’s case of cured hams, fresh botifarras, cheeses, and pork loins to memory. When something new appears, I ask questions. I am gradually developing a relationship with the energetic ladies behind the counter. Patient, high spirited, and not the least bit squeamish, these ladies have schooled me in everything from chicharrones to the difference between chops and ribs (in Spanish, of course). So it was with equal enthusiasm that the secrets of embotits de Nadal were explained.

Embotit de Nadal is a Christmas terrine, similar in shape, texture, and appearance to a French jambon persillé, only without the parsley. A jellied meat made from ham hocks and shanks, embotit de Nadal is boiled in rectangular loaf pans and cut into quarter inch slices. Hardboiled eggs, pistachios, and black olives are embedded in the loaf, which is also liberally seasoned with salt and black pepper. I bought six slices at a whopping 10 Euros. Instead of Christmas goose, I will feast on Christmas cold cuts.

Though the lady behind the counter gave me some idea of how to enjoy embotits de Nadal, I was still a bit apprehensive. I relied on past lunches in France for guidance, where jambon persillé was often paired with a fresh green salad, pickled pearl onions, and gerkins. The meat has a wonderful texture, not at all rubbery, but soft and supple. The pistachios and olives add a nice combination of salt and fruit. I prepared this Christmas treat with a big fresh salad of baby Romaine lettuce and prunes. The salad was dressed with a light infusion of egg yolk, mustard, and olive oil, and flavored with raw onions and crushed garlic. The salad highlighted the sweet meat of the embotits de Nadal with its crisp and light blend of tender Romaine, rich dressing, and wine-like prunes.

Like most Catalan food, the embotit de Nadal probably has humble roots, originating in peasant celebrations of the Christmas feast with the enthusiastic slaughter of a communal pig. After the choicest parts were tended to, the less tender or desirable cuts of meat were incorporated into a multitude of dishes. Catalan cuisine uses every part of the animal: It is an amazingly economical cuisine. This simple boiled meat is made luxurious with the addition of highly perishable ingredients: eggs, pistachios, and olives. Unlike the silky cured jamon, the shelf-life probably hovers at around a week, if you can keep your hands off it.

In the United States, jellied meat conjures images of over-salted meat sliding from a can. It is a shame that we did not develop the broad range of offerings found in European charcuteries. I am eager to see if a new generation of butchers will change this tradition.

As of now, I am happy to buy embotit de Nadal at the market. Recipes exist but I am neither brave enough nor have a pot large enough to attempt such a gastronomic feat. I leave you with a simple recipe for my delicious baby Romaine lettuce salad. It doesn’t have to be paired with a grandiose entrée. It can be enjoyed from its serving bowl in front of the television.

Baby Romaine Lettuce Salad
(serves 4)

1 ½ heads of baby romaine lettuce
½ lemon, juiced
1 clove of garlic, crushed
1/3 cup finely diced red onion
2 tsp mustard
2 tsp honey
1 egg, hardboiled
¾ cup olive oil
3 prunes

Place diced onion and crushed garlic into salad bowl. Add lemon juice and allow to rest for about 10 minutes. Macerating the garlic and onion in acid will take some of the raw out. Mix in honey and mustard. Slice egg in half and remove the yolk. Using the back of a fork, crush the yolk into the onion-mustard mixture until you form a rough paste. Whisk in olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Test for acidity and add more oil as needed.

Slice baby romaine lettuce in half lengthwise. Remove the core and slice in half again. Cut into rough chunks. Roughly chop egg white and prunes. Add lettuce, egg white and prunes to the dressing and toss.

Pearl Onion and Haricot Vert Frittatina

2010-12-15T11:55:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

I read a lot of cookbooks, food blogs, and food sections of various major newspapers. You could say I read a lot of recipes and even more opinions about food. But what happens when you abandon the written word for intuition and casual cooking? The answer is kitchen magic and a darned good meal.

Thomas Keller’s recipe for creamed pearl onions has been swimming around in my head. In the past, I never bothered with pearl onions. The tedium of removing skins from onions smaller than gumballs was enough to make me shelve any thoughts of pearl onions. I must have been in a good mood, because today it didn’t seem like that big a deal.

Waiting for my turn at the grocer, I saw a rectangular box, neatly packed with short, matchstick-thin green beans. I always go to the market with a rough shopping list. There is always room for unusual or seasonal fruits that might catch my eye. In this case, I decided on the spur of the moment that these unimposing legumes would pair nicely with butter braised pearl onions.

My loose dinner plan centered on leftovers with a side dish of braised pearl onions and legumes. However, as the temperature in the apartment was on the chilly side, there was a request for something that required oven cooking. I abandoned my plan and converted my braised veggies into a quick frittata. The addition of four eggs and a splash of milk transformed this aromatic side into a rustic main course.

Measuring just short of an inch thick, I dubbed it a frittatina. Tucked into their egg blanket, the fat pearl onions charmed me. Hard crackers served as our carbohydrate for the meal. The wheat based crackers, crunchy and inflected with the earthy taste of unrefined grain, made a nice contrast to the succulent pearl onions and the creaminess of the eggs.

While I love following a battle-tested recipe, it is always reassuring to know that some of the most satisfying meals do not require the consultation of long texts, complicated techniques, or unusual ingredients.

Pearl Onion and Haricot Vert Frittatina
(serves 2 comfortably)

½ cup pearl onions, roughly 16 onions
about 30 thin haricots verts
4 eggs
¼ cup milk
½ tbsp butter
1 sprig rosemary
shaved parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Set the oven rack in the middle of the oven.

Bring a large pot of water to bowl. Prepare a large bowl of ice water. Using a sharp knife, remove the ends of the haricots verts. Add pearl onions to boiling water and cook for about two minutes. Add haricots verts to the boiling water and onions. Cook for one minute more. Remove onions and haricots verts and quickly dunk into icy water. Let sit for thirty seconds to one minute. Strain and remove haricots verts to an awaiting bowl. Carefully slip the brown skins off the onions to reveal the opaque white flesh. Set aside in a separate bowl.

In a medium-sized nonstick pan, melt butter. Strip leaves from rosemary and add to melting butter. The entire kitchen will start to smell of nutty butter and fragrant rosemary. When the butter begins to brown, add the skinned pearl onions. Braise over a low flame for approximately 10 minutes, until the onions are nicely browned and slightly golden. Add haricots verts, cooking for an additional two to three minutes, just to give the greens a touch of color.

In a separate bowl, beat eggs with milk and two large pinches of salt. Pour beaten eggs into the skillet of browned onions and haricots verts. Gently cook the eggs for three minutes over a low flame. Place in the oven to continue cooking. Bake for approximately 7 to 10 minutes or until the top is nicely browned and the eggs have just set. Be careful not to overcook, as this will produce a rubbery texture. With a vegetable peeler, shave large ribbons of parmesan cheese directly over the hot frittatina.

Aromatic Purple PlumSalad

2010-12-10T05:11:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

Does fruit salad need a recipe? Certain combinations go extremely well together: Who would turn down strawberries and cantaloupe, or blackberries and peaches? Fresh and ripe, they are great combinations. But often, fruit salad collapses into browned and mushy fruit in a bowl. Peaches, strawberries, and bananas bruise easily, and on a sunny day, the fruit begins to macerate, great for jams but not ideal for fruit salad. For these reasons, I usually avoid making fruit salads.

Before leaving for Barcelona, I spent my last weekend wandering around Williamsburg. A friend brought me to Radish on Bedford Ave. The quaint shop is styled after an oldtime general store, decorated with eccentric hand-painted chalkboards and a beautiful antique lead-lined fridge. Radish pushes the phrase “take out” way beyond pizza, falafal pitas, or supermarket sushi. It’s real food, cooked using locally grown ingredients. Dishes are kept warm in stylish Staub cocottes and set beside gleaming white trays of savory side dishes. Everything looked absolutely delicious, but alas, we had just stuffed ourselves silly at Fada.

A fruit salad marked as “purple apricot, red onion, and mint” intrigued me. My experience with purple apricots is extremely limited, or rather, nonexistent. I have never seen a purple apricot, so I’m not even sure that’s what they really were. At first glance, they looked like plums. Either way, I was taken with the idea of adding spicy red onion to a sweet fruit salad. I went to the market that afternoon to try it for myself.

Radish was right. Purple onion mixed with fruit is an inspired combination. The flavor is a bit unfamiliar, but definitely not disgusting or off-putting. I sliced fresh purple plums into big wedges and added halved figs. Next came the onion, in thin slivers, opaque, crisp, and fragrant. The salad was carefully tossed with a wooden spoon, gentle on the delicate fruit. The final touch was a bit of aromatic: Lemon zest, mint, or rosemary, on other occasions.

The final salad smells spicy and flowery. It looks amazing with tiny ribbons of red onion settling onto the juicy wedges of plum and plump figs. This salad is about contrasts: Spicy, crisp raw bit of red onion paired with sweet, tangy plums and the grittiness of fig.

Don’t judge this salad until you’ve tasted it. It does require a bit of faith. Pairing red onion with plums and figs is not typical, but I guarantee that it will change how you think about the fruit salad.

Aromatic Purple Plum Salad
(makes 2 servings)

1 large purple skinned plum, sliced
4 figs, halved
2 sprigs rosemary, chopped (about ½ tsp)
1 tbsp red onion, thinly sliced

Wash figs and plums. Dry thoroughly. Cut plums into wedges (a large plum can give you 12 wedges). Halve figs. Store in a large bowl and set aside. Using a very sharp knife, cut paper-thin slices from a medium-sized red onion. Remove leaves from rosemary sprigs and finely chop. Sprinkle fruit with red onion and rosemary. With a large wooden spoon, gently mix the salad. Set aside for 5-10 minutes to allow the flavors to set.

My Parisian Notebook

2010-12-02T15:52:00.006-05:00

Dear Devon,

I have been unforgivably tight-lipped about my recent trip to Paris. The truth is, my recent adventure was an exercise in indulgence and I have spent the past few weeks recuperating. Cheese, museums, food, site-seeing, we did it all, or better yet, we overdid it all.

During my convalescence, I made a list of all the meals and snacks we enjoyed in Paris. There were many standouts, including two evenings at two separate restaurants by chef Christian Constant. His pig’s feet in potatoes, tartare of scallop, oyster, and salmon, and the most heavenly prune clafoutis continue to haunt me. And no visit would be complete without a quick lunch at any one of Eric Kayser’s bakeries. Amazing how a crunchy, properly salted piece of bread transforms an ordinary sandwich into an experience. It is conceivable that one could go to Paris without stopping in at Stroher’s Pâtissier Traiteur on Rue Montorgeuil, but it would be like visiting Paris and not seeing the Eiffel Tour! It’s not your ordinary pastry shop: I saw a French kid suffer an anxiety attack when asked to choose his after school treat. Honestly, I don’t blame him. I turn into last summer’s raspberry jelly every time I enter this shop. Other highlights included late night crepes at L’Avant Comptoir and a plate of simple butter braised wild mushrooms at Chez Paul.

A week in Paris will easily hurt your pocketbook. Once all the foie gras heavy meals and cream laden potatoes were added up, it didn’t leave much room for adventure. To balance our restaurant expenses, we made good use of our Parisian kitchen and the nearby market street of Rue Cler, an absolute gem of a street. Extending from Avenue La Motte Picquet, Rue Cler boasts a fantastic line up of epiceries, charcuteries, restaurants, and boulangeries. In all, we spent three nights roaming this lovely street in search of dinner. We found treasure in the form of wild chanterelles (or girolles in French), huge bulbs of fragrant fennel, and jewel-like red currants right out of a Flemish 16th century painting.

The best feature near Rue Cler is Marie-Anne Cantin’s cheese shop. We visited three times and came away with six ripe, decadent cheeses (many of them raw milk varieties). Her shop is a must for any cheese lover. Knowledgeable, patient, and friendly, Ms. Cantin bustles around her fragrant shop, assisting clients and chefs alike. Before selecting a cheese, she inquires when you plan to eat the cheese, at which point she will poke the cheese to insure that you enjoy your morsel at the height of maturity. Even with her shop tightly closed for the evening, the heady, yeasty smell of cheese emanates from the grates that lead to her on-site aging cave. Rumor has it that Ms. Cantin nurtures the personality of some of her hard cheeses with the assistance of nightly beer baths.

Now, fully rested, I’m eager to get into the kitchen and start experimenting. First on my list is that delectable prune clafoutis. I’ve already purchased a box of silky prunes and now am searching for the perfect vessel to hold my mouthwatering dessert! I definitely agree with Sarkozy, French cuisine belongs on UNESCO cultural heritage list. Vive La France!

Curried Turkey Salad

2010-11-30T14:08:00.001-05:00

Dear Michelle,

Happy Thanksgiving! This could easily be called, “What to Do with Your Turkey When You Don’t Want to Eat Turkey any More”. I love Thanksgiving, it might be my favorite holiday; I cherish the traditions, time with friends and family (my cousin James joined us this year!), and of course the food. The thing is, I’m not really the biggest fan of turkey. Sure, I’ll eat it, but when it comes time for seconds I’d rather have stuffing and mashed potatoes drenched in gravy, and some green beans for good measure. Any room that extra turkey would have stuffed into would be better filled by pumpkin pie.

Nor am I the only person in my family who feels this way; my father complains about the very existence of the turkey every year. Traditionally I like leftover turkey sandwiches in the days following the holiday, but this morning as I stood at the counter and stripped that poor bird’s carcass of everything edible before throwing the rest into a stockpot, I thought I’d try something a little different with the seemingly enormous amount of meat I scavenged, and make a turkey salad.

You’ve probably had curried chicken salad before. I’ve seen many iterations, most of the best involving grapes or apples, walnuts, and celery. Some are delicious, some only ok; it’s probably luck that I’ve never had one that was outright bad. I decided to use as additions items we had in the pantry/fridge: dried cranberries, chopped celery, parsley, and toasted pecans, for a true Thanksgiving turkey salad.

The secret ingredient in the dressing for this is my Aunt Lynaire’s curried apricot ketchup. Really, it’s Food and Wine’s recipe, but it came to me via my aunt, whom I’ve already mentioned is an extraordinary cook. I made my first batch of this on a whim several months ago, and again recently, and then again last night for my parents, to go with sweet potato fries. This stuff is really good, and pretty easy. Melted onions, dried apricots, and chopped ginger and tomato simmer in cider vinegar, water, and brown sugar, then puree to a sweet, sour, delectable sauce.

So I had a bunch of this stuff in the fridge, and I figured I might as well use it instead of starting from scratch. Jeff has a visceral aversion to mayonnaise, so I made two versions of the dressing, one with mayo and the other with sour cream. When I was trying to tell him which was which I couldn’t really tell the difference, so in this case I think the two are interchangeable. They both tasted really good!

Everybody liked the salad, but the best recommendation comes from He Who Groans at the Sight of Turkey, who said that if I did the same to the rest of the fowl leftovers, he would eat it all with pleasure.

Curried Turkey Salad

This would be just as good with chicken, and I’m sure very good with pork loin. Terrific in a sandwich with lettuce and cranberry sauce. Unless you know how hot your curry is, add in small increments and taste, or you might get a spicy-hot surprise. If you don't want to go to the effort of making the ketchup, try improvising with vinegar, store-bought ketchup, apricot jam, ginger and garlic- mix together until it tastes good, and add to mayo.

4 c chopped cooked turkey

1 1/2 c diced celery
1 1/2 c dried cranberries

1 c toasted pecan pieces

1 c curried apricot ketchup

1 c mayonnaise or sour cream

1-2 T curry powder
3 T chopped parsley

Mix wet ingredients with curry. Add turkey, etc. and mix. My family tends to like things on the condiment-heavy side; you might want to start with a little less than all of the sauce and then add more if you find it necessary.

Curried Apricot Ketchup, verbatim from my Aunt's recipe

Worth making just to have in the fridge. I’ve so far used it on fries, burgers, and hot dogs, but I’m willing to bet that I’ve only scratched the surface of its usefulness; I’m eager to try it on pork, potatoes, cauliflower- I could go on. I used an immersion blender instead of a standing blender, and it worked just fine.

1 t vegetable oil

1/2 c chopped onion
1 t finely grated ginger
1 garlic clove, diced or grated

1/2 c chopped dried apricots

1 large tomato, peeled, seeded, and chopped

1/2 c apple cider vinegar

1/2 c water

1/2 c sugar (I used brown sugar)

1 t Madras curry powder (see above!)

salt

In a medium saucepan, heat vegetable oil. Add the onion, ginger and garlic and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 10 minutes. Stir in apricots, tomato, cider vinegar, water, sugar and curry powder. Simmer over moderately low heat until the apricots are soft, about 15 minutes. Scrape the contents of the saucepan into a blender and puree until smooth. Season the ketchup with salt and transfer to a bowl. Refrigerate until cool, about 20 minutes. Serve at room temperature or chilled.

The ketchup can be refrigerated for up to 2 weeks.

Grilled Cheese with Caramelized Onions and Mushrooms

2010-11-20T14:28:00.004-05:00

Dear Devon,

Despite my attempts to stay on top of food trends and all things culinary, I have been unforgivably lazy since leaving New York. I half-heartedly blame the time difference and our temperamental internet connection, but in the end, it’s the lack of a proper lunch hour. With more thought, I realized that my do-or-die urge to read the entire NY Times in one 45 minute period has vanished, now that lunch lasts three hours. I am no longer addicted to the food section of the Times or to the twenty or so food blogs I love. So, it was with some excitement that I returned to my old surfing routine and found rejuvenating ideas from old favorites.

I love sandwiches, especially hot pressed ones. When I see a good sandwich idea, I whip out a pad of paper and a pen and quickly copy it down, inspiration for a relaxed Saturday lunch on the roof terrace. And so it was that one random Tuesday morning, I found myself on the Tartine Bakery and Café website, drooling over their delectable pastries and excited by their treasure trove of sandwiches. The grilled cheese with carmelized onions grabbed my attention. I threw on a pair of jeans, pocketed my keys, and ran out the door to the market. I had just finished breakfast, but lunch was already on my mind.

Back in the kitchen, I proudly announced my lunch plans, which led the boy to reschedule his library visit. Tartine’s sandwich does not include fried garlic or mushrooms: That inspiration came from the basket of old mushrooms chilling in the fridge. I really had no idea what I was doing. The garlic fried a bit too fast, the onions got a bit dark, the bread was a three days old, the mushrooms could’ve used a bit more fat, and I forgot to salt. But in the end, it didn’t matter. It was the epitome of an autumnal sandwich: savory and dark, complex flavors of sweet onion and melted cheese, punctuated by pungent, aromatic garlic and juicy mushrooms. The crisply toasted bread made a satisfying crunch with every enthusiastic bite. This should definitely be a $10 sandwich.

I am fantasizing about making this for you and Jeff when I come back to New York. All the elements can be prepared in advance and assembled upon your arrival. Throw the sandwiches into the oven at a low temperature to allow them to crisp up. Serve alongside a hearty butternut squash soup, and you’ll have the perfect autumnal lunch.

Grilled Cheese with Caramelized Onions and Mushrooms
(makes 2 small sandwiches)

Swiss cheese (Emmental)
1/3 cup onions, thinly sliced
5 large button mushrooms, sliced
1 clove garlic, thinly sliced on a bias
4 tbsp butter
4 slices of bread
2 tbsp olive oil

Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a medium sized skillet. When the oil is nice and hot, gently fry the sliced garlic. After 3 minutes or so, remove the garlic. Be careful not to burn, the edges should be light golden brown and the garlic should remain crisp. Set aside to cool. Turn down the heat and add the sliced onions. Slowly cook for 15 minutes, adding a tablespoon of water, if needed, to prevent the onions from burning. Remove carmelized onions and reserve with fried garlic. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in the skillet, add sliced mushrooms. Cook over low heat until both sides are nicely browned, 7 to 10 minutes.

Using a large serrated knife, cut four slices from a fresh loaf of bread. Spread each side with a generous amount of butter. Lay carmelized onions over two slices, top with garlic slices and mushrooms. Set a generous slice of cheese over onion-mushroom mixture and top with remaining slice of bread. Heat skillet to medium high temperature. Grill sandwiches until the cheese is nicely melted and the bread is golden brown. A bacon press would work very nicely here.

Concord Grapes 1: Peanut Butter and Jelly Cookies

2010-11-19T00:59:00.002-05:00

Dear Michelle-

I think that might be more of a question for my father than McGee; I consulted On Food and Cooking and the matter of light and capsicum color is not addressed. I'd guess they were picked unripe and ripened naturally, perhaps with help from the heat of any sun that hit them, or the confines of the plastic bag? I'll be sure to ask the ol' pater familias next time we speak.

You're missing Concord grape season on this side of the pond. I've never been overtly aware of them until recently, when my friend Ashley reintroduced me. She offered me some as she was eating them at work, and when I exclaimed over the intensity of their flavor she gave them to me. I guess they were a little strong for her, but since they came from her CSA share and all of her roommates were similarly averse, she felt duty-bound to eat them. I couldn't believe anyone wouldn't be immediately addicted to the vibrancy of this flavor! I happily accepted and made some quick refrigerator jelly with them that evening. Then, I got to thinking about how good they'd taste with shortbread and peanut butter (grape jelly and PB being such a classic combination), and the rest was a foregone conclusion. I invited Ashley over to make cookies, a nice way to spend an early Fall weekend afternoon.

These aren't the prettiest cookies, nor are they the easiest to make; but they are really, really good. The jelly is bright and tart, the peanut butter marries with it perfectly, and buttery crumbly shortbread is just the right vehicle. The jelly was easy enough to cook up, as I didn't bother with making a perfect, glistening, clear jelly.

I cooked the grapes until they burst, pushed it all through a strainer to get every ounce of flavor out, added enough sugar to make the mixture sweet-tart, and simmered some more till it passed the jelly test. Then I made my "confection" peanut butter mixture of, you guessed it, peanut butter, mixed with almond flour (I'm sure peanut flour would work, if one can find it), confectioner's sugar, and salt. These additives make the peanut butter more workable, and less sticky. I was inspired by the interior of a Reese's PB cup. You know how when you get "natural" peanut butter cups the filling never tastes as good? I think straight peanut butter is too oily, and does that thing where it coats the mouth, which keeps it from properly combing flavors with whatever else might be intended.

I tried these out with both shortbread from Bittman's How to Cook Everything and a standard sugar cookie recipe. Where that came from doesn't matter, as the shortbread won the taste tests! It was more delicate, and complimented the flavors of the filling better. It even made a prettier cookie (in the photo of complete cookies on the plate, all excluding the leftmost were made with sugar cookie dough--the rest of the shortbread cookies were long gone by then). I am very fond of the shortbread recipe in the Williams Sonoma Cookies cookbook, but that shortbread tends to be really crumbly and delicate, and so I thought I'd give Bittman a chance. I'm glad I did.

Ashley and I cut, rolled, dolloped, and very carefully pressed the little cookie "pies" together, then chatted and drank tea (and then wine) while we waited for the test cookie to come out. It's a lot more fun with help! We also ate a LOT of cookies. Ashley left with a bag full to share with her roommates, a thank you for sharing their grapes, and I was glad there were fewer of these addictive little morsels in my apartment!

Concord Grape and Peanut Butter Cookie Sandwiches (or Pies)

shortbread cookie dough (see recipe below)
Concord grape jelly (recipe below)
peanut butter mixture (below)

Make shortbread dough and jelly. This can be done the night before, and refrigerated. I'd recommend this, in fact, as breaking up the work makes it more manageable. Preheat your oven to 275F. Roll out dough about 3/16" thick, and cut out circles (or squares, I guess, if you'd rather), placing on a silicone cookie sheet liner or ungreased baking sheet. Dip your finger or a brush in water and wet around the edge of the dough. Roll a ball of the peanut butter mixture and squash down in the middle. Dollop some jelly on top. VERY CAREFULLY ease another circle of dough on top and pinch firmly down around the outside. It might take a cookie or two to get the amounts right, so it doesn't ooze out when you put the top on; you can use the above photos as a guide for proportions. Bake for about 30 minutes. They should be tinged with gold around the outside.

Shortbread (from How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman, pg 898) directions paraphrased

1/2 lb unsalted butter, softened
3/4 c sugar
1 egg yolk
1 1/2 c all-purpose flour
1/2 c cornstarch
pinch salt

Mix flour, cornstarch, and salt together in a small bowl. In a larger bowl, mix butter and sugar with an electric mixer on low till just combined. Still mixing, add the egg yolk, then the flour mixture, and mix until the dough just barely holds together. This should take a few minutes.

Wrap in plastic and smash into a disc. Chill at least 30m. See above recipe, or if just making shortbread, follow the below instructions:

Heat oven to 275F.
Roll out on a lightly floured surface to 1/4 inch thick. Cut out shapes and place on an ungreased baking sheet. Bake until firm but tender and not browned, about 30m. Cool on sheets before moving to a rack.

Peanut Butter Mixture

peanut butter
almond (or peanut) flour (I've found ground pistachios work well also)
confectioner's sugar
salt

Start out with about a half cup or so of peanut butter. I use the natural kind, and have to stir it all together. Add about 1/4 cup (starting out) of nut flour, a few T of the sugar, and a pinch of salt. Mix thoroughly. Test: you want to be able to pinch off a piece and roll it into a ball without it sticking. Taste: it should be salty, creamy, crunchy, and not too sweet. If it needs more body (too creamy still), add more nut flour, 1T or so at a time. Adding additional powdered sugar helps it stick together, but too much and it will be too sweet--remember that is is already going inside a cookie!

Fast Grape Jelly

at least 2 cups Concord grapes
sugar

Heat the grapes in a saucepan (they should not fill it more than 1/4; the fruit will expand in volume as it boils) over low heat until they start to release skins. Simmer on low heat 10-15m, to get all of that good flavor out. Press through a sieve or a food mill (I bet this would work best), squeezing out as much juice as possible. Return liquid to heat, and taste. Add sugar as necessary, remembering to keep it a bit tart as a contrast to the richness of the peanut butter and the cookie. Simmer another 10m or so, and then do a jelly test: take a spoon and put a few drops of the jelly on it. You can either put it in the fridge or leave it out a few minutes; either way, you want it to cool. When it has reached the proper concentration, the cooled result will have gelled onto the spoon, and will not be runny. I took this even further and really boiled it down, but I went too far--it was almost the consistency of "fruit snacks" when it cooled, and had to be warmed up again so we could work with it!

You could probably doctor up store-bought grape jelly by boiling it down a bit and adding some lemon for additional tartness if you didn't want to bother with making your own jelly, or wanted to make this out of season. If you try this, let me know how it works!

On Food and Cooking

2010-11-07T17:41:00.003-05:00

Dear Devon,

Your last post really made me laugh. I’m glad that the Korean chili flakes will help you satisfy your kimchi craving. I completely understand the need for crunchy, salty, spicy, bright red kimchi. I am saving 8L plastic water containers for my next big batch. Though I am struggling with two small problems. First, I need to figure out how to store the kimchi once it has cured. At the moment, I don’t have enough glass storage jars yet. Secondly, I need to get my hands on some of those chili flakes!

On a more serious note, could you please consult your lovingly-thumbed copy of On Food and Cooking by Harold McGee? I have a burning question and I suspect he will have the answer.

A few weeks ago, I bought a bag of small green, spicy peppers. Two weeks later, the peppers have turned fiery shades of vermillion and Corvette red. The peppers were sitting in a clear plastic container on the counter. I wonder if constant exposure to light resulted in the change, or if the peppers have been maturing? In terms of spiciness, nothing has changed. They are not any spicier than when they were green.

I hope you find the answer. I am dying to know.

Hugs
Michelle

Fried Green Tomates

2010-11-04T10:30:00.005-04:00

Dear Michelle-

Funny, I had a similar experience in that large Asian grocery on Hester and Elizabeth recently, except basic words in Manderin or Cantonese probably would have served me well. I am also planning on making kimchi soon--we had a delicious celery kimchi recently, and I can't wait to try to replicate it--and was looking for kochukaru, or Korean chili powder. It's a mainly Chinese grocer, but they carry ingredients from various Asian countries and have Korean chili paste, so I thought it was a safe bet I'd find the powder. It might be there, for all I know, but one guy sent me to the flour isle, another two told me they had no English and then proceeded to ignore me, and the names on all of the powdered spices were in English (chili pepper), or written in foreign characters. I guess I'll have to go to Koreatown. I hate going up into midtown!*

I fear that a Momofuku care package would not fare well. There was a guy from New Jersey on Jeff's floor his Freshman year in college who was sent, in the mail, by his mother, a meatball sub. Given the two major things wrong with that scenario, and a third being that he ate it, you won't be surprised when I tell you he suffered later! I bet you can at least make ssam easily with Spanish ingredients, no? Your pancakes certainly look like they turned out well.

I don't know what's in the markets there right now, but here we are starting to see green tomatoes again, those that grew too late to ripen properly. There are a few preparations for these, but the most famous is frying. I actually took the majority of these images early Summer, the other time you'll see them, filling the not-yet-brimming farmer's market stalls, but I was not happy with the final photos. They just looked so...brown.

So I happily made them again last week, but served with salad and buttermilk biscuits for a little color. I made a buttermilk salad dressing as well, you know, in the spirit of things, and I'm including the recipe as it was delicious, tart and creamy, the perfect coating for the variety of tender lettuces I'd bought at the farmer's market.

Fried green tomatoes are, of course, delicious. You can pile them onto a sandwich, smear them with aioli, or eat them on their own, buttered biscuit on the side. They are crunchy, salty, and tart. There are a variety of ways to batter, most involving milk and a flour of some sort, the most common of which being cornmeal. I dipped in seasoned flour, then buttermilk, then masa harina, which produced a rather thick coating; use milk if you want something lighter. I'd like to try them with panko some time, as well.

Fried Green Tomatoes

green tomatoes, 1 medium sized per person, sliced into 1/3 inch slices
buttermilk
masa harina
all-purpose flour
salt and pepper
peanut oil

Pour 1/4 -1/2 inch oil into a deep skillet or pot, and heat over medium high heat. Put flour onto dishes, and buttermilk into a shallow bowl. Mix all-purpose flour with salt, pepper, and herbs/spices if you like (things that would be good: dried thyme, cayenne, paprika). Dip each tomato slice into the flour, then the buttermilk, then the masa harina, making sure it is well-coated. I usually make a tester with an end piece of tomato, so that I know when the oil is ready. Fry slices until golden and soft (I usually have to do two batches so as to not crowd them, fry till golden on both sides, and finish in a 350F oven while I get everything else ready). Top with mayo, or pesto, or hotsauce.

Buttermilk Salad Dressing

1 clove garlic
1t lemon juice
1/3 c buttermilk
1T mayonnaise
1T chopped chive, or sorrel, or tarragon, or a mixture
1 chopped scallion

Grate, press, or VERY FINELY chop garlic clove into a large bowl. Add lemon, buttermilk, and mayo and mix. Taste. I'm blanking right now on whether or not I added olive oil; if I did, I forgot to write it down. If it tastes too tart, whisk in olive oil. Add chopped herbs and toss with lettuce, salt, and pepper.

* So I was going through my spice cupboard the other day, and guess what I found? The Korean red chili powder you gave me when you moved! Sigh, but also Phew!

Fried Padron Peppers

2010-11-03T08:33:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

It is easy to stumble into a great restaurant in Barcelona. If only the dreaded Euro wasn’t so strong against our pale greenback, it would be a much more enjoyable experience. On the bright side, it inspires me to recreate the amazing plates I’ve tried in restaurants in my own modest kitchen.

On one of those rambling Saturday afternoons, I discovered a small café bordering a partially concealed public square. I grabbed a table by the window and emboldened by my newly won Spanish skills ordered a cortado, steak sandwich, and a plate of fried padrón peppers. The entire meal was delicious but the fried padrón peppers stood out in my mind.

Before Barcelona was even a sparkle in my eye, José Andrés’ PBS show, Made in Spain, was my favorite. (Jacques Pepin’s Fast Food My Way is still my all time favorite, sorry José no one beats J.P.). Andrés’ book was the first book I packed, and along with Anne Willan’s The Country Cooking of France is one of two cookbooks to cross the Atlantic. Made in Spain has been absolutely invaluable to my food explorations. I have used it as a makeshift food guide, selecting my sausages, cheeses, and vegetables based on Andrés' sage advice.

I first encountered the seductive padrón pepper in Andrés’ book. Tucked into the “snacks” section, Andrés tempts the reader with fried padrón pepper stuffed with tetilla cheese, meant to be served for tapas. The peppers are fire roasted in a cast iron pan until the skins are nicely charred and the cheese begins to melt. Dog-eared long ago, this recipe has floated around in my head for months.

Native to Galicia in northwestern Spain, the padrón pepper is the perfect size for a quick snack. The bite-sized peppers are lightly fried in olive oil and sprinkled with a generous pinch of sea salt. Padrón peppers don’t have the spiciness of jalapeños. That being said, they aren’t without heat. Every so often an intensely spicy one will send me running for a glass of milk. These gems hide among their sweet, juicy compatriots: There’s no way to tell until you bite into them. A plate of these succulent peppers is always a gamble- but what’s life without a little bit of danger?

Fried Padrón Peppers

1/2 lb Padrón peppers
2 tbsp olive oil
sea salt

Line stove top and adjacent walls with old newspaper. Be careful, this is a bit of a fire hazard, but it saves immensely on clean up. Over a high flame, heat olive oil until smoking point. Pick through the peppers removing any that have wrinkled skins or dark greenish-black blemishes. Carefully wash and dry padrón peppers, trimming stems that are longer than 1 inch. Gently slide peppers into the hot oil. Cook over high heat until all sides are nicely charred and brown. Remove to an awaiting bowl. Sprinkle generously with salt. Serve with a small dish for discarded stems. Like all fried foods, these peppers are best eaten hot.

Note: Andrés suggests using jalapeno peppers if padrón peppers cannot be easily found. After having tried this, I would suggest seeking out padróns. Sometimes, substitutions are not an option. Let me just say that eating jalapeños in place of padróns can be very painful, and have some unusual effects on your digestive system.

Jelly Donut Muffins

2010-10-26T14:34:00.004-04:00

Dear Devon,

Orwasher’s Bakery on East 78th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues has memorable jelly donuts. They are made daily in small batches and usually sell out by noon. Bigger than a clenched fish, the donut is rich and dense, capped with an even layer of powdered sugar, and filled with a thick red jelly. These are probably the best jelly donuts I have ever eaten.

I used to live around the corner from Orwasher’s. On Sundays, I often intended to rise before noon to capture one of these coveted confections. I was disappointed many times -- evidently I wasn’t the only person enjoying them. About a year ago, I decided to settle my craving for jelly donuts and crossed the Park before noon on a Sunday. To my surprise, the bakery is under new management. Though they kept the Orwasher’s name, the secret of the jelly donut disappeared with its previous owner. Quel horreur! With the memory of this jelly donut floating in my thoughts, I attempted to create something that embodied the character of the jelly donut.

What exactly made these donuts so good? Perhaps it was the spongy texture, or the overwhelming density? Maybe the thick, almost opaque jelly, or the generous dusting of powdered sugar? I like to imagine Jewish grandmothers placing them into the sticky hands of their grandchildren before the days of transfat regulation.

Having identified the three most important traits of the donut, I referenced the Joy of Cooking for inspiration and guidance. I combined three recipes 1) the basic muffin recipe 2) “donut” muffins and 3) filled muffins. Basic muffins batter is self-explanatory. “Donut” muffins are muffins dipped in melted butter and tossed in sugar and filled muffins have jelly or cream centers. These three recipes served as my launching pad.

I substituted half and half to get a richer, denser crumb and to create a fattier, creamier morsel. A high quality cherry jelly is essential to the success of any jelly donut. The jelly squeezed into an Orwasher’s donut was more like a custard than jelly -- thick and opaque, deep ruby red, and smooth. I loved taking that first excited bite and tasting the sweet jelly that oozed into my mouth. Each consecutive bite became more treacherous as jelly mischievously seeped out of hidden pockets. I opted not to pipe jelly into my muffins. Instead, I filled each muffin cup half way full of batter then dropped in a generous spoonful of jelly before topping with second large dollop of batter. Surprisingly, the jelly doesn’t sink to the bottom, and remains intact throughout the baking process. In place of powdered sugar, I sweeten the muffin tops with a much tidier cinnamon sugar. The spicy fragrance of cinnamon enhances the first bite and contrasts nicely with the sweet cherry jelly. I don’t think Mr. Orwasher will mind.

In the end, I was more excited by the idea of making jelly donut muffins than the result. The muffin tasted fantastic, and looked good. Cinnamon sugar pairs nicely with the simple creamed based muffin and tangy cherry jelly. There were no complaints at my brunch table: I would definitely make them again. I enjoy their whimsical character. But, in the end, I was doomed from the start. Muffins will never be donuts, and I probably shouldn’t have tried to deceive myself. So far, I still haven’t found a substitute for Orwasher’s jelly donuts…

Jelly Donut Muffins
Makes 12

2 cups flour (1 cup all purpose, 1 cup cake flour)
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup half and half
6 tbsp vegetable oil
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup cherry jam (more as needed)

1/4 cup sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
3 tbsp melted butter

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter a 12 tin muffin tin. To maintain the illusion of a donut, I do not line the muffin cups with paper liners. I like the rough texture of the muffin bottom. Set aside buttered tin.

Whisk flours, baking powder, and salt together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together thoroughly half and half, eggs, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract. Add egg mixture to flour and stir until just combined. Be careful not to overmix.

Fill each muffin cup roughly 2/3 full. Top with a small spoonful of jelly, roughly 1/2 tsp each, centered in each muffin cup. Cover each muffin with a generous spoonful of the remaining batter.

Bake for 17-20 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a drying rack before removing from the muffin tin.

Combine sugar and cinnamon. In the bowl of a double boiler, melt butter. Brush muffin tops with melted butter. Dip muffin top into prepared bowl of cinnamon sugar. If you are feeling extra decadent, double the recipe for cinnamon sugar and toss the entire muffin in this sweet, spicy mix.

Pear Tartine

2010-10-22T08:41:00.003-04:00

Dear Devon,

I subtly lobbied for an apartment located near one of Barcelona’s many vibrant markets. Within its various and colorful streets, Barcelona houses forty green markets, selling an abundance of brightly colored fruits and vegetables, farm fresh eggs, sun dried fruits, cured meats and cheeses, and rich meats, fish, and poultry. My local market, situated a mere 3 blocks away, is a deep well of inspiration. Saturdays are the major market days. The crowds and rush are incredibly dense. At the moment, I don’t have the nerve to slide up to the counter. I do my shopping on the much slower paced Tuesday afternoon.

I am slowly making friends with the local vendors, who are starting to show a glint of recognition as I walk pass. For their part, they are very patient with my faltering Spanish and American indecisiveness. The practice of browsing does not exist. Spanish shoppers know exactly what they want, how much of it, and from whom. They don’t ogle and oh-and-ah the crates of pungent spring onions or wonder at yellow plums and mint green skinned citrus fruits. Like a lion, I pace in circles in front of each stall, carefully selecting my purchases and double-checking my conversions from metric to English measurements.

A friendly smile and a cheerful “Hola, buenas tardes” will take you a long way in building relations with vendors. My first week shopping, the fruit lady suspiciously eyed me in that small town way. Though I asked for four pears, she gave me eight and refused to be corrected, even after I persisted. Somewhat defeated, I slunked home with double my order, vowing not to return to her the following week. Midway through the week, I had a major change of heart. Enjoying one of those delectable pears, my resolve failed and I found myself in her debt. The pears were so good that four is not enough to get you through the week, eight was a much more suitable number. The following week, her stall was the first one I visited. I asked for eight pears and hoped I wouldn’t end up with dozen (though I wouldn’t complain too loudly).

Though relatively petite, the pears pack some major flavor. The flavor is clean and distinct, like spring water with undertones of honey and a soft citrus flavor. The pears are wonderfully aromatic, like freshly bloomed blossoms. The rounded shapes fit snugly in the palm of my hand. The soft, yellow skin wonderfully blushed with speckled rose tinted flecks on their smooth bellies. Each bite contains the perfect balance of crunchiness to juiciness. None of that mealy, coarse skinned fruit back home, but napkin worthy, juice dribbling down my chin fruit.

The pears are so tasty that improvement or embellishment is really not necessary. In the end, spreading chocolate-hazelnut butter on freshly baked baguette and topping with pears is not really cooking. It could be considered cheating. But this combination is so good that if you consider this cheating, you can call me a cheater with a capital “C.”

Pear Tartine

Baguette
Ripe pears
Nutella or some similar hazelnut chocolate spread

Using a serrated knife, divide and halve the baguette into six-inch segments. Generously spread each half with a thin layer of nutella. Thinly slice pears lengthwise. Arrange sliced pears on prepared baguette.

Good for a quick dessert or at breakfast with tea or even as a midnight snack. Good anytime.

Japanese Style Cabbage Pancakes

2010-10-17T16:21:00.005-04:00

Dear Devon,

I woke up this morning and realized that I won’t be returning to New York for a long time. I ran to an Asian grocery store because I can’t stand being without kimchi any longer. Three weeks into my stay and I would kill for a Q-tip and a pork laden, umami rich, generously scallioned, steaming bowl of ramen! You would think in a country where pork is the national food, a veritable mascot, ramen would quickly follow. And yes, there are Asian people here. I just don’t know what they are eating or more importantly, where.

I suppose I should be grateful that there is an Asian grocery nearby. In my present state of Asian food withdrawal, this fetid garage that sells Asian-made products was a beacon to a weary sailor. I already commented on the distinctive smells of Barcelona, but this grocery store brings the concept of malodorous stink to an Olympic level. My sense of smell has never been better tested than in the streets and in this case Asian markets of Barcelona. Let’s put it this way, the smell made the fishmongers’ stalls in New York Chinatown smell like the florist.

If that wasn’t enough, I experienced the greatest shock of my entire life in this shop. With my nerves strengthened by the plum sauce in my hand and the friendly company of dried ramen and pho, I approached a shopkeeper to inquire about other necessities. She looked Asian, so I addressed her in Cantonese. She shot me the blank look of incomprehension. My desire to guzzle down an entire bottle of sweet soy milk encouraged me to question her again, this time in Mandarin. Immediately, the same look of utter confusion! I don’t give any pretensions toward fluency in either Cantonese or Mandarin, but I certainly know how to ask, “Where is the soy milk?” Now, I’m sure that the look of incomprehension was on my face. I stumbled to the cashier and hardly notice as he rang up a bottle of soy sauce at 6 euros ($10), the second greatest shock of my life. And no, it’s not the fancy organic kind, it’s not even low sodium (the store doesn’t even carry it).

On a happier note, I did manage to track down my beloved Korean red chili paste at a food stall at the Boqueria market off La Rambla, a modest 2.50 euros. She did not have in stock the bright red chili flakes, but promised to set some aside for me the next week. My plan is to make kimchi. I half dread the visit to the market to inquire about Napa cabbage. Imagine explaining that in Spanish. Do they even know where Napa is? Not to mention, every time I go the market, I leave with my nerves completely shot and the back of my shirt soaked with sweat. The vendors are all extremely friendly. It’s me, I’m extremely anxious, not to mention lost in the metric system (1/2 kilo of ham = about 1 pound, which is now cooling in my fridge). If a kilo sounds like a lot, ½ a kilo is still more than I would probably ever buy at home.

How many import laws would be violated if you FedExed me a bowl of Momofuku ramen and pork belly buns?

Japanese Style Cabbage Pancakes
(makes four pancakes)

1 cup flour
1 cup water
1 tbsp salt
1 egg
¼ head of cabbage, shredded
½ small onion, thinly sliced
1 clove garlic, thinly sliced
1 hot pepper, diced

Spicy Red Pepper Sauce
(makes about 1 cup)

2 tbsp Korean red pepper paste
2 tbsp plum sauce
2 ½ tbsp soy sauce
1 ½ tbsp brown sugar
1 ½ tbsp corn oil
½ tsp sesame oil

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together flour, water, egg, and salt. Carbonated water can be substituted for still water. It gives the pancakes an extra bit of lift, but is by no means necessary. Allow batter to rest for about 15 minutes before using.

Shred cabbage, thinly slice onions, garlic, and hot pepper. Make four separate piles for the cabbage, onions, garlic, and hot pepper. Toss together a quarter of each pile into a separate mixing bowl. This insures an even distribution of each ingredient per pancake.

Bring a medium sized skillet to medium high heat. Add a drop of oil about the size of two quarters into the hot skillet. To the hot oil, add the cabbage and onion mixture. Gently fry for a minute or two, just to get some nice color. Splash in about a quarter cup of water. The water creates a steaming affect and slows down the cooking process. It is very easy to burn the cabbage. When the water has just about evaporated and the cabbage is about transparent, pour in a large ladleful of batter. Using a wooden spatula, fold the batter on to the cabbage to make a circular pancake. Add a drop more oil. When the edges begin to brown and bubble, flip the pancake. Add a bit more oil as needed. The pancake is done when both sides are nicely browned and the pancake has a solid feel.

Serve with a spicy red pepper sauce. Combine the ingredients listed above in a large mixing bowl. Mix together thoroughly. Adjust seasonings to your taste. I prefer my sauce slightly sweet. The sauce is greatly enhanced with the addition of toasted sesame seeds and/or a generous drop of honey.

Hungarian Goulash with Poppy Seed Dumplings

2010-10-14T00:20:00.002-04:00

Dear Michelle,

New York is at its best right now, but I'd trade cities with you in a second. Who needs a food processor when you have such incredible ingredients! I can't wait to hear about it when you start cooking.

Though today was beautiful, we had a cold spell last week, and I was moved to make goulash. I make it at least once a year now, but happened upon it by accident. Maybe five years ago I was making a birthday dinner for my friend Kate, and asked her if she had any requests. She said that her favorite Winter dinner was goulash, and I agreed to make it, never even having had it before. I came home after work and did the shopping, started the stew right away, drank some of the left over beer and thought, "this does not look very good." My dutch oven was full of onions and peppers, beer, meat, and a full half cup of paprika. It was all very. . . red. It smelled of raw onions and peppers, and seemed to be overwhelmed by the paprika.

We didn't eat that night till very late, and by that time I no longer doubted Kate's choice of birthday dinner. The meat fell apart, the onions and peppers melted, and the rich, spicy, smokiness of the paprika pervaded the stew, bringing it all together. We ate this deep red savory deliciousness over egg noodles tossed with butter and poppy seeds, as per Kate's request. I was won over.

Now every year when Winter descends and the windows close, I wait for the radiators to turn on and start thinking about what needs to cook for a long time in the stove or the oven, and I think of goulash. This year I tried a mix of pork and beef stew meat, and I've decided that beef works best. I did add a smoked trotter (pig's foot or ankle; a ham hock would work too) for some extra flavor and gelatin, to make the stew really glossy. I've made the mistake before of using mostly hot paprika, and I'd advise against it unless you're one of those masochistic people who eats hot sauce by the gallon. I also tried making dumplings instead of noodles, with success.

I think paprika is produced in Spain, as well as Hungary, so you should get some! I bet chorizo would be an amazing addition to this dish.

Hungarian Goulash with Poppy Seed Dumplings, '97 Joy of Cooking, not verbatim

Notes:

A smoked trotter or ham hock tossed in works well. I've tried just beef stew meat and a mix of beef and pork, and I think just beef works best. The last time I made this I only used 2lbs meat and the same amount of vegetables, but for carrots which I increased. I've always used beer instead of wine, and beef instead of chicken stock. GO EASY ON THE HOT PAPRIKA. Seriously. It is really easy to make this too hot. Start with all sweet, then add more for extra heat later if you like. The JOC calls for the caraway to be added with the rest of the herbs/spices, but I think I read somewhere that it becomes bitter if cooked too long, so I add it at the end. The first taste I had of the dumplings I thought they were a bit paste-y, but they quickly became addictive. Egg noodles are also a classic pairing, with poppy seeds and butter. I've never used the sauerkraut, or the sour cream, but I bet both are delicious.

4 oz bacon, smoked ham, or Hungarian paprika sausage, diced
3 lbs beef chuck, or half beef, half pork or veal shoulder
3 c thinly sliced onions
6 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 c (2 oz) sweet Hungarian paprika, or a mix of sweet and hot
3 bell peppers, diced
1 c diced carrots
1 T dried marjoram
1 t caraway seeds
1 t ground black pepper
3 bay leaves
2c beef or chicken stock
1 c dry white wine or beer
1 lb sauerkraut, drained (optional)
1/4 c tomato puree, or 2T tomato paste
1/2 - 1 c sour cream or creme fraiche (optional)

Make sure everything is chopped, etc.- this makes the process easier. Brown the bacon or whatever in a Dutch oven, then remove to a plate or bowl. Pat stew meat dry, season with salt and pepper, and dredge in flour, shaking off the excess. Brown in batches in bacon fat, making sure not to crowd the pot. Add oil/fat as needed; the flour tends to soak it up. Remove as it browns to a plate.

Add onions to pot, and cook till soft and lightly browned (you could go further towards caramelizing if you like). Add garlic and peppers and saute till just soft. Add tomato paste and cook a few minutes, then stir in carrots and all herbs but caraway. Add liquid, scraping up the burned bits on the bottom. Add sauerkraut if using. Cook on stovetop or in oven at 300F for several hours, until meat is fork-tender. Stir in caraway. Add dumplings (recipe following), or serve over egg noodles tossed with butter and poppy seeds, or rice. If using sour cream, stir in at the last minute.

Poppy Seed Dumplings

2c flour
1T baking powder
3/4 t salt
3T poppy seeds
3t butter
1c milk

Bring milk and butter to a simmer on the stovetop. Meanwhile, mix together dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add simmering liquid to dry ingredients, stirring with a fork or kneading by hand until the mixture comes together. Divide dough into 18 dumplings. Roll each piece into a rough ball. Gently lay dumplings on top of stew and let simmer for 10m.

Vietnamese Iced Coffee

2010-10-11T13:11:00.026-04:00

Dear Devon,

Let me tell you how the Spanish day is structured:

8:00	El desayuno: coffee, toast or croissant
9:00	Arrive at work
11:00	El cafecito: coffee, croissant, maybe a small beer
2:00	La comida: 3 course lunch including beer or wine, dessert, and more coffee
5:00	Return to work (from lunch that is)
6:30	La merienda: coffee or beer and snacks (cigarettes, tapas, fried anything)
8:00	Work day ends
10:00	La cena or dinner

It seems the further south you travel, the less time you spend working and the more time you spend eating. But who am I to complain? Any tradition that tells me to eat two croissants in one day can’t be too bad.

The workday schedule above is not an exaggeration. I had a minor problem with my water service at the new apartment. Being a newly arrived American, I was extremely anxious to have the situation resolved, but knowing a Spaniard’s distinctive schedule, chose to call my landlord at midday, as opposed to at dawn. My landlord, a respectful and generous man, but distinctly Spanish, hurriedly told me to come to his office at 6 pm. Spanish people are never in a hurry, except at closing time or before meals. To call at noon and to meet at 6 pm seemed like a long wait. What I didn’t realize is that the day really begins at 6 pm. But less than an hour later, they take another break, so that thirty-minute window is essential to Spain’s economic future. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever be able to re-adjust to an American working schedule!

Given the amount of coffee consumed here in a single day, I have had to adopt a coffee habit. My favorite coffee is the cortado. With an espresso machine, steam is quickly shot through a disk of tightly packed grounds. Just short of a full shot, the steam is prematurely shut off and a splash of whole milk is added to the glass. The result is a thick, syrupy shot of espresso with the most heavenly, dense, frothy foam. Use a tiny spoon to vigorously mix in a bit of sugar (make sure you clank the sides of your glass loudly). Even if you don’t think you like coffee, the intoxicating fragrance of a cortado will reveal your deepest coffee fantasies.

Historically, I have preferred tea to coffee, but in hot weather, a good iced coffee can really hit the spot. I am partial to Vietnamese style iced coffees sweetened with condensed milk, which in Vietnam’s colonial period substituted for unavailable fresh milk. Vietnamese iced coffees have the same intense richness as cortados and are flavored with a hint of spicy chicory. The infused chicory gives the coffee a distinct aromatic character that is woody and tangy. The coffee brews in a small metal container that rests on top of an ice filled glass. The heavy condensed milk supports the lighter coffee, forming two distinct layers of liquid that require vigorously stirring to sufficiently balance the sweetness of the condensed milk to the dark and spicy undertones of the coffee.

Gathering together the requisite ingredients is usually the most difficult part in the brewing process. Sweetened condensed milk and the unique brewing filters can usually be found at an Asian grocery store. Chicory is a bit harder to find. Zabar’s sells chicory in individual containers and can pack it to order, so you can buy a ¼ pound instead of a full pound (which I recommend). Don’t buy your chicory mixed into whole coffee beans. It will ruin the beans if it is ground with them. Chicory is extremely fragrant, slightly bitter, and a bit overwhelming, so I suggest using it sparingly. On another important note, do not go crazy with the sweetened condensed milk, unless you have excellent dental coverage.

Vietnamese Ice Coffee
For 2 servings

One kettle of boiling water
2 metal Vietnamese drip coffee filters
½ tsp of chicory
2 tbsp of ground coffee (French roast)
2 to 3 tbsp sweetened condensed milk

A Vietnamese coffee filter has three parts: the lid, the canister, and an internal perforated disk that screws into the canister. A metal piece with a screw at the end extends from the perforated disk. To remove the disk, twist the screw to the left.

To prepare the filters, carefully unscrew the perforated disk and metal lid. Grind coffee beans until the size of quinoa. Spoon one tablespoon of ground coffee in an even layer into the base of the canister. Add a pinch (1/4 tsp) of chicory. Secure the perforated disk onto the canister, turning the screw until the coffee is tightly compressed between the disk and the base of the canister. Rotate the screw two full turns to the left. This step is really important. The disk must be loosened a bit to allow for the water to flow through the coffee grounds. If the disk is too tightly secured, the water cannot flow through the filter. Shake the canister several times over the sink, to release excess or undersized coffee grounds.

Bring a large kettle of water to a boil. Prepare two glasses. Pour condensed milk into each glass. Depending on how sweet you like your coffee, add 1 to 1 ½ tbsp of condensed milk. It is always easier to put in too little at first and adjust, than to put in too much and ruin the coffee. Top with ice cubes. Set the prepared filters over each glass.

Pour boiling water in a slow, steady stream into each canister. Stop at about a quarter of the way full. Wait about 20 seconds. If the water has flowed through, the filter must be tightened. The coffee should trickle out slowly. Continue adding the boiling water until the container is roughly three quarters full. The entire brewing process should take about 5 minutes.