My Parisian Notebook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.