While I don’t celebrate Christmas, I have, for many years now, spent Christmas eve with one of my best friends, her husband, kids, mother-in-law, sister-in-law and her husband, niece, nephew, and her sister-in-law’s husband’s mother, whatever she may be called (not by name, but on the family tree).  Oh, and two dogs and two cats, except we usually don’t see the cats until the later — and quieter — part of the evening.  The dogs, one of which is large enough to be a small pony, either beg for food or use the convenient hardwood floors to slide onto your feet and demand a belly rub.  It’s a house filled with ridiculous amounts of love, as if any amount of love could be considered ridiculous.

Every year, my friends and their kids bake Christmas cookies.  Or cookies for Christmas.  Gingerbread.  Magic bars.  Cheesecake bars.  Shortbread.  Lemon poofy things with a lemony glaze.  Cream cheese cookies.  Decorated sugar cookies.  It’s as if some of the love manifests as piles of festive and delicious concoctions of flour, sugar and butter.

I had to taste everything, so I grabbed a knife and took a little sliver of each.  Someone joked that I have commitment issues.  I can’t deny it, at least when it comes to food.  Considering I was in the home of people with whom I’ve been friends since elementary school, he couldn’t have meant it in all respects.

Eventually, the children had their fill, the adults reached their self-imposed tipping points, and ever-so-slightly smaller mounds of cookies were consolidated into containers for easier transportation on Christmas day.  Gingerbread men nestled up to magic bars.  Shortbread roomed with lemon poofs.

I snapped the lid over the gingerbread and magic bars, turned in my seat, and set them on the cabinet behind me.  I seated the tin top onto the round bottom containing the shortbread, twisted around on patina-d wooden chair, and everything moved in slow motion.  All attempts to correct the wobbling failed, and the tin crashed to the ground.  All shortbread and a majority of the lemon poofs irretrievable.  All mops, er, dogs, blissful.  Considering my friend and I played softball together for years and I, quite unintentionally, caught the bouquet at their wedding, it was a rather pathetic bobble.

(True story.  The evidence is on the wedding video, where I was almost hidden in a sea of taffeta-ed women angling for the best position.  The bouquet went up, hit the ceiling, landed on the floor, and a few women flew forward in a blitz of color, tempted to hurl themselves before someone called out, “Do over.”  I remained motionless where I had been, hands and arms relaxed, a smiling, dutiful, maid-of-honor.  The bouquet was tossed again with successful trajectory, and out of the crowd at the last moment, a hand went up, closed around the petals, and went back down.  No jumping, no jostling.  And no thought, apparently, because when I looked at my hand and realized what I’d done, the surprise was obvious.  My friend threw something, and my Pavlovian-response kicked in.  Perhaps if she had thrown me the tin of cookies, we’d have had a better result.)

As my self-imposed penance, I cleaned and washed dishes, which I would have done anyway.  But I think — I think — they forgave me because I made it snow on Christmas eve.  How, you ask?  Because I couldn’t resist shaking the storm glass, an instrument that allegedly predicts the weather.  Even if it’s nothing more than a decorative piece, the suspended feather-like crystals are mesmerizing.  Not long after I shook it, snow began falling.  “It’s snowing!” the kids said.  I grinned and said,  “You’re welcome.”

A while later, I shook it again.  The snow got heavier.  We (that is, the kids and I) ran to the glass storm door.  The kids giggled over thoughts of a white Christmas.  I threw my hands over my  head.  “I have the power!” I cried.

Although by morning most of the snow had melted (because I was away from the storm glass, of course), thoughts of the lost shortbread had not left so easily.  And so I share with you this recipe for whole wheat honey olive oil shortbread.  There’s only one tablespoon of butter for a hint of buttery-ness, and the rest is healthy olive oil.  If you have an electric hand mixer, use it — there’s absolutely no reason to use a stand mixer here for the three total minutes of mixing.  Don’t let all of these photos fool you — this is an incredibly fast cookie to put together.

If you’re so inclined, omit the butter and bump up the olive oil to ⅓ of a cup.  The cookies are also delicious with lemon zest rather than lime.  Or dipped in melted chocolate.  Or dunked in milk.  They’re delightfully addictive, if not a rather untraditional shortbread with a little pop of citrus to keep your taste buds guessing.

Whole Wheat Olive Oil Honey Shortbread Cookies

Adapted from Lime-Glazed Shortbread Cookies

2 cups white whole wheat flour
½ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp salt
⅓ cup turbinado sugar
5 Tbsp and 1 tsp extra virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp sweet cream butter, unsalted
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 ½ Tbsp honey, preferably organic
½ tsp vanilla extract
zest from one lime, preferably organic

In short:  In small bowl, mix together dry ingredients.  In large bowl, beat together wet ingredients.  Stir dry and lime zest into wet.  Shape dough into long log.  Roll in parchment paper, smooth, refrigerate wrapped in paper for 30 minutes.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Slice dough into cookies.  Bake on parchment paper on cookie sheet for about 12 minutes.  Let cool on cookie sheet for about 5 minutes.  Cool on wire rack.

1.    In a small bowl, mix together the flour, baking soda, and salt.  Set aside.

2.    In a large bowl, beat with an electric mixer the sugar, olive oil, butter, egg, honey, and vanilla extract until thoroughly mixed, for about 2 minutes.

3.    Stir into the flour mixture into the wet ingredients, along with the lime zest, until well combined.

4.    Place onto a cutting board (or your counter) a long piece of parchment paper the length of a baker’s half-sheet.  Turn out the dough onto the parchment paper.  Using your hands, shape into whatever shape log you wish as long as the the diameter or width is approximately 1 ½ inches.  Pull the long side of the parchment paper over the log and either roll the dough wrapped in the paper or smooth the sides under the paper.

5.    With the dough wrapped in parchment paper, refrigerate the dough for 30 minutes.

6.    Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

7.    Unwrap the dough and place it on a cutting board.  Line a baker’s half-sheet with the parchment paper.  Using a sharp knife, slice the dough into cookies ¼ inch thick.  Place the slices on a cookie sheet about ¼ inch apart.

8.    Bake at 350 degrees for about 12 minutes, or until lightly browned.  Remove from oven and let cook on sheet for about 5 minutes.  Transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

Yield:  Approximately 3 dozen.

The post Whole Wheat Olive Oil Honey Shortbread Cookies appeared first on Daydream Gourmet.

I never get sick.  Check that.  I rarely get sick.  Usually I can attribute it to something specific — like the time I was carrying my friends’ sniffly little girl and she sneezed.  On my face.  There’s not much hand sanitizer can do about that, and all I could really do was share an incredulous laugh with my friends and the suddenly giggly little girl.  At least I knew from where the offending germs came.

But a few weekends ago, I felt something creeping up on me, from an unknown origin I might add.  (Ew.)  Despite gallons of preemptive hot tea, it still hit, although perhaps with less ferocity than I had expected.  Thank you, Earl Grey.  If I were a man, and it was still fashionable to do so, I’d tip my hat to you.

I’m not a fan of the cold remedy aisle, at least not of anything there that’s actual medication.  I haven’t yet mustered the nerve to try a neti-pot.  Maybe one day.  The pills usually make me edgy or — worse — unable to sleep, which is all one really wants to do when a cold hits.

When I was in college, there was a joke that for everything that ailed you, the health center would give you a handful of packets of Sudafed.  There was, it appeared, nothing those two little red tablets couldn’t cure.  Cold?  Flu?  Sudafed.  Itchy rash?  Sudafed.  Broken leg?  Eh, take some packets anyway.

Eventually (and, more importantly, when I stopped living in a dorm and thus had use of a kitchen) I jumped off the Sudafed bandwagon and returned to my roots.  Which meant, instead of heading to the health center, I headed through (or, with a few additional turns, avoided) the one traffic light in my college town to the Grand Union, the only supermarket for miles and miles and miles.  And there, I got what I needed, like a long distance hug from my mom.

Garlic.  Onions.  Carrots.  Celery.  Parsley.  Dill.  Chicken.  In a pot (although not exactly in that order).  With water.  Cook.  Remove lid.  Let vapors invade your soul.  Cook some more.  Heal.  Explain when the aroma draws friends near.  Feed friends.  Heal others.

Non-homemade chicken soup can be a bit of a tricky game.  A gamble, if you will.  How much are you willing to risk that what appears before you will not be akin to chicken-flavored, yet somehow flavorless, water?  Or worse, iridescent and nearly a salt-lick?  We used to take my grandfather to a well-known Jewish deli in the New York City borough of Queens.  At first, the exciting idea of a good matzoh ball soup quickened our steps to the table.  What arrived in the bowl, overflowing onto the saucer below, was bright yellow and left us tempted to ask some of the other customers if they had blood pressure medication on them.  Nothing should be so salty that you can’t taste anything through your burning lips.  We gave the soup another try during another visit, but that was it.  Unfortunately, it was one of my grandfather’s favorite restaurants, so we couldn’t stop going entirely.

Ordinarily, as opposed to what you see in the photos here, I use a whole chicken.  But sometimes, when you’re on a quest for a three to four pound organic chicken, you have to compromise.  So cut up chicken is what I got.  And it even came with an extra leg, which I considered a bonus.

But the real bonus is how amazing your home will smell as the soup comes together.  That alone will cure whatever ails you.

A few tips:

If you slice the carrots and celery too thin, they will become mush, fall apart, and have little individual flavor when they reach your mouth.  You can dice them, if you choose, but keep them on the larger side.  The parsnip can also be cut up and added with the carrots and celery, but I find that that adds a more decidedly parsnip-y flavor with each parsnip-y bite, which can sometimes overpower the actual broth.

The parsley and dill add a lot of flavor during the cooking process, but they become fairly unsightly by the end.  This is why they’re tied with twine (becoming a bouquet garni) so they can be easily removed (although a few pieces will likely fall out and remain in the soup).  I keep the onion whole so, again, it adds flavor but the end result isn’t chicken-onion-soup.  That being said, dicing the onion would work, too.

After the soup is finished cooking, remove all of the chicken parts.  Don’t throw them away, because the tender chicken makes for an incredibly moist chicken salad, into which I also throw some of the remaining onion (chopped), parsley, and dill (I also add fresh parsley and dill, cranberries, walnuts, and sometimes little bits of apple).  If you’re going to freeze the soup, I recommend first cooling it in the fridge — when the soup is cold, the fat will solidify, and it can easily be skimmed and saved for another time.  Like for matzoh balls, which I’ll post another day.  Once you’ve skimmed off the fat, freeze away.

As for adding noodles, or matzoh balls, or rice, or any other grain: I recommend not cooking them in the soup.  You know how when you make pasta the pasta water is always a little cloudy at the end?  That’s because as it cooks, the pasta releases some of its starch, which winds up in the water.  It’s also why pasta water helps thicken sauces.  If you cook something starchy in the soup, the soup will become cloudy and a little bit starchy, which probably isn’t what you’re going for.  Cook the noodles, etc., separately and warm them through when you reheat the soup.  If you’re worried about having mushy noodles or over-cooked rice, cook them separately until they are just shy of being done, and then finish them off in the soup when you reheat the soup.

Chicken Soup

In short:  Put chicken and onion in 8 qt. stockpot.  Add water to about 1 inch below edge of pot.  Add 1 tsp salt.  Bring to a boil.  Skim off the crud.  Reduce to light simmer — do not boil.  Add carrots, celery, garlic.  Add parsnip, parsley, and dill tied together.  Let simmer lightly partially covered for about 2 to 3 hours.  Add salt and fresh pepper to taste.

1.  After rinsing the chicken, put it and the peeled onion in a large, ~8 quart stockpot.  Add water until the water reaches just about 1 inch below the edge of the pot.  Add 1 tsp of salt.  Bring to a boil over medium heat.

2.  Once the water has boiled, skim off whatever crud has risen to the top and discard.  Lower the heat to low and simmer for about 10 minutes, continuing to skim off the scum.

3.  Meanwhile, bundle the parsnip, parsley, and dill together and tie with cooking twine, creating a bouquet garni.

3.  Once all the scum is gone, add the carrots, celery, garlic, parsnip/parsley/dill bundle, and some freshly ground black pepper.

4.  Simmer lightly, partially covered, over low heat for about 2 to 3 hours.  Do not let the soup boil, and you don’t want an aggressive simmer.  Every once in a while, give a light stir just to move things around, but try not to agitate things too much or you run the risk of breaking up the chicken and dislodging pieces of the skin.

5.  If necessary, add more salt and pepper to taste.  Careful not to over-salt, because it can — and does — happen.

Yield: At least 8 ample servings.

The post Chicken Soup appeared first on Daydream Gourmet.

When I began writing this post on an evening in July, I was wearing yoga pants.  That needs to be said again.  I was wearing yoga pants.  On an evening in July.  Which means that the humidity had broken and it was no longer a bazillion degrees out, even long after the sun had disappeared behind the trees starting to perk up outside my window.  The air conditioner was silenced, my window fan delivered layers of blissfully cool air, and I was part of the world again.  Being hermetically sealed may be fine for food in my pantry, but it is not good for me.

A friend recently said that there’s something to be said for hot, muggy weather.  That it can make for a dewy face.  Sexy messy hair up in a bun.  Sure.  I’ll achieve a dewy face the day I have a personal assistant walk with me, simultaneously misting me with water and pointing a giant fan in my direction.  The sexy messy hair?  There’s slightly more hope of that, but sexy is in the eye of the beholder, so I suppose I’ll need an assistant who, in between misting and fanning, will say things like, “Who cares if your hair has swelled to two times the size of your head, you look gorgeous!”

Needless to say, it is no longer July.  I have no idea where July went.  I think I blocked it out.  So it is now August, which here in New York is a known for being hazy, hot, and humid, but did you know that July is actually the warmest month in these parts?  The thought of August being cooler makes me giddy.

Sigh.  When I picked up writing this post again, it was August.  And August came and went, apparently….  Such is summer.  Often a blur of sun, beach umbrellas, and sand between my toes.  Sometimes nothing like that at all.

I could lament having not posted in so long, or I can get on with it.

There was one event this summer that didn’t disappear into the receding surf — celebrating my brother’s birthday.  For more than one reason it was a special day, so I decided to create a special dessert inspired from an episode of Jamie Oliver’s “Meals in Minutes.”  I haven’t watched that many episodes, but I just love the way he cooks.  It’s so organic.  You don’t need fancy equipment, a $400 knife, or, sometimes, even a mixing spoon.

For example, during one particular episode, he made salad dressing.  How did he make the dressing, you ask?  He poured olive oil around the sides of and into the center of a bowl.  Lots of flourish.  Same with the balsamic vinegar.  (Perhaps pouring them on the sides creates some airation?)  Then he roughly chopped some sundried tomatoes (er, tom-AH-toes) and tossed them in.  With each hand, he grabbed the edges of the bowl and swirled it around in the air, his whole body moving like he was hula-hooping.  The centrifugal force did the mixing.  When he realized he forgot to add salt, he threw some in and mixed it all up with his index finger.  No spoon necessary.  Love it.

When Jamie Oliver made this dessert, he used hazelnuts.  And strawberries.  So really, this version is not exactly a version.  More like an inspired spin-off.  And while I will eat just about anything that has strawberries in it, I wanted to do something a little different, so I used nectarines.  It was their season, and their tangy sweetness pairs well with the sweet tanginess of the cream cheese and mascarpone.  A twist on peaches and cream, although only a slight twist since nectarines and peaches are part of the same species.  (Note: Since it’s now September, I have to note that you could do this with winter fruits, too.  If you use apples, for example, I’d recommend heating them in a large pan until the apples are just softened.)  Instead of hazelnuts, I used toasted walnuts.  Why?  Because I had them in the fridge, they’re cheaper, and they’re good for you.  The cookies were store-bought, but made with whole wheat and Madagascar vanilla (and, frankly, entirely too sweet).  Use whatever kind of cookie you’d like, but I’d recommend something relatively benign, like shortbread or not-so-sugary sugar cookies.

Nectarines and Cream on a Walnut Cookie Base

For the base:
⅓ cup walnuts, chopped
½ cup crushed shortbread or sugar cookies
⅛ Tbsp unsalted butter

For the cream:
3 Tbsp cream cheese
3 Tbsp mascarpone cheese
5 Tbsp low-fat milk (1% is fine)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 ½ tsp agave syrup or honey

4 nectarines, cut into bite-size pieces

Shaved chocolate as garnish

1.  In a dry pan over medium-low heat, toast the walnuts.  Keep an eye on them — once they start to burn, they go quickly.

2.  Add the crushed cookies and butter to the walnuts.  Heat gently over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the butter has completely melted and is mixed throughout.

3.  Evenly distribute the cookie/walnut mixture into the serving dish of your choice.  (For this post, I used wine glasses.  I’ve also used water glasses.  It’s entirely up to you.)  Lightly press the mixture into the bottom of the serving dish.

4.  Refrigerate the cookie/walnut mixture in the serving dishes for at least an hour, or until cold.  The mixture should resemble a pie crust.

5.  While the cookie/walnut mixture is in the fridge, make the cream by mixing together the cream cheese, mascarpone, vanilla, and agave or honey.  You can use a hand mixer, if you prefer, but I find it’s unnecessary.  At this point, the mixture will soften a bit from the mixing, but it won’t be thin enough to spoon over anything.  Stir in the milk, one tablespoon at a time, until the mixture is the consistency of stirred, unstrained (e.g., not Greek) yogurt.

6.  Evenly apportion the nectarine pieces into the chilled serving dishes and spoon the cream mixture over the top.  You don’t want to drown the nectarines, and too much cream will turn the cookie crust to mush, but you want enough to pick up some cream with every spoonful.

7.  Top with shaved chocolate.

Servings: Four

The post Nectarines and Cream on a Walnut Cookie Base appeared first on Daydream Gourmet.

I’m back!  Have I been trapped under something heavy?  Have I had paint-color remorse, forcing me to spend every free minute re-painting?  Did I paint myself into a corner and have I only now been rescued?

Not exactly.  Some unexpected hitches arose, which I suppose should have been expected in an 80+ year old apartment with what feels like thirty coats of paint on the walls.  Like when I started scraping a little spot just above the picture molding where the paint had pulled away.  If, with practically no resistance, one’s scraper continues to slide under ancient paint, it’s hard to stop.  It’s also hard to not look at the resulting uneven, uncovered swaths of wall without feeling like one is about to hold a festival in honor of Rorschach.

But otherwise, the painting went beautifully.  Fresh.  Unmottled.  Clean.  The clean up, however….  It was a long process (in part of my own making).  It wasn’t as bad as when the moths invaded, but man, does dust go everywhere.  The next time I have any work done, I’m selling everything I own so I don’t have to clean it.  Either that or I’m covering every surface with tape — sticky side up — so the dust cleans itself.  Self-cleaning dust!  Can you imagine?

But new paint on the walls can lead to redecorating, which can lead to the massive reorganization of drawers and closets and cabinets, which can lead to bags and bags of donations, which can lead to an overall sense of peace knowing that I’m helping someone (or lots of people) — and reducing clutter.  The number of sweaters in one’s closet does not enhance happiness, after all.  Being able to store them easily?  That certainly helps.

I think by now it’s fairly clear that I do not synchronize my posts with holidays or other notable days of the year, even if there’s some intent to do so.  The dark chocolate and ricotta squares didn’t make it up by Valentine’s Day.  I had plans to post matzoh ball soup in April, but then the painting began and my regular world stopped for a while.  Cinco de Mayo was a month ago….  Maybe I’m just helping celebrations last a bit longer.

It’s warmer outside, the time when guacamole reigns supreme.  There’s something about it that screams fresh air and sunshine.  Maybe it’s the cilantro.  Ah, cilantro, the polarizing herb.  Some love it, some find it tastes like soap.  (There’s a natural explanation for that, it turns out.)  I prefer it, but it’s not absolutely mandatory.

There’s no sour cream or mayonnaise in this guacamole.  I once heard someone say that avocado is nature’s mayonnaise, and I tend to agree.  Let the good fat of the avocado be the star.  Good fat notwithstanding, the inclusion of a decent number of tomatoes makes it a little bit lighter.

This guacamole isn’t intended to be super smooth, so I cut the avocado into 1/4” cubes.  Any smaller and you risk the fruit breaking down too much during mixing.  If you like a chunkier guacamole, cut larger cubes — it’s entirely up to you and your taste.   I also cut the tomatoes and red onion fairly small — it makes for a better texture and balanced bite, and most people don’t enjoy biting into a hunk of raw red onion.  (If, upon slicing open the onion, you find that it’s begun to sprout, simply pop out the sprouted bit.)  As for heat / spice, I don’t add any.  Some people like things really spicy and think it enhances flavors, but others (like me) find that even a little heat makes their mouth feel like it’s on fire and renders food tasteless, which kind of defeats the purpose of eating.  Respect to those who can take the heat, though — go forth and spice things up.

To prepare the avocado, first cut all the way around the fruit — not around the equator, but from pole (stem) to pole — so that you have two halves.  Twist the two halves and separate.  The seed will remain on one side.  Being very careful and holding that half with a thick towel between your hand and the skin, lightly thwack the seed with the sharp edge of your knife.  The knife should sink in just deep enough to take hold.  Twist the knife, thus twisting the seed, and pull.  The seed will separate from the fruit and remain on your knife.  Using the thick towel, grab the seed and separate it from the knife.

There are many methods to separate the peel from the fruit and cut the fruit.  One way is to slide a spoon between the peel and the fruit until the fruit is dislodged, place the fruit on the cutting board and cut into whatever shape you wish.  Another is to score the fruit while it’s still in the peel, then slide the spoon underneath, popping out cubes of avocado.  I prefer the former method — I have more control over my cuts, and if the peel leaves any black stuff on the fruit, I can scrape it away easily.

Guacamole

1/2 medium red onion
1 pint grape tomatoes
3 large avocados
Juice from 2 limes
3 tablespoons cilantro, finely chopped
Salt and pepper to taste

1.  Finely chop the red onion and put into large mixing bowl.

2.  Quarter — or, if they’re large, cut into sixths or eighths — the tomatoes.  Add to mixing bowl.

3.  For each avocado, cut in half.  Remove the seed.  Using whatever method you prefer, cut into 1/4” cubes.  (If you like chunkier guacamole, feel free to make the avocado cubes larger.)  Add to the mixing bowl.

4.   Add the lime juice.  Stir gently a few times.

5.  Add the cilantro, salt and pepper.  Stir gently to combine.

6.  Cover tightly and refrigerate for at least thirty minutes to let the flavors meld.  If you can wait that long…

Yield: Approximately 4 to 5 cups.

The post Guacamole appeared first on Daydream Gourmet.

I’m going to have to find another way to drive to and from work.  Not that there aren’t multiple routes, some of which I take on occasion to switch things up, but I finally landed on one that bypasses most traffic and delivers me in the least amount of time.  So why then would I consider giving it up?

Potholes.  On one eighth-mile stretch, I think I counted fifty.  Okay, I didn’t really count them while driving, because my focus was more on avoiding them, but there must have been fifty.  At least.  The road is narrow and curvy, without any sort of shoulder, and if another car is approaching from the other direction…   It’s almost, as they say in other parts of the world, single-track.

Some are little divots, most likely growing even as I type this.  Others are deceptive little buggers that don’t look all that terrible until you’re almost upon them, causing a sharp inhale as you turn the wheel toward the lesser of two evils.  Growing in popularity are the ones that you know if you hit, you won’t breathe for a few minutes as you take stock in how the car is riding.  Tire still inflated?  Rim still round?  Side view mirrors still attached?  Fillings still in your teeth?  My car’s got nice suspension and shocks, but I start to feel like I’m in a dune buggy in the outback.  Except that there’s little wildlife to observe, save a few birds and squirrels.  I don’t think I’d mind the potholes as much if there were a few elephants nearby.

A few weeks ago, on my walk through the parking lot after a long workday of bouncing from issue to issue, I was contemplating whether to take the pocked route when I noticed a shock of yellow in the woods surrounding the asphalt.  A plastic bag, I thought.  Or maybe a deflated balloon that had somehow snaked its way around bare branches to rest on the leaves leftover from the fall.  Perhaps a beer can — the secluded areas behind my office building often hold evidence of surreptitious gatherings.  I kept walking (with a pang of guilt for not choosing to clean up the litter).

And then, for some reason, I turned around and stared into the woods again.  Could it be?  Daffodils.  How had I not noticed their green shoots before they bloomed?  Maybe all of the yoga I’ve been doing has made me more mindful, more observant.  Nah, I’m pretty observant.  Except, apparently, when it comes to a clump of green a little beyond the edge of the woods.   I grabbed my iPhone and clicked on the camera.  (Side note: thanks to the recent iOS update, accessing the camera from the lock screen is even easier — a welcomed feature!)

Daffodils used to sprout behind my parents’ house under the kitchen window.  Along with the purple crocuses dotting the backyard, their sweet perfume announced the arrival of spring, the return of the songbirds’ chorus, the appearance of little ruby buds on the maple trees.  They trumpeted that it was time for vibrancy to reign again.

I have no idea when daffodil shoots usually make their appearance (nor has a Google search helped), but it just feels so early!  True, it’s March, and it’s now not long until spring, and the mercury rose above 70 degrees (F) for more consecutive days than normal.  Maybe my bones need the winter freeze to truly appreciate the return of the warmer weather.  Maybe my heavy sweaters feel unappreciated.

But spring is certainly on its way, and yellow and white daffodils are everywhere, joined by almost-bushy yellow forsythia and joyous little crocuses.  The morning seems to introduce something else that has bloomed overnight, a little kernel of something here and there.  The magnolia trees, their heavy perfume invading neighborhoods, are already shedding their leaves.

So what do I take away from this?  Mind the potholes.  But stop for the daffodils.

(No recipe today, as my kitchen has become a storage room while my apartment is painted.  Fingers crossed that I don’t have paint-color-selection-remorse!)

The post Daffodils appeared first on Daydream Gourmet.

In looking back through some earlier posts, I’ve realized I have a problem.  Mastering my DSLR?  Not putting sweet onions or shallots in almost everything?  That every contemplated post can’t be about soup, even though there have been only two, and even though I love soup for its versatility, freeze-ability, and er, keeping-me-on-budget-ability?  All true, but no.

So what’s my problem?  I’ve described way too many things as “earthy” or having “earthiness” or making me feel connected to the “earth”.  And I’m only fourteen posts into this thing.  Does my overuse of such a word and various forms thereof make me a terrible writer who can’t come up with any other way to describe kale or sweet potato or pea soup?  Perhaps.

Or, perhaps, it’s because when I eat I generally do want to feel connected to the earth.  That what I’m eating came from the earth, may have once been covered in snow, certainly warmed itself in the sunlight, and shook off or absorbed the dew that lingered on its leaves.  Doesn’t that sound more peaceful, more restorative, more grounding than something that was formed in a lab?  I’m not a vegetarian, and my posts thus far have been meatless (although not vegetarian), but if I do choose to eat something that wasn’t a plant, I want it to have also felt the sun skim its nose (or beak).  To have been able to move freely and grow at its own pace.  To have lived peacefully.

But, perhaps an intervention is in order for this post.  And, it being just past Valentine’s Day, a sweet treat seems to be in order.

Chocolate truffles are one of the easiest — and fastest — desserts to make.  Heat some cream, finely chop some chocolate as the cream is heating, pour the hot cream on the chocolate, let it melt and whisk it until smooth, adding some flavoring like vanilla, rum, brandy, or another liqueur (if desired), cool, scoop/roll into balls, coat with cocoa powder, chopped nuts, coconut flakes, or whatever else you want.  But what if you don’t want to roll the ganache into balls, or you don’t have the time?

Chocolate ganache squares.  I’ve made them for large dinner parties, and topped with some fruit or a cool fruit compote and some whipped cream, they’re a great way to send everyone on their way with a little sweetness lingering on their tongues.  In no way are they low-fat or low-calorie, but the idea is that everyone gets a little chocolate, a lot of berries (or whatever else you choose), and just a dollop of whipped cream.

These are a little bit of a twist on traditional chocolate ganache (square).  Made with half-and-half and ricotta cheese, they’re reminiscent of chocolate cheesecake, fudge, and chocolate truffles.  They won’t be as creamy as they would be if made with cream; the ricotta adds a bit of texture.  But they remain rich and toothsome, and the sweet fruit balances the depth of the dark chocolate.

Dark Chocolate and Ricotta Squares

7 oz dark chocolate (at least 60 to 70 percent), chopped finely (because finely chopped chocolate melts evenly)
1/2 cup half-and-half
1/2 cup whole milk ricotta cheese, at room temperature
1 tsp vanilla extract
Berries or slices of fruit for garnish
Whipped cream for garnish

In short:  Over low heat, heat half-and-half until it just begins to boil.  Pour over chocolate and ricotta cheese.  Let sit for about 20 seconds.  Whisk until chocolate is melted, whisk in vanilla extract.  Pour into dish lined with parchment paper.  Cool in fridge.  Cut into squares (whatever size you like) and serve at room temperature with berries and whipped cream.

1.  In small saucepan over low heat, heat half-and-half until it just begins to boil (i.e., scalding), stirring occasionally so that a skim doesn’t form on the surface.

2.  While half-and-half is heating, put finely chopped chocolate in heat-proof bowl.  Add ricotta cheese.  The ricotta should be at room temperature so it doesn’t lower the temperature of the hot liquid too much.

3.  When half-and-half is ready, pour over the chocolate and ricotta.  Let it sit for about 20 seconds, and then stir with a wire whisk until all of the chocolate is melted.  Whisk in the vanilla extract.  If you find that the chocolate isn’t melting completely, you can pop the microwave-safe bowl into the microwave for 20 seconds, stir, and repeat until the chocolate is fully melted.

5.  Pour into a 8” x 8” dish lined with parchment paper and cool in the refrigerator.  When ready to serve, cut into squares.  Let chocolate come to room temperature, top with berries and whipped cream, and serve.

Yield:  Hard to say!  It entirely depends on how much chocolate you put on each plate.  With ample, but not over-sized portions, will serve at least 8 to 10.

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Okay, let’s face it — we’re all being inundated with lists.  What to eat.  What not to eat.  Where to eat.  How early to have breakfast, how late to lock up the kitchen.  The healthiest spices numbers one, two, and three.  The new healthiest spices numbers one, two, and three.  Blueberries are the best.  No, pomegranates.  No, elderberries.  (Just kidding.  I have no idea how nutritious elderberries are.  But they make me think of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” which always makes me smile.)  White tea is the new green tea is the new black tea.  Does anyone else get overwhelmed?

I know I can’t eat everything that’s good for me every day, because then I’d have to eat from dawn ’til dreams, and I’d also weigh 900 pounds.  So I do the best I can.  Maybe one day I’ll have some almonds, the next day I’ll have some walnuts.  Certain sandwiches get a splash of olive oil, some get a few slices of avocado.  When making a berry smoothie, sometimes I’ll throw in a banana, or maybe I’ll throw in some thawed spinach that I usually have on hand in the freezer.  And because spices are full of antioxidants and can have anti-inflammatory properties, I try to incorporate them in whatever I’m making (see Berry Yogurt Parfait (with cinnamon)).  I even sprinkle cinnamon on vanilla ice cream.  Sooo good.  Have you ever tried a smidge (really – just a smidge) of extra virgin olive oil on vanilla ice cream?  It’s outrageous.

But I’m also not made of money, so I’m always on the look out for sales; I can achieve my goal of variety, and it sharpens my cooking skills.  It also helps me fill up the freezer with healthful eats for when I may not have time to cook.  (The sweet potato and butternut squash soup is sitting patiently, and I’ll be glad to defrost it when the time comes.)  Recently, organic kale went on sale at a reasonable price, so I scooped up a bunch.

I’m a latecomer to the kale love-fest, but I’m glad I found the party.  It’s a tough green, so overcooking it into a sodden pile of muddy mush isn’t a huge concern.  It’s ridiculous how much it cooks down, so keep that in mind when determining how much you need and choosing a cooking vessel.  In the recipe below, the shallots and apple cider vinegar balance the earthiness of the leaves, and the turmeric encourages another warm level of flavor.  A hint of exotic, perhaps.  The tofu adds protein and texture.  The end result is a little tangy, a little creamy, and a little sweet, and I know it’s a lot of healthful stuff on a plate.

A few tips: I like to slice my shallots so that when cooked, they wrap around the kale leaves or nestle within their scalloped edges.  Because they’re sliced thin, they’ll cook quickly.  I suggest sautéing the shallots and garlic at the same time (rather than shallots first, then adding garlic) to avoid the risk of turning the shallots into crispy shallots.  Not that crispy shallots aren’t delicious, but that’s for another day….  Don’t cut the tofu too thin, or else the pieces may become hard and chewy by the time they turn golden.  Unless you like them that way, in which case, go for it.  If tofu’s not your thing, use chicken.  The cooking times for the kale are approximate – adjust to your taste.  If you use baby kale, the leaves will cook faster.  Finally, you can omit the tofu and serve as a side dish.

Sautéed Kale and Tofu with Shallots and Garlic

Inspired by Sautéed Kale by Bobby Flay.

1/2 teaspoon grape seed oil, or other neutral oil
6 oz extra-firm tofu, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1/2 teaspoon olive oil
1 shallot, sliced thin
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 pound kale, tough stems and ribs removed and discarded, leaves roughly chopped
3/4 low-sodium chicken stock (vegetable stock is fine, too)
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1/8 teaspoon turmeric, or to taste
Salt and pepper

In short:  In a heavy, large pot or dutch oven, heat grape seed oil and cook tofu until golden.  Remove tofu and set aside.  In same pot, heat olive oil, sauté shallots and garlic until cooked, but not brown.  Add stock and kale, mix well with shallots and garlic.  Cover, cook over medium heat for approximately 5-7 minutes.  Uncover, cook until most of the liquid evaporates.  Add the tofu back in, add turmeric, stir well, and cook for about a minute until the tofu is heated through.  Turn off the heat, add the apple cider vinegar.  Toss to combine, season with salt and pepper to taste.

1.  In a heavy, large pot or dutch oven, heat the grape seed (or other neutral) oil over medium heat.  When hot, add the tofu (taking care, because if there’s moisture in the tofu, it may splatter a little), stirring occasionally.  Cook the tofu until it’s golden but not dried out.  Remove from the pot and set aside.

2.  In the same pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat.  When hot, add the shallots and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent and fragrant, but not brown.

3.  Add the stock and kale, and mix well to combine with the shallots and garlic.  Cover and cook over medium heat for approximately 5 to 7 minutes.  The kale should have cooked down to about 1/3 of its original volume.

4.  Uncover and cook, stirring occasionally, over medium heat until most, but not all, of the liquid has evaporated.  The kale will continue to cook down, but it won’t be as dramatic.  Add the tofu back into the pot, sprinkle in the turmeric, stir well, and cook for about a minute until the tofu is heated through.

5.  Turn off the heat.  Add the apple cider vinegar and toss to combine.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Yield: One large serving (or two small servings).

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What do you do when your local grocery store includes in their monthly sale organic jewel and garnet yams (which are really sweet potatoes) and you throw a bunch in a bag and carry on your merry way, until you unpack your tote at home and discover that somewhere between the rows of apples and basket of garlic, you decided that you wanted to eat sweet potatoes every day for a very very long time, or else you must be hosting a surprise dinner party where the surprise is on you because, otherwise, you can’t imagine why you keep pulling potato after potato out of the blue canvas bag?

You make soup, of course, because you’re going to have to freeze most of whatever you make and you don’t have room in your freezer (or kitchen) to freeze the potatoes on their own (which can involve chopping and blanching and freezing cubes on a sheet tray), and defrosted mashed sweet potatoes just doesn’t sound that appealing.  And then you remember that this is supposed to be fun and you shouldn’t be stressing over all the potatoes covering a (small) segment of your kitchen counter.

And then you think about the partially empty freezer in your parents’ basement and how a partially empty freezer is less energy efficient than a full one, and they love soup (Mom’s butternut squash bisque, in particular), and wouldn’t it be fun to deliver containers of soup to their house because Lord knows you’ve certainly taken containers of soup from their house?  Yes, indeed.  I’ll just have to make the delivery before posting this so they don’t know what’s coming.  Or that I’ve temporarily suspended my angst over run-on sentences.

As designed, it’s thick, rich, and savory.  It serves well as an appetizer, and with a hunk of country bread or baguette, it becomes a hearty meal.  Orange sweet potatoes and butternut squash are loaded with Vitamin A and a host of other vitamins and minerals, and the color of the soup is so naturally vibrant that I feel healthier just looking at it.  It really doesn’t take all that long to prepare the potatoes and squash, and the earthiness that erupts as my knife does its thing reminds me of a walk in the woods.  Not such a bad thing on a cold winter day.  All that being said, a lot of places sell pre-cut butternut squash (and maybe sweet potatoes), and they’ll work, too.

There’s no milk or cream in this soup, although you could add some (after pureeing), if you wish.  If you prefer a little more sweetness, let the onions caramelize a bit or use sweeter apples (or both).  If you want it to be a little thinner, add another cup of broth.  Make it your own — that’s what cooking is all about, in my opinion.

Sweet Potato and Butternut Squash Soup with Apples

Adapted from “Sweet Potato Soup with Ginger, Leek and Apple,” and “Sweet Potato and Butternut Squash Soup“, both from The New York Times.

In short:  Heat oil and butter in large stock pot.  Sautee onions until translucent.  Add squash and potatoes, cook about 30 minutes until somewhat softened.  Add stock and apples.  Cook about 30-40 minutes until all ingredients are soft.  Purée (in batches if using a blender or food processor), return to pot and stir well to combine evenly.  Note: If you adapt this recipe by decreasing the quantities of ingredients, the cooking times will also decrease.

1.  In a heavy, large stock pot, heat the oil and butter together over medium heat.  Add the onions and cook until translucent, about five minutes.  If you want a sweeter soup, you can allow them to caramelize a bit by cooking a little longer.

2.  Add the squash and potatoes to the onions.  Cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, approximately 30 minutes until somewhat softened.

3.  Add the stock and apples.  Cover and cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, approximately 30 − 40 minutes until all ingredients are soft (but not decomposing…).

4.  In a blender or food processor fitted with a steel blade, or using an immersion blender, purée the soup.  If using a blender or food processor,  purée in batches (and, for a blender, with a towel over the top, because the ingredients will be hot and there will be lots of steam and steam pressure).

5.  Return the purée to the pot and stir well to combine evenly.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

Yield:  Approx. 3 liters.  12 − 14 servings.

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For my birthday this year, my friends, their really great, really adorable children and I returned to one of their favorite Italian restaurants.  In the middle of Times Square, it’s massive, which is rare in any other part of Manhattan.  Catering to locals and tourists, the staff is always more friendly and personal than one would expect in a place that sprawls like a banquet hall and, based on what our server told us, served over 900 hundred dinners the night before.  They remember my friends and their kids (names included!), and we remember them for it.  It’s not designed as a kids’ restaurant, but families with children on the younger side are welcomed, in part, I think, because it’s so noisy that you can’t hear anyone at adjacent tables.  Our surroundings almost disappeared as we dined in our own little bubble.

On our way into the city, those of us not catching a quick nap decided that we were absolutely, definitely, without question ordering the zucchini fritti appetizer.  Okay, maybe it was my suggestion, but it was my birthday celebration, we’d had them before, and they all agreed without reservation.  Fried zucchini isn’t the healthiest thing, but it’s one of my guilty pleasures.  I think I also try to convince myself that if done properly without a thick layer of breading, it’s mostly vegetables.  That at least it’s not fried mozzarella sticks…. Not that I don’t ever succumb to the temptation of mozzarella in any form….  Life is about moderation.  I know myself, and if I constantly denied myself something every time I saw it, one day I would break and eat ten (or twenty) of those things in one sitting.

Sliced thinly on a mandoline (or maybe by a food processor?), the zucchini looked more like thicker, ridged potato chips in a delicate heap on a platter with lemon wedges.  A bowl of marinara followed, a red caboose of sorts.  They looked delightfully light and airy, and we first served the kids, then ourselves.  Even above the din, I could hear the littlest one next to me repeatedly tell her fork, “This is just delicious.  I mean, just delicious!”  Was she repeating the words of a relative?  Something she’d heard on television?  I didn’t care, I just wanted to hear more as her eyes widened and her blonde head bounced from side to side.  To me, that was the most delicious part.

My excitement over the zucchini was short-lived, unfortunately.  Relatively tasty overall, but many pieces were disappointing because their overly thin centers overcooked and browned in the oil, resulting in a somewhat bitter aftertaste.  (And don’t get me started on the strangely smokey marinara sauce.  I’m still here to tell the tale, but the indiscernible flavor was a little unexpected.)  Man.  I had so wanted to make exclamations of amazingness.  Or something more eloquent.

The idea of fried zucchini still in my head, and my craving only somewhat satiated, I made my own.  In an attempt to forego the frying and to bake them instead, I used panko to ensure a crisp outer layer, and I sprayed them with a little olive oil before sliding them into the oven.  (How much do I love my Misto?  I can use any oil I want, and all that’s inside is oil — no additives or propellants.)  While that was successful in terms of texture, the flavor was a little bit lacking.  For future baking, I’d probably bump up the cheese a little bit more or add some salt to the panko.

But for frying — or, rather, pan frying, as there’s absolutely no need to deep fry these and waste a ton of oil — they worked beautifully.  Great crunch, the zucchini wasn’t bitter, and the tangy, creamy cheese added depth of flavor.  Speaking of bitter, when choosing your zucchini (organic, if possible), don’t go for the ones that look like they grew in radioactive soil — the larger ones will have thicker skins and larger seeds (and some seeds can be bitter, which is one reason some people say to seed tomatoes before making tomato sauce).  Stick to those no larger than 1 1/2 inches in diameter, if you can.

The rounds should be uniform so that they cook evenly.  If some are much thinner than others, those will be done well before others, and you risk overcooking (or undercooking the thicker ones).  Alternatively, you can use a mandoline.  As for the cheese, use something like Parmesan.  While we’d all love to use Parmigiano Reggiano, Grana Padano is usually cheaper.  But really, domestic Parmesan will work, too — you may just want to use a bit more to amplify the flavor.   I shredded mine using a Microplane.

I won’t be eating these every day, but if the craving strikes, I’ll know what to do.

Parmesan Zucchini Rounds

In short:  Dredge zucchini in brown rice flour.  Dip in egg.  Coat in panko / cheese mixture.  Pan fry until lightly golden on bottom.  Flip.  Pan fry until lightly golden on bottom.  Transfer to paper towels and drain; serve with lemon wedges.

1.  Mix together brown rice flour and salt.  Put mixture in a dish or on a plate.  This is the first component of the breading.

2.  Mix together cheese and panko.  Put mixture in a dish or on a plate.  This is the third component of the breading.  (The egg is the second component.)

3.  Dredge each zucchini round in flour, shake off excess.

4.  Dip each zucchini round in egg and let the excess drip back into the bowl or dish.  Do this so the finished product isn’t too eggy.

5.  Dredge each zucchini round in the panko mixture.  Using a fork, press the mixture onto each round to ensure full coverage.

6.  Heat a large pan over medium heat.  When hot, add oil.  When oil is hot, carefully add each breaded zucchini round.  If you don’t hear some sizzling when you put the zucchini in the pan, your oil’s not hot enough.  Cook over medium heat for approximately four to five minutes or until golden on one side.  Flip.  Cook approximately two to three minutes or until golden.  Transfer to paper towels and drain.

7.  Serve with lemon wedges; sprinkle fresh lemon juice over the zucchini.

Yield: Approximately 20 – 24 rounds

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I’m going to admit something with which a lot of people may not agree: I don’t think pizza is junk food.  (I also don’t think it’s a vegetable.)  I think pizza loaded with greasy processed “meats” (I use that term loosely) and stuffed refined-grain crusts and forty two pounds of cheese is junk food.  Or at least a week’s worth of food.  But a thin crust with whole grains, a rich tomato sauce full of garlic and onions and herbs, and a reasonable amount of fresh mozzarella?  Sounds reasonable to me.

Maybe because it’s football season or because there’s finally a chill in the air, or maybe because I spied them as I walked through the freezer section and the marketing kings and queens did their jobs, but I’m suddenly craving pizza rolls.  I mean, I always crave pizza.  Where the crust edges are thick enough to form a natural, sauce-free handle (that can later be dipped in fruity extra virgin olive oil, if the mood strikes).  Where there’s just enough mozzarella so I don’t feel like I’m merely eating saucy bread, but not a thick layer that oozes out when I fold a slice in half.  (I’m a New Yorker.  We fold our slices.)

Here’s the thing about cheese on pizza: if, because at some point the pizza peel, pan, or box isn’t perfectly level, dunes form as the hot cheese lets gravity take hold, there’s just too much.  Then it’s not really pizza, it’s just a vehicle for the cheese.  Don’t get me wrong — cheese and I have a lovely and loving relationship.  But pizza is meant to be balanced, and there are lots of other vehicles for cheese.  (Read: a plate.  Sometimes just a knife.)

But back to the homemade pizza rolls, created only with ingredients one can pronounce.  What gave me pause was the dough.  I will admit something else: I’m a little intimidated by recipes that call for yeast and rising times.  In part because I can lack the foresight to plan ahead — I want bread NOW, not three hours from now — and in part, I think, because I’m fearful of spending so much time hopefully creating something that I love (read: bread) only to wind up with something akin to a block of cement.  Whew.  I said it!  Making bread intimidates me.

So search I did for how others attacked the craving for homemade pizza rolls.  Some recipes call for wonton skins, others puffed pastry.  Some use dough out of a can — you know, the can that always scares the bejeezus out of you (er, me) when, after a good deal of coaxing, it finally pops open?  But I wanted something that came close to real pizza feel, just in rolled form.

So here they are.  100% whole wheat.  Rustic.  Sealed by hand.  I used homemade sauce, but feel free to use whatever sauce you want — just make sure it’s not too thin, and it should be really bright and flavorful to balance the whole wheat dough.  The cheese may ooze out a little, as you’ll see in the photos.  (Even if what leaks out burns a little.  Just break it off.)  I figure that if the cheese oozes out of the ones made in factories, a little oozing cheese is fair game.

Whole Wheat Pizza Rolls

Dough loosely adapted from Cook’s Country, “St. Louis-Style Pizza”.

There are a few ways to create the pizza rolls.  You can cut small squares of dough and fold the dough over a dollop of filling.  You can cut one long strip, put dollops of filling on one, lay another strip of dough on top, and cut/crimp the dough between the filling.  The method I used is to cut a long rectangle, place filling evenly spaced along one side, and fold the other side over the fillings.  Do whatever you like.  Make triangles or half-moons.  Just re-roll the dough trimmings and continue.

In short: Combine flour, arrowroot, sugar, baking powder, salt; stir well.  Combine water, olive oil, and honey / agave in separate vessel; stir well.  Add wet to dry; stir until combined.  Turn onto floured surface; knead three to four times.  Roll until paper thin.  Cut into three inch wide strips.  On half of the strip of dough, place ~½ tsp sauce ~½ inch apart.  Top sauce with a little bit of cheese.  Fold un-sauced side over sauced side.  Cut between packets of sauce.  Crimp edges.  Bake.

1.  In a large bowl, combine flour, arrowroot, sugar, baking powder, and salt; stir very well to ensure even distribution.  In a separate bowl or measuring cup, combine water, olive oil, and honey (or agave); stir well.

2.  Add wet ingredients to dry ingredients and stir until combined.  The dough will look shaggy and a little rough.  Divide dough in half.

3.  Turn dough onto floured surface and knead three to four times.  Roll until very thin, approximately 1/16 of an inch.  This dough is pretty forgiving — it doesn’t snap back all that much, so rolling it very thin is fairly easy.  Be sure your work surface is well-floured so it doesn’t stick.  Using a knife or pizza cutter, trim the edges of the dough to create even edges.  Save the trimmings to re-roll later.

4.  Cut a strip of dough twice as wide as you intend your rolls to be.  I made mine about 1 ½ inches wide, so I cut a strip of dough about three inches wide.  On half of the strip, place ~½ tsp of sauce approximately ½ inches apart.  You need space between the sauce to have enough dough to crimp the edges.  Sprinkle a little cheese on top of each dollop of sauce.

5.  Fold the un-sauced side over the sauced side and press lightly between the bumps of sauce.  With a sharp knife or pizza wheel, cut between the bumps.

6.  Crimp the edges of each roll.  You can use a fork or a pasta crimper or your fingers to press the edges together.  If the dough isn’t sticking, dampen the inside edge with a little water — a little water on your finger will do it.  A tighter seal decreases the probability that the filling will sneak out.  (NOTE: If you decide that each roll could use a little more filling, add a little more when three sides are sealed.  The dough will puff a little when baked, so there’ll be enough room.)

7.  Place rolls on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

8.  In an oven preheated to 400°F, bake 15 to 20 minutes until golden.  Let cool slightly before eating, as filling will be very hot.

Yield:  Approximately 30 pieces; how many you get depends on the size of your rolls

Simple Grape/Cherry Tomato Sauce

Tomato sauce is, in my opinion, fairly forgiving (like the dough above).  This is just one idea, but you can really make it your own.  For extra richness, substitute 1 teaspoon of the olive oil with 1 teaspoon unsalted butter.  To decrease the water liquid content in the tomatoes at the outset, salt them for about fifteen minutes.  They’ll give up a lot of liquid (I got about ¼ cup), which you can either save for something else or discard.

1.  Heat a large saucepan (with curved sides to encourage liquid evaporation) over medium-low heat.  When hot, add olive oil.  When olive oil is hot, add onions.  They should sizzle when they hit the pan.  When the onions have turned somewhat translucent, about five to seven minutes, add the garlic.  Cook over medium-low heat for another five minutes.  Don’t let the garlic brown or it will be bitter.

2.  Add the tomatoes and a pinch of salt scattered throughout.  If using small grape tomatoes, there’s no need to halve them — they’ll break down as they cook.  Cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes begin to break down, approximately seven to ten minutes.  The size of your tomatoes or tomatoes pieces will dictate the cooking time.

3.  When the tomatoes have begun to break down, but have still retained some of their shape, add the herbs.  To get more mileage from dried herbs, crush them a little in your hand or between your fingers before sprinkling — you’ll release the oils, which make them more effective.

4.  Continue to cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally and using your spoon to encourage the tomatoes to break down, approximately five to seven minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

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