Food and Paper

A hungry silence

2008-12-15T20:02:00.002-05:00

It pains me to admit that Food & Paper has been quiet since zucchini season, but the cookie has crumbled, the milk's been spilt, and I'm still tending to the other fish I've been frying. My first semester as a bona fide professor is drawing to a close. It's been rewarding, oh-so-busy, and pitiably low on preparing, eating, and writing about good food. And this blog's been suffering a further handicap. I've momentarily lost the hungry mouth I'm accustomed to feed to the fine chef at the Center for Hellenic Studies in DC. Patrick is on a fellowship for the academic year, writing about the soul and reason and god and other unsavory things. Turns out that cooking for one is not something I'm particularly good at, especially when there's always that next Roman Archeology lecture to prepare.

This hungry silence may well continue into the new year. But, for now, let this note wish a merry season of eating and drinking to the readers of Food & Paper.

xo,
Sarah

Summer illusions

2008-08-01T10:04:00.010-05:00

Do you know that late-May feeling? I mean that comforting sense of summer stretching out like an ever-expanding horizon, that sense of countless days ahead, way more than enough days to recuperate and accomplish some of those things you meant to accomplish. I know that feeling. At least I think I remember feeling something like that a long three months ago. And then, through some cruel trick of time that continues to dupe me each year, that ever-expanding horizon suddenly met the concrete wall of August 1st.

I really need to get some stuff done. But I would also really like to cook the vegetables ripening in my little garden. How do you tell a bunch of zucchini that you have lectures on literacy in ancient Rome to write and Power Point presentations of Etruscan grave monuments to make. The zucchini are just gearing up for summer and I'm hunkering down for fall. This impasse made itself clear to me in the form of 8 zucchini resting in my refrigerator crisper drawer.

It may be that I was feeling nostalgic about the timelessness of early summer, or it may be that I was looking for ways to avoid accepting the responsibilities of early fall, but I decided to make a zucchini tart: pate brisee, par-baking, digging out the mandoline, layering one thinly-sliced zucchini round upon another. I chose something that would be a bit fussy, look pretty, and give the zucchini their fair due.

Because zucchini both fills and tops this tart, and because the other ingredients in it aren't overpowering, it really tastes like zucchini. It's definitely rich (butter crust, cheese, eggs, cream), but the mild vegetal flavor of the zucchini and the fresh herbs somehow unburden it of its heaviness.

If this tart looks like the sort of thing you might want to eat, and especially if it looks like the sort of thing you might want to make, let me give you a brief warning. As I was standing in my kitchen staring at a big pile of zucchini rounds, I had a moment of doubt. There were just so many of them, I thought, and it would just take so long to arrange them on paper towels to dry, and then arrange them (overlapping just-so) on the tart, and I had already spent half the afternoon slicing those zucchini rounds and fiddling with the crust. I had stuff to do. You probably have stuff to do, too. But here's the thing about this tart: it doesn't just taste like summer, it also simulates the illusion of summer. All those zucchini rounds--like all those summer days seen from the perspective of late-May-- seemed to fill an ever-expanding horizon of time. But once I settled down to work, those zucchini rounds just seemed to disappear. Now that it's August, I don't have much in the way of a final masterpiece to show for my vanished pile of summer days. In my kitchen at dinner time, though, I sort of did.

Zucchini Garden Herb Tart
Makes one 11"x8" or 14" by 4 1/2" tart (but, really, any average-sized tart tin will do ).
Adapted from this Martha Stewart recipe.

all-purpose flour for dusting
1/2 recipe Martha Stewart's pate brisee (freeze remaining dough for another tart)
4 medium green zucchini
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 large leeks, white parts only, chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
a few handfuls of chopped fresh herbs (I used thyme, oregano, basil, and parsley, and chives)
1/2 cup shredded or thinly sliced cheese
**Ms Stewart's recipe calls for 1/2 cup grated Gruyere; I didn't have any Gruyere, so instead I covered the surface with a thinly sliced soft cheese from Iceland called Hofdingi Hvitmygluostur. I have no idea how to pronounce that, but it's good cheese. I discovered it while trying to find a Camembert wheel at Whole Foods. The nice cheesemonger told me that Camembert wheels were hard to come by at the moment, and suggested this instead. I find it a bit milder than Camembert, but it's texture is just about the same, and I like it quite a lot. This is what it looks like arranged on the tart.**

1 large whole egg
1 large egg yolk
1/4 cup heavy cream
extra-virgin olive oil for brushing zucchini

Instruments: rolling pin, baking sheet, tart tin, wire rack, mandoline, parchment paper, dry beans or pie weights, pastry brush, aluminum foil

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Have your tart tin sitting on a parchment-lined baking sheet. On a lightly floured surface, roll pate brisee dough into a shape large enough to drape slightly over the edges of your tart tin. Fit the dough into the tin and fold the edges back in to reinforce the sides of your tart shell. Transfer tart shell to the freezer and chill for 20 minutes.

2. Remove tart shell from freezer, prick bottom with a fork, line with parchment paper, and fill with dried beans or metal pie weights. Bake until the crust is beginning to brown, about 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and remove beans/weights. Return the crust to the oven, and bake until golden brown, about 10 minutes more. Remove from the oven and set aside on a wire rack.

3. Using a mandoline (or a vegetable peeler), thinly slice 2 zucchini into rounds. Spread slices out onto paper or cloth towels, and lightly sprinkle them with salt. Let sit for 20 minutes.

4. Cut the remaining zucchini into a 1/2-inch dice. In a large skillet, melt butter over high heat. Add garlic, leeks, and diced zucchini. Season with salt and pepper. Cook until golden, but still firm, about 8 minutes. Stir in fresh herbs. Evenly distribute vegetables into tart crust.

5. In a medium bowl, whisk together egg, egg yolk, and cream. Season mixture with salt and pepper. Pour egg mixture evenly over tart filling. Spread cheese over surface of tart filling.

6. Place another layer of paper towels (or another cloth towel) over salted zucchini rounds. Gently press down to remove excess moisture. Layer zucchini over the entire surface of the tart.

7. Using a pastry brush, coat the zucchini rounds with olive oil. Bake, loosely covered with aluminum foil, until the custard is set, 30-35 minutes. Remove tart from oven, place on a wire rack, and allow to cool slightly before serving.

A homemade bun for le burger

2008-07-15T11:41:00.012-05:00

There are some things worth making and there are some things better made by someone else. It goes without saying that the borderline between these two categories is entirely objective and open to dispute. The Pittsburgh Post Gazette recently featured a mother who makes her own toilet paper and her kids' diapers. I admire this woman's initiative and determination to put her crafting talents to good use, but I will never, under any circumstances, make panty liners for my girlfriends. This anecdote may not be in good taste for a food blog, but you have to admit that it illustrates my point. Some things just don't seem worth it.

This truism holds, well, true in the world of comestibles, too. Sometimes it's a certain ingredient that will make me change the page in my cookbook. Sure, I can get away with substituting beef stock for veal stock, kosher salt for gray sea salt, black cod for sea bass; but there's no good substitute for (too expensive) leg of lamb. Ditto for lobster tails. More often, though, it's some complicated technique that's just not worth it. I won't stuff sausage casings. I won't make cherry-tomato cups. Don't even try to talk me into puff pastry. My first and last effort was laughable and cryable at the same time and not in the "I'm so happy, I feel like crying" way you get when your college roommate walks down the aisle in a poofy white dress.

On the other hand, recipes I once deemed too frou-frou, fussy, and a waste of good time sometimes quietly beg me to give them a chance only to worm their way into my good favor. Homemade crackers, it seems, are sometimes in order. I'm now proselytizing homemade ricotta. And I'll never buy carbonated water again. I have a penguin in my kitchen that makes it for me when I press its beak.

But hamburger buns? Really? Aren't hamburger buns meant to be the edible equivalent of book ends? They satisfactorily fulfill their structural function by lending support to what would otherwise become a messy pile, but that's about it. Right?

Well, I have been disburdened of this naivete. Homemade hamburger buns, it turns out, are worth it. And it sort of makes sense, doesn't it, especially when you've gone to the trouble of gently forming your patties, babysitting them at the grill, and dressing them with fresh lettuce, tomato, and onion. This especially goes for any of you out there who--in defiance of burger purists, but in line with certain fancy-schmancy French chefs--are concocting burger variations studded with pine nuts or topped with foie gras. Le burger, the Times this week proclaimed, is now Paris-chic. The recipes featured in the accompanying article call for "sesame-seed hamburger buns" (the Cafe Salle Pleyel burger), "whole wheat English muffins" (the Cocotte burger), and no bun at all (the Yves-Marie Boudonnec). There's nary a homemade bun in sight. I doubt I'll be sourcing foie gras for my burgers (which is one of those ingredients that will make me pass over a recipe, not, I must admit, for ethical but for financial reasons), but I'll be one-upping the French with my homemade buns this summer.

This recipe is super simple. The only hard part is sitting around and waiting for the dough to rise, and when you have central air conditioning, that's not very hard at all. The dough is easy to work with and rises with gusto. When baked, the buns come out glossy on the outside, chewy on the inside, with a flavor and crumb similar to challah bread. I like best that they're slightly misshapen, which is the badge of domestic ingenuity. But the mottled surface and rippled edges of these buns also make them sort of Paris-chic. They're the culinary equivalent of a messy ponytail and smudged eyeliner. We'll call them Pittsburgh-chic. I'm not sure what that means but, for me at least, that alone makes them worth it.

Hamburger Buns
Adapted from Joyce McClelland, Gourmet, June 2008, via epicurious.com.
Makes 14-16 buns.

2 cups whole milk 1/4 cup warm water (105-115 degrees F)
2 (1/4-oz) packages active dry yeast
1/4 cup plus 1/2 tsp sugar, divided
1/2 stick unsalted butter, cut into pieces and softened
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon salt
6 cups all-purpose flour, divided
1 large egg mixed with 1 tablespoon water for egg wash

You'll need a stand mixer with paddle and dough-hook attachments, and a 3-inch round cookie/biscuit cutter.

1. Bring milk to a bare simmer in a small saucepan over medium heat. Remove from heat and cool to 105 to 115 degrees F.

2. Meanwhile, stir together warm water, yeast, and 1/2 teaspoon sugar in mixer bowl until yeast has dissolved. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes. (If mixture doesn't foam, start over with new yeast.)

3. Add butter, warm milk, and remaining 1/4 cup sugar to yeast mixture and mix with paddle attachment at low speed until butter has melted, then mix in eggs until combined well. Add salt and 4 cups flour and mix, scraping down side of bowl as necessary, until flour is incorporated. Beat at medium speed 1 minute.

4. Switch to dough hook and beat in remaining 2 cups flour at medium speed until dough pulls away from side of bowl, about 2 minutes; if necessary, add more flour, 1 tablespoon at a time. Beat 5 minutes more. (Dough will be sticky.)

5. Transfer dough to a lightly oiled large bowl and turn to coat. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm draft-free place until doubled, about 2 1/2 hours.

6. Butter 2 large baking sheets. Punch down dough, then roll out on a lightly floured surface with a floured rolling pin into a 12-inch round (about 3/4 of an inch thick; take care not to roll the dough out too thin or your buns will be too flat...I suggest erring on the side of caution here). Cut out as many rounds as possible with floured cutter and arrange 3 inches apart on baking sheets. Gather and reroll scraps, then cut out more rounds.

7. Loosely cover buns with oiled plastic wrap and let rise in a draft-free place at warm room temperature until they hold a finger mark when gently poked, 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

8. Preheat oven to 375°F with racks in upper and lower thirds.

9. Brush buns with egg wash and bake, switching position of sheets halfway through baking, until tops are golden and undersides are golden brown and sound hollow when tapped, 14 to 20 minutes. Transfer to racks to cool completely.

Buns can be frozen, wrapped well, up to 1 month.

Of myth and milk

2008-07-13T12:28:00.002-05:00

This is a story about goats, cheese, and a man named Lester.

The goats belonged to my parents. They cleared our plot of West Virginia land of wild rose bushes and produced thick milk that smelled like goat hair when it was warm, but tasted good when it was icy-cold and poured over a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats. My mom also turned that milk into some good cheese. Lots of children know the rhyme about Little Miss Muffet who, until she was startled by a spider, sat happily on a tuffet eating her curds and whey. To this day, I’m still not sure what a tuffet is, but as a five-year-old, I could clearly imagine the pain of an abandoned bowl of cheese curds.

As for the “Lester” part of the story: He attended college with my parents. In those days, he played football for WVU. Lester’s later pastimes included crank-calling our house as Freddy Kruger and hogtying us kids just to see how long it would take us to wriggle free from the ropes. We begged him to do it.

Lester was also a myth-maker. One of his favorite tales featured me as a nearly-bald toddler hovering beside my mom while she milked the goats. Every now and then--so his story went--she would aim a teat in my direction and squirt a warm stream of milk directly into my open mouth. My responses to this tale ran from shocked glee (at the age of 6) to mild horror (at the age of 23 when Lester narrated it to my fiance).

Lester’s myth doesn’t get told much these days, but it echoes a far older and far grander one that I’ve told more than a few times to variously interested students. This myth also happens to be memorialized in bronze.

Classical myth has it that the founder of Rome and his twin brother—Romulus and Remus—were nursed by a she-wolf after being abandoned as infants. I’m pretty sure Lester never had the opportunity to visit this statue in Rome's Capitoline Museum, but I like to think that if he had, he would have laughed his Lester-laugh and found some nearby tourist to tell about the mythic past of a certain West Virginia family.

For better or worse, there’s no bronze statue commemorating this family myth. But when I’m stirring a pot of milk on the stove, I sometimes think I can see glimpses of it as the ricotta curds separate from the whey. Lacking the barn full of milk-heavy goats, I make do with the pasteurized stuff I can find at the grocery store. Pittsburgh’s Whole Foods stocks goat’s milk. It doesn’t smell like goat hair, but it makes a darn good ricotta cheese. Run-of-the-mill whole milk does too. Regardless of what animal provides the milk, your homemade ricotta will trump the stuff sold in your local grocery.

Ricotta hasn't been often counted among the sexier cheeses, but, at least according to this New York Times article, it's slowly becoming a "big cheese." That means it's no longer simply a ravioli filler or the mortar of lasagna layers. But I don't need swanky restaurant menus to convince me that fresh ricotta cheese deserves more. If you have any doubt, this recipe for crostini with ricotta and chorizo will set you straight. Seriously, this is one of the best things I've ever eaten.

Homemade Ricotta Cheese
Makes about 2 cups. Can be doubled.

Adapted from Julian Moskin's New York Times article (May 28th, 2008), which was adapted from Michael Chiarello’s Casual Cooking.

This process really couldn't be much easier. The hardest part is finding the cheesecloth. Just make sure not to substitute low fat or skim milk for the full-fat stuff. You’ll end up with something white and creamy, and it will taste pretty good, but it won’t be ricotta cheese.

2 quarts whole milk
2 cups buttermilk

1. Line a wide colander with cheesecloth, folded so that it is at least 4 layers thick. Place colander in sink.

2. Pour milk and buttermilk into a heavy-bottomed pot. Cook over high heat, stirring frequently. Scrape the bottom of the pot occasionally to prevent scorching. As the milk heats, curds will begin to rise and clump on surface. Once mixture is steaming hot, stop stirring.

3.When mixture reaches 175 to 180 degrees on a candy thermometer, curds and whey will separate. (Whey will look like cloudy gray water underneath a mass of thick white curds.) Immediately turn off heat and gently ladle curds into sieve.

4.When all curds are in sieve and dripping has slowed (about 5 minutes), gently gather edges of cloth and twist to bring curds together; do not squeeze. Let drain 15 minutes more. Discard the whey.

5. Untie cloth and pack ricotta into an airtight container. Refrigerate and use within one week.

A Salad in Dishabille

2008-06-27T14:05:00.002-05:00

While vacationing on the beaches of North Carolina, and spending as many hours watching the Food Network as dipping my feet in the ocean, I began to feel a little ... I suppose I could call it a foodcrush taking hold ... a foodcrush on, well ... a certain Jamie Oliver. Yep, that would be The Naked Chef.

This foodcrush isn't based on the winning power of his crooked smile or English accent (and I will never admit otherwise). The Jamie Oliver foodcrush has everything to do with the food I watched him make while wearing my pajamas in the hotel at noon while my husband (wearing a seer-sucker!) read Charles Taylor on the beach.

A food blogger deprived of the Food Network in her own home makes for a food blogger especially vulnerable to food celebrities and food porn. I admired Giada's breasts and tiramisu. I wanted to touch Paula Deen's hair and taste her fried chicken. I marveled at Rachel Ray's stamina. Iron Chef made me strangely nostalgic for Star Trek. As I watched the challenger break into a sweat, I could just hear Leonard "Bones" McCoy saying through clenched teeth, "I'm a doctor, not an Iron Chef."

And then there was Jamie. He made a leek and prosciutto pasta topped with porcini bread crumbs, which I promptly cooked once back in Pittsburgh, but didn't post--despite its tastiness--because it seemed to resemble this recipe too closely, and, considering the recent paucity of posts, I didn't want to seem like a one-trick pony. Then, Jamie grilled some octopus, tossed it with radicchio and chorizo sauteed in garlic. I had never imagined such a thing: simple, rustic, and--so it seemed to me at the time--a bit on the bawdy side. I suppose that's why Mr. Oliver fashions himself The Naked Chef, an infelicitous appellation, perhaps, read through foodcrush-tinted glasses, it seems not only not silly, but (at the risk of reader eye-rolling) earnest.

This recipe strikes me as naked indeed: juicy peaches, fresh mozzarella, greens lightly dressed in lemon and olive oil, mint to keep things cool, and pepper flakes to spice them up. It's a sweet, milky, tart, and piquant salad, just the thing for humid summer nights. I don't recall ever pairing mozzarella with peaches, but let me tell you now, this is a lovely marriage. I couldn't help but think that the pale and mild mozzarella was taking on the sweet peaches' blush. Cringe, if you will, but I can't help it. This salad is sentimental love poetry on a plate.

While writing this post I remembered that I had already posted a peach salad recipe. It was spinach-based, and featured feta instead of mozzarella. This was the first recipe I posted after moving to Pittsburgh. I was weary of unpacking boxes in the heat, but giddy about an imminent kitchen renovation which has yet to happen. This peach salad recipe may be less imbued with the sort of kitchen fantasies materialized in the form of stainless steel appliances and subway tile backsplashes; instead, it musters fantasies of simple summer dinners prepared in a cramped, ugly kitchen, and eaten in good company. These are fantasies stripped of finery. Thanks, Jamie.

Peach and Mozzarella Salad
Adapted from Jamie Oliver's The Naked Chef Takes Off. Serves 2.

If this recipe has a flaw--and I'm not saying it necessarily does--it would be that it can veer from moist toward soggy. It's a good idea to drain your mozzarella thoroughly, pat it dry, and maybe even press it between paper towels before tearing it into chunks. If your peaches are especially juicy, go easy on the lemon and olive oil dressing.

Good mozzarella doesn't come cheap, and this is not the place to skimp on quality because those rugged little hills of mozzarella are really what make the dish. I've been quite happy with the two brands I've found at Whole Foods, but I've sworn off the stuff sold by Trader Joe's. I've tried it quite a few times in the interest of saving a buck, but found it to be consistently flavorless and rubbery. And that makes for a sad mozzarella.

Jamie Oliver's recipe includes a few thin slices of prosciutto. Sounds good to me, but I didn't have any on hand, and I can't say I missed it.

2 ripe peaches, pitted, peeled (only if you like), and cut into wedges
4 oz. fresh mozzarella cheese, torn into chunks
2 cups salad greens
2 tablespoons lemon juice
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
salt and fresh ground pepper
1/4 teaspoon-1 teaspoon dried pepper flakes (some like it hot, some like it not)
a handful of fresh mint leaves

Whisk together lemon juice, olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Toss salad greens in this dressing and divide between two plates. Arrange peach slices and mozzarella on top of greens. Sprinkle with pepper flakes and mint leaves.

The final throes of spring

2008-06-13T16:55:00.008-05:00

The weather may be telling me otherwise, but it's just not summer yet. It's not yet the season for fresh mozzarella and garden tomato salads. Hot corn cobs are not yet coming off the grill. But this swelter seems to call for fresh vegetables, not the sweet and juicy summer variety, but cooler, greener, spring-time vegetables like asparagus, peas, and green beans. Or, at least, that's the revelation that came to me when I sat down to a big bowl of farfalle, chock-full of crisp veggies, and slicked with pesto and a splash of cream.

Though you wouldn't know it from the photo I snapped, this is a green, green dish. For the last few weeks, dinner has been getting underway at around 9:00 in the evening which is not a particularly photogenic hour for foodstuffs of any hue. But it's a real shame when the camera transforms something so vibrant into something so wan. I assure you, this "eat your spring greens" pasta has precisely the opposite transforming power over hungry, feeble-feeling folks.

Eat Your Spring Greens Pasta
Inspired by this Bon Appetit recipe. Serves 4-6.

1 pound asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 pound small green beans, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound farfalle
2 tablespoons butter
a 10-ounce package frozen peas, thawed
1 1/2 cups homemade or purchased pesto sauce
3/4 cup cream
1 tablespoon lemon zest
a handful of fresh basil
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
salt and pepper

1. Make an ice bath (a big bowl of ice and water).

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add asparagus and green beans and cook until just crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon (or some such instrument) transfer asparagus and green beans to the ice bath.

3. Cook farfalle until tender but still firm to bite, stirring pasta occasionally.

4. Meanwhile, melt 2 tablespoons butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add asparagus, green beans and peas. Season with plenty of salt and pepper. Stir until heated through and coated with butter, about 1 minute.

5. Drain pasta and return to skillet of vegetables. (If your skillet isn't big enough, use the large pot in which you cooked the pasta instead). Add pesto, cream and lemon zest and stir over low heat until pasta is coated with sauce. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cut or tear up basil leaves and toss them, together with the pine nuts, on top of pasta.

A Salad, Medium Rare

2008-05-30T17:02:00.010-05:00

Grilling season is finally upon us here in Pittsburgh. Come six o'clock, the smell of burgers drifts from the backyard of one neighbor or another. I ask Patrick to fire up the old grill. It's then that a certain twinkle appears in his eye and he begins rummaging around in the fridge for a celebratory Dogfish Head IPA. Then I hand him a platter full of romaine lettuce. He looks momentarily confused, and then it dawns on him. Sigh. Another night of grilling leaves. "Medium rare, I guess," he says to no one in particular as he heads out into the burger-perfumed air.

During our vacation to Atlantic Beach, we stayed in a room equipped with a TV (!), a TV which broadcast the Food Channel (!!). While Patrick trudged through a thick social history on the deck, I watched Giada De Larentiis grill up some heads of lettuce, and I don't think anything other than romaine has touched our grill since then.

It may be grilling season, but it is also the season of salads, hearty salads that can pass for more than a side dish. This salad's smoky greens and pungent dressing do the job. The romaine wilts slightly, but becomes crunchy around its charred edges. The sun dried tomatoes and toasted pine nuts lend an Italian twist to the traditional Caesar salad formula: romaine lettuce, garlicky anchovy dressing, Parmesan cheese. Giada's recipe includes fried polenta croutons, an addition that fully Italianizes this salad, but extends its prep-time beyond the five minutes to which I am now accustomed. Generally, I dispense with croutons altogether so that Patrick and I can round out this healthy meal with an entire loaf of (curse you, no-knead) bread.

Grilled Romaine Salad with Sun Dried Tomatoes and Pine Nuts
Serves 4-6. Adapted from this Giada De Laurentiis recipe.

For dressing:
2 garlic cloves
4 anchovy fillets, chopped
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/2 cup olive oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper

For salad:
3 small heads (or 2 large heads) romaine lettuce, halved lengthwise
a bit of olive oil
salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup drained oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, cut into thin strips
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
1 1/2 ounces Parmesan, thinly shaved with vegetable peeler

To make the dressing:
Finely chop the garlic and anchovies in a food processor. Blend in the lemon juice and mustard. With the machine running, gradually blend in the oil. Season the dressing, to taste, with salt and pepper.

To make the salad:
Prepare a grill (outdoor or grill pan) for high heat. Lightly brush the cut sides of romaine with a bit of olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill the lettuce until lightly charred, about 2 minutes per side. Cut the lettuce into bite-size pieces.

On a serving platter, mound the grilled chopped lettuce. Scatter over the sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts. Drizzle with enough dressing to evenly coat. Add Parmesan and serve immediately. Pass around extra dressing.

Savoring Panna Cotta

2008-05-26T09:49:00.008-05:00

I've been a bad, bad blogger. First it was the dissertation, then the dissertation defense, then graduation, then a much-needed vacation on the North Carolina coast. But now that I've been hooded, and feted, and rested, I'm heading back into the kitchen armed with a reformed blogger's resolve and a few new cookbooks (thanks Aunt Billie and Uncle Rock!). Today's recipe comes from one of those new books, Bite Size, by Francoise Payard. It's a small book packed with stunning photos of small bites of food. For last night's dinner celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary, I translated a recipe for 20 itty-bitty servings of cauliflower panna cotta into a recipe for six servings by pouring it into bigger glasses. Magic. This savory panna cotta is both elegant and simple. Preparing it will dirty a few pots and a food processor, and it will require the slightly fussy step of straining through a sieve, but all of this can be done hours in advance of serving. That means more time for sipping sparkling wine on the back patio.

Panna cotta, which means "cooked cream" in Italian, is a custard that owes its consistency to gelatin rather than eggs. I've enjoyed several fruit-topped variations of panna cotta for dessert (though I had never made it myself). The thing I love about this version is that it retains the simple color and texture of traditional panna cotta, but the flavor is pure, unadulterated cauliflower, rendered subtle and novel in this delicate, chilled incarnation.

The original recipe called for each panna cotta to be topped with a tiny spoonful of salmon roe. Mmmmm. Salmon roe. I understand that Thomas Keller offers a recipe for a cauliflower panna cotta topped with beluga caviar in The French Laundry Cookbook. Mmmmmmm. Beluga caviar. It seemed like fish eggs were the way to go. Fish eggs, it seems, are not to be found in the great metropolis of Pittsburgh. Is there anyone out there who knows otherwise? I checked Whole Foods ("We sometimes have caviar around the holidays."), Trader Joe's ("Nope."), Wholey's ("Yeah, we got fish eggs, but you're going to have to get them out of the fish yourself."), and the Market District Giant Eagle ("Salmon roe? Uhhh, is that like a kind of fish soup?").

I switched the salmon roe out for baked prosciutto strips, a few sprinkles of nutmeg, and some chives. These are flavors which I think have paired well with cauliflower in other recipes, and this one wasn't an exception. If I give cauliflower panna cotta another go, and if I still can't get my hands on any fish eggs, I might try topping it with a splash of truffle oil and a thin shaving of Pecorino Romano cheese.

Cauliflower Panna Cotta with Prosciutto and Chives
Adapted from Bite Size by Francoise Payard. Makes 6 small servings.

14 ounces (about 1 small head) cauliflower
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 cups heavy cream
2 teaspoons (1 envelope) unflavored gelatin
sea salt
freshly ground white pepper
2 thin slices prosciutto
freshly grated nutmeg
chives for garnish

1. Cut cauliflower into small pieces and place them in a pot. Add butter, a pinch of salt, and just enough water to cover about one third of the cauliflower. Cover pot and bring to simmer over medium heat. Simmer until cauliflower is very tender, 6-10 minutes. Drain off any excess water and puree the cauliflower until completely smooth in a food processor.

2. Place the cream in a small pot and sprinkle the gelatin over it. Let it sit for 4 minutes and then bring it to a simmer, stirring, over medium-low heat to dissolve the gelatin. Remove the pot from the heat and let the cream cool to room temperature. Then, gently mix it into the cauliflower puree (do not whip it). Pass the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. (Next I will pass it through the sieve once more to further refine the texture, but this extra step is certainly not necessary.) Season to taste with salt and pepper. Don't skimp on the salt.

3. Place 6 small glasses on a baking sheet (this makes it easier to transfer them in and out of the refrigerator). Fill each glass with the panna cotta. Cover the top of the glasses with plastic wrap and refrigerate until completely chilled, about 1 hour. This can be done up to a day ahead.

4. For the garnish: Heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place the slices of prosciutto on the parchment paper, layer another sheet of parchment paper on top, and set a second baking sheet on top (this keeps the prosciutto flat as it cooks). Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until the prosciutto is crispy. Allow prosciutto to cool, and then cut it into thin strips.

5. Remove glasses from refrigerator a few minutes before serving. Garnish each glass with a bit of nutmeg, a few strips of prosciutto, and a scattering of chives.

A Win for the Challenger

2008-04-28T17:51:00.008-05:00

I collect anchovy recipes. It's not really a deliberate act, but an unconscious hoarding. The collection means I'll never want for ways to go through the anchovy tins that sit patiently next to my cans of whole tomatoes and garbanzo beans. It also means that I'll never want for a salty-fishy fix.

When I can't be bothered to browse the collection, I open up a tin, blot the oil from one flat body, positio it atop a saltine cracker, and pop the whole thing in my mouth, overhanging fish ends and all. Please do grimace and wrinkle your nose. The anchovy is a divisive little fish. And I wouldn't perform this particular act in the presence of company, anyway. But the truth is that I don't just collect anchovy recipes. I love anchovy recipes, and I love the foods and drinks that I consider--in some fundamental but unjustifiable way--as the anchovy's kin. Sardines, oil-cured olives, smoked trout, radicchio, gin martinis (dirty, please), stinky cheese, Campari, Pernod, dark chocolate, dandelion greens, the hoppiest beers, and--need I even say so--caviar of any size and color. Meet my favorite food group: the salty, the bitter, the sturdy.

I have been adding anchovies to my pasta sauces for a few years now. Not just puttanesca, but tomato-less pastas featuring broccoli rabe, radicchio, or arugula livened up with with a heavy dose of red pepper flakes, and those anchovies. These pasta dishes don't apologize for their salted fish, and neither does the one that graced the cover of Gourmet's April edition. Bucatini with spicy anchovy sauce and dill bread crumbs. Passing up Vogue's dewy Drew Barrymore, I bought the issue for its cover recipe as I searched for something to get me through the flight from Raleigh to Pittsburgh after my dissertation defense.

Let me tell you why I love this recipe. The dill, anchovies, and red pepper flakes--all assertive flavors--somehow melt into a pleasant and mellow pasta sauce. Bread crumbs bring a crunch to each bite of bucatini. But this seems not to be a recipe for everyone. I clicked over to epicurious.com and found a substantial number of dissenters including this one:

"I made this recipe last night, and it prompted me to post a review for the first time. Unfortunately it's because it is so very disgusting!!! I've been cooking for my husband for 10 years, and this was the first and only time he actually would not eat what I made. I don't blame him, I couldn't stomach it either. I even read the other reviews and put in a little extra anchovy and red pepper, and it was still terrible. I rate this recipe One Spoon, to gag myself with. GROSS!"

To each her own. But I would rate this recipe 4 forks, and my husband liked it too. You might, but probably not if you hate anchovies. I don't think I'll be able to do without it.

Bucatini with Anchovy Sauce, and Dill Bread Crumbs
Serves 4. Adapted from Gourmet magazine, April 2008.

Bucatini are thick, hollow noodles that otherwise look like spaghetti. They're particularly nice here because they stand up to the robust flavors in this sauce and are not overwhelmed by the breadcrumbs. Other pastas, especially regular spaghetti, would be fine substitutes.

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1/3 cup chopped dill
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
4 shallots, thinly sliced
1 (2-ounce) can flat anchovy fillets, drained and chopped
1 pound bucatini
1 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

1. Heat 1/4 cup oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then cook bread crumbs, stirring constantly, until deep golden and crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. Transfer bread crumbs to a bowl and toss with dill and 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and black pepper.

2. Wipe out skillet, then cook shallots with 1/4 teaspoon salt in remaining 1/2 cup oil over medium heat, stirring frequently, until very soft, 6 to 8 minutes. Add anchovies and cook, mashing anchovies into shallots, until dissolved.

3. Meanwhile, cook bucatini in a pasta pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup cooking water, then drain pasta.

4. Stir red-pepper flakes and reserved water into anchovy sauce, then add pasta and toss to combine. Add about half of bread crumbs and toss to coat. Serve sprinkled with remaining bread crumbs. Season with salt and pepper.

Milestones and Cheesecake

2008-04-20T10:12:00.006-05:00

Well, how do you do? An interlude of over two months has a way of making a blog seem shiny and new all over. Although I didn't realize it at the time, my last post announcing this lull was the 100th post on Food and Paper. Disappearing for two months doesn't seem the way to mark any milestone, but I have been busy trying to make my way past another one. And I did it. I completed my Ph.D, and I'll be a professor in Duquesne's Classics department beginning in the fall. So, my life is looking sort of shiny and new, too.

Milestones are supposed to assure travelers that they're on the right path, that they've made it a certain distance, and have a certain distance yet to travel. I can't recall ever having come across a milestone made of stone that actually marked miles. These days they seem more ephemeral, made of paper or a handshake or a meal shared, and they tend to mark ephemeral paths like the one that winds through graduate school.

If I had my choice in the matter, milestones marking anniversaries and dissertation defenses would be made of cheese. A cheese plate. Or a pot of fondue. Or a wheel of Camembert, wrapped in grape leaves and charred over a fire. Or--finally getting to the recipe at hand--cheesecake. And the five packages of cream cheese in the milestone I'm bringing to you today make it anything but ephemeral. It's big, heavy, extra-cheesy, and a fine way to mark the 101st post on a blog that began in April of 2006 with a cheesecake recipe.

That first cheesecake was a fresh, light, strawberry-laced, and rather naive thing. It was good, but this one is better. The shortbread crust provides a nice, sturdy ground for this cheesecake's heft without competing with the flavor of the cake, and the browned top suggests a certain sophistication without adornment. Sort of what I wanted my dissertation to be like, but with the addition of a few wandering wombs, a pregnant Christ, and a thirteenth-century Ovid impersonator.

Writing that sentence almost made me miss working on the thing. Almost.

I think I need another piece of cheesecake.

New York-Style Cheesecake
Adapted from The New Joy of Baking

The baking method for this cheesecake is quite similar to the one suggested by the folks at Cooks' Illustrated which I posted in April, 2006. The initial high temperature browns the top and allowing the cake to cool in the oven prevents it from cracking. Many cheesecake recipes call for a water bath to prevent cracking, but this method seems better to me because crusts baked in a water bath sometimes emerge soggy from exposure to steam. Having all of the ingredients at room temperature will create a creamier cake without cream cheese clumps.

1 recipe shortbread crust (see below)
1 egg white, well beaten

The following ingredients should be at room temperature:
2 1/2 pounds (five 8-oz. packages) cream cheese
1 3/4 cups sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla
5 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1/2 cup heavy cream

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Lightly butter a 9-inch spring-form pan with removable bottom.

2. Press about 1/3 of the shortbread dough over the bottom of the pan as evenly as possible. Prick the dough all over with a fork and then bake until the crust is golden brown, 10-12 minutes. Let cool completely on wire rack. Press the remaining dough about 1/8 inch thick around the sides of the pan, making sure that it is attached to the bottom crust all around. Brush the bottom and sides of crust with egg white. Refrigerate crust while you prepare the filling.

3. Preheat oven to 500 degrees F. In the bowl of a stand mixer (fitted with the paddle attachment, if you have one), beat cream cheese until smooth and creamy, about 1 minute (this may take longer if the cream cheese is not yet at room temperature). Scrape down sides of the bowl and paddle. Gradually add sugar, beating until smooth and creamy, about 2 minutes. Add flour and beat until combined. Beat in lemon zest and vanilla. Scrape down sides of bowl and paddle.

4. Beat in eggs and yolks one at a time just until incorporated, scraping sides of bowl and paddle after each addition (make sure you don't leave any cream cheese around the upper edges of the bowl or you'll have lumps in your cheesecake, yikes!). On low speed, beat in cream.

5. Scrape the batter into the prepared crust and smooth the top with a spatula. Bake for 15 minutes at 500 degrees, then reduce the oven temperature to 200 degrees F, and bake for 60-70 minutes more. The cake should still looks a bit jiggly in the center. Turn the oven off and prop the oven door ajar with the handle of a wooden spoon. Let the cake cool in the oven for at least 30 minutes, and up to 1 hour. Remove to a rack and let cool completely before unmolding. Cover and refrigerate for at least 6 hours. Refrigerating overnight will allow the cake to firm up and the flavors to develop.

Pat-in-the-Pan Shortbread Crust
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
1-2 large egg yolks

1. In a food processor, mix flour, sugar, lemon zest, and salt for 10 seconds. Add butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

2. Add 1 egg yolk and pulse just until dough comes together. If the mixture looks too dry, add second yolk and pulse again.

3. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and chill in refrigerator for 30 minutes (or up to 2 days) before working with it.

An interlude

2008-02-04T11:50:00.000-05:00

Dear readers,

You may have noticed that Food and Paper is looking a little slim these days. That's because the Paper part of my life is currently edging out the the Food part. Scribbling and typing and editing have encroached upon my kitchen time, and the subject is not particularly photogenic and not at all tasty: Virgins, Mothers, Monsters: Late-Medieval Readings of the Female Body Out of Bounds. I've been cooking up this dissertation for years now, and it's time to garnish it and serve it forth. To that end, this blog is going to remain on the skinny side for the next month or so. If all goes as planned, there will be much feting and feasting to do come mid-April, so do check in for celebratory recipes.

In the meantime, good appetite and good eating,

~Sarah

Fleur de Sel and Caramel

2008-01-11T18:36:00.000-05:00

For all of you whose New Year's resolution was to eat more candy in 2008, this recipe is for you.

Yes, while the rest of the world has puckered its lips in the direction of dessert and sworn to monitor sodium for the foreseeable future, I offer you this timely little morsel, smelling of burnt sugar and dusted with sea salt. Happy January... make yourself some salted caramels.

In the interest of honesty, I made these as Christmas gifts, but I'm here to convince you that these candies are easy enough and good enough to stock candy stashes of kin and co-worker throughout the year. All you need is some parchment paper, a candy thermometer, and some decent sea salt. Then, with a little patience for repetitive candy-wrapping, you'll have a batch of velvety caramels studded with bits of crunchy salt. This recipe scores a perfect 10 on Sarah's salty-sweet scale of goodness, which, in case you're keeping score, beats bacon brittle, but finishes neck and neck with burnt caramel ice cream with black Hawaiian sea salt.

These caramels hold their shape without threatening to pull out your fillings. That means they're both better tasting and safer than the beloved Sugar Daddy, a candy I loved to lick, and dared to chew, as a grade-schooler with wobbly teeth. I suppose I wasn't as enterprising as a certain "Jason from New York" who had this to say about the subject of Sugar Daddies and molars on oldtimecandy.com:

Back in the late 70's, when I was 7 or 8 years old, my molars were taking a long time to come out. they'd get loose, but I couldn't extract them myself. so I bought a sugar daddy. I'd sink my teeth into it, wait a few seconds, and rip open my jaw! 9 out of 10 times there'd be a tooth stuck to it. it would also gross out other kids (especially the girls). ironically, I'd use the money I got for my tooth to buy more sugar daddies!

Should the fleur de sel caramel strike your fancy, and should next December's holidays seem simply too far off to warrant dusting off your candy thermometer, please think of St. Valentine. Your sweetheart will be charmed by your homemade confections, but, more importantly, you will have done your part to encourage lovers everywhere to renounce the Whitman's Sampler box. If you're inclined to think that salted caramels won't muster that whiff of romanticism, chill your candies in the fridge, dip them in melted dark chocolate, and then sprinkle with sea salt. Sexy, no?

On the subject of salt: I tend to favor Morton's Kosher salt for cooking. It's inexpensive, stocked in every grocery store, and fine tasting. But a candy like this which features salt as a primary ingredient requires good fleur de sel, the "flower of salt" hand-harvested from the top layers of sea salt pans. These salts can be pricey, but I've recently tried without disappointment two inexpensive brands: Baleine Sea Salt (from Whole Foods) and Trader Joe's Salt of the Sea, which is harvested from South Africa. In the end, price may not be a necessary condition of salt's flavor. In a taste test conducted by Dan Crane of slate.com Morton's kosher salt and Maldon sea salt--both of which are easy on the wallet-- outperformed all but one of the other contestants. I'm glad to know my everyday salt stands up to fancier brands, but I would still opt for a coarser sea salt for this recipe. Mr. Crane's salt testers were wowed by the "giant pyramid-shaped flakes" and "extreme texture" of Maldon sea salt. Sounds like a winner to me...I'll try to get some in my kitchen before I sprinkle any more salt on my candies or ice cream.

Fleur De Sel Caramels
Adapted from Gourmet, October 2004. Makes about 40 (1-inch square) candies.

canola or vegetable oil for pan
1 cup heavy cream
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2 teaspoons fleur de sel, plus more for sprinkling
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup water

1. Line bottom and sides of an 8-inch square baking pan with parchment paper, then brush parchment lightly with canola or vegetable oil.

2. Bring cream, butter, and 2 teaspoons fleur de sel to a boil in a small saucepan, then remove from heat and set aside.

3. Boil sugar, corn syrup, and water in a 3- to 4-quart heavy saucepan, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Boil, without stirring but gently swirling pan, until mixture is a light golden caramel.

4. Carefully stir in cream mixture (mixture will bubble up) and simmer, stirring frequently, until caramel registers 248 degrees F on thermometer, 10 to 15 minutes. Pour into baking pan, sprinkle generously with sea salt, and cool 2 hours. Cut into 1-inch pieces, then wrap each piece in a 4-inch square of wax paper, twisting the ends to close.

New Year's Nibbles

2007-12-30T12:00:00.001-05:00

Excuse me, but have you seen the month of December? I seem to have misplaced mine.

I started to write this post about festive snacks on December 1st. I wanted to tell a little story about discovering two crazy-easy recipes, talk you into trying them yourselves, and rest in the warm glow of my computer screen, knowing that I had done my part to populate a potluck, office party, or gift swap with yummy nibbles. Then, December somehow went missing and has just surfaced, 29 days late. So, I'm re-purposing these recipes for New Year's Eve, and, in all honesty, I think they're better suited for party dresses and champagne flutes than Christmas sweaters and eggnog.

If I were going to be anywhere near my kitchen on New Year's Eve, I'd be turning out these spiced nuts and gougeres, filling champagne flutes to the brim, and showing off my new pair of heels.

There are so many good things about these recipes, I almost don't know where to start. But in the spirit of party hosting, there are two qualities that will bring me back to these recipes in years to come.

First of all, they are perfect make-ahead party food. The nuts will keep for several days in a sealed container, and the dough for the gougeres can be mixed, spooned onto baking sheets, and stored in the refrigerator until it's time to pop them in the oven.

Second, these recipes are fool-proof. Some of the other spiced nuts recipes I've tried have resulted in sticky or soft nuts, but the whipped egg whites in this version coat every single nut with a spicy-sweet crust. You could do all sorts of variations on the spices, but I fell for the combination of smoky Hungarian paprika, cumin, allspice, and enough cayenne pepper to entice a long sip of champagne. As for the gougeres, don't be fooled by the fancy-schmancy French. I think of gougeres as mini biscuit and souffle hybrids, but they're easier to make than either. You whip up a pate choux (which is French for a quickly cooked butter and flour combination), add eggs, cheese and the herbs and spices of your choice. This batter isn't fragile or finicky...it's a sturdy, forgiving thing that, when baked, transforms into refined, fluffy hors d'oeuvres.

This may be the eleventh hour for posting recipes for New Year's Eve, so these recipes may be more idealistic than practical. But isn't New Year's the season for idealists? So, whatever you're nibbling as midnight rolls around, I hope you'll raise a toast to good food and drink in mind and mouth in 2008.

Spiced Nuts
This recipe is adapted from one which originally appeared in Martha Stewart's Living.
Makes 2 1/2 cups.

1 large egg white
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon Hungarian paprika
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
2 1/2 cups assorted nuts (I chose pecans, cashews, and almonds.)

1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Beat egg white with mixer until soft and foamy (and no clear liquid remains at the bottom of the bowl). Combine the remaining ingredients (except the nuts), and whisk into the egg whites. Stir in nuts and fold with a rubber spatula until evenly coated. Spread mixture in a single layer onto an ungreased baking sheet.

2. Bake nuts for 15 minutes, then remove from oven. Using a metal spatula, toss, stir, and separate nuts. Reduce oven to 250 degrees, and return nuts to bake until medium brown, about 10 minutes. Remove from oven, toss and stir again. Place baking pan on a wire rack to cool. The nuts will crisp as they cool. Break up any that stick together; store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 2 weeks.

Cumin Gougeres
Adapted from Clotilde Dusoulier's Chocolate & Zucchini: Daily Adventures in a Parisian Kitchen.
Makes between 20 and 40 gougeres, depending on how big you form them.

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, diced
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1 cup flour
4 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 1/2 cups grated Gruyere (about 5 ounces)

1. Combine butter, salt, and 1 cup water in a medium saucepan and bring to simmer over medium-low heat. Remove from heat, add flour all at once, and stir quickly with a wooden spoon until well blended. Return pan to medium-low heat and keep stirring until the mixture forms a ball and pulls away from the sides of the pan.

2. Let cool for three minutes. Add eggs one by one, stirring well between each addition until incorporated. (I used an electric mixer for this.) Sprinkle with cumin and pepper and fold in the cheese. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes, or up to a day.

3. Preheat oven to 400 degrees, and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Using two spoons or an ice cream scooper, shape small balls of batter (1-1 1/2 inches in diameter), and drop onto baking sheets, leaving 1 inch of space between each one. At this point you can cover the baking sheets with plastic wrap and refrigerate for a few hours until you are ready to bake.

4. Cover one baking sheet with plastic wrap and return to refrigerator. Bake other sheet for 20 minutes until puffy and golden. Do not open the oven door during the first 10 minutes of baking or the gougeres will not rise well. Turn off the oven, open the over door a crack, and leave the gougeres in for another 5 minutes. (This will help prevent them from deflating.) Transfer gougeres to a cooling rack for 5 minutes, and then serve warm or at room temperature. Personally, I find these much better warm.

You can freeze the gougeres for up to 1 month and reheat them (no thawing necessary) in a 350 degree oven for 8 minutes.

Ice Cream Rewind

2007-11-18T16:47:00.000-05:00

It snowed briefly on Friday. I'm dusting off my winter hats and scarves. I'm also dusting off the to-do list, and guess what I found? Ice cream. Lots of it. My food photo files are clogged up with scoops dating back to June, and the colors show their age:

Summery pink strawberry:

Neon-purple blueberry:

I thought I'd rescue them from oblivion in one final goodbye to ice cream weather. Adieu!

Just kidding. There is no ice cream weather in this house, occupied as it is by a certain spouse who insists that ice cream is its own food group (I don't complain...at least he's given up this notion about bacon). But fall and winter ice creams do tend to differ from their fair weather cousins. In recent months, my ice cream maker has been turning out flavors like maple walnut...

and pistachio-fig...

I trolled these fall flavors from the pages of David Lebovitz's ice cream book. Mr. Lebovitz suggested dried apricots and pistachios, but I thought I'd substitute figs. The results weren't bad, but not good enough to revisit. Lesson: Mr. Lebovitz's recipes are better than my improvisations. That's why his book is called The *Perfect* Scoop. It's also why this is my favorite dessert-focused cook book, and why, unless you own stock in supermarket ice cream, you should probably have it on your own shelf.

There have been a few ice cream blunders, none of which can be blamed on anyone other than me. I had this idea of pairing a salted caramel ice cream with a white peppercorn ice cream. This was one of those food ideas that seem so fetching, so edgy -- why hasn't anyone else thought of this? salt and pepper? come on, they go together! Well, there's a reason why you've never been served salt and pepper ice cream. Turns out, they don't taste so good. The peppercorn ice cream was the spoiler. I wouldn't call it offensive, but I think the person to whom I served it did. I went overboard with the peppercorns, soaked too many of them too long in the cream. The result was a plain-looking white ice cream that started to burn the moment it hit the back of your tongue, and then kept burning, only to fade into an acrid aftertaste. Paired with the salted caramel ice cream (which is not my recipe and is very good), it tasted even weirder. I am still entertaining the idea that a dainty scoop of the stuff served with a bitter chocolate cake might redeem the whole project. But I had Patrick try a spoonful of the stuff and then nibble a piece of dark chocolate. Didn't do it for him. I have a quart of it growing freezer burn, and ice cream never grows freezer burn in this house...except for that Dirty Mint ice cream I made a while back.

For those of you who have pushed it out of your memory, Dirty Mint ice cream happened in May of this year. This is how it went:

"At this very moment, a mint patch is creeping across my back yard. This being the first spring we've lived in this house, I didn't even know we had a mint patch. Then, one day, it was there, and it was big. Dreaming of a sustainable ice cream, I waded into my sea of mint, steeped my harvest in cream, poured it in my ice cream maker, tossed in a few handfuls of chopped dark chocolate, and waited. The result was yucky. To put it more precisely, it tasted like dirty grass (with chocolate chips). My guess is that my variety of mint is not the best for imparting flavor to food and drink (the mint juleps turned out yucky, too). No, mine is an ornamental sort of mint, which is spreading like wildfire in my backyard while my basil and rosemary are barely hanging on."

Well, I have since discovered that my mint patch is catnip. Yep, not only did this backyard hallucinogen do nothing for my pheromonic receptors, it ruined several cocktails. This I can tell you from experience: unless you're a cat on a bender, catnip juleps just aren't worth the trouble.

I'm looking forward to trying out some December ice creams. Eggnog seems a likely candidate. Pomegranate, perhaps. For now, here are two ice cream recipes, one for fall and one for summer. The seasons always manage to come round again.

Maple Walnut Ice Cream with Wet Walnuts
Makes about 1 quart. Adapted from David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop.

This ice cream is nutty and sweet, with a clean maple syrup flavor. It's just the thing with a mug of black tea, a down comforter, and a textbook on psychoanalysis, which is precisely how it was enjoyed this very afternoon.

1 1/2 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
5 large egg yolks
3/4 cup dark maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
Wet Walnuts (recipe follows)

Warm milk and sugar in medium saucepan. Pour cream into a large bowl and set a mesh strainer on top. Turn heat down to medium-low.

In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warm mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly, then scrape the warmed egg yolks back into the saucepan.

Stir the mixture constantly over medium-low heat with a heatproof spatula, scraping the bottom as you stir, until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. Pour the custard through the strainer and stir it into the cream to cool. Add the maple syrup, salt, and vanilla, and stir over ice bath until cool.

Freeze according to your ice cream maker's instructions. During the last few minutes of churning, add the Wet Walnuts.

Wet Walnuts
Makes 1 1/2 cups.

1/2 cup, plus 1 tablespoon dark maple syrup
1 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and very coarsely chopped
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt

Heat the maple syrup in a small skillet or saucepan until it just begins to come to a full boil. Stir in the walnuts, and cook until the liquid comes to a full boil once more. Stir the nuts for 10 seconds, then remove them from the heat and let cool completely. The nuts will still be wet and sticky when cooled.

Fresh Blueberry Ice Cream
Makes 1 quart. Adapted from Gourmet, August 1997

I made several batches of this technicolored ice cream this summer. Fresh blueberries, when they're not overwhelmed with sugar, make a very mellow ice cream, which would be nice served with pound cake or shortbread cookies. It's also nice double-scooped into a bright green bowl. You can strain out the blueberry skins, if you like. I left them in for the slight texture and speckled color that came with them. The skins are good for you too.

2 cups blueberries
3/4 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
1 1/2 cups heavy cream

In a saucepan, bring blueberries, sugar, and salt to boil over moderate heat, mashing berries and stirring with a fork. Simmer mixture, stirring frequently, 5 minutes; cool slightly. In a blender, puree mixture with milk just until smooth and stir in cream. Chill and freeze in ice cream maker.

Falling Back

2007-11-06T21:39:00.001-05:00

Spring Forward. Fall Back. I'm never quite sure whether I'm returning to Standard Time or entering Day Light Saving Time, but this mnemonic device tells me in which direction to turn my watch. I breathed a little sigh of relief this weekend, as I turned back those dials, repeating "fall back, fall back, fall back" to myself all the while. After running headlong through October, November is looking like a good month for falling back. And I'm hoping to land in the kitchen.

Let me tell you a little story about mnemonic devices, Greek etymology, Latin poetry, and swiss chard ravioli. Mnemonic devices are, according to Greek etymology, matters "of memory" (mnemonikos), but according to a certain Greek mythographer they also devices of forgetfulness.

Bear with me. The story winds a bit.

Hesiod has us believe that he met the Muses, those nine daughters of the goddess Mnemosyne (Memory) who inspire poetry, on the slopes of Mt. Helikon. There, they sang to him of the births of the gods, a song to preserve ancient tales in the minds of future generations, but also, they told him, a song to make the grief-stricken forgetful. This song Hesiod dutifully recorded in his Theogony.

During the past months, I've been inspiring both memory and forgetfulness in undergraduate students of classical mythology, though none, I expect, would deem me a Muse. Hesiod's gods now faint early-semester ghosts, the fall of Troy is the song I'm presently singing. This week it was unlucky Dido and her funeral pyre. Heavy stuff. And this after marching though the rape of Persephone, the mangling of Hippolytus, the infanticide of Medea, the blinding of Oedipus, and the rage of Achilles.

The stuff of classical mythology has been cutting into my kitchen time, and that's a tragedy in itself as there's no better antidote to suffering, death, and undergraduates than chopping, mixing, and kneading. Fall back...it's a mnemonic device good for forgetting.

Haunted by Dido's hissing wound and glaring shade, I wandered into the kitchen, hauled out my pasta rollers, and started chopping through a few pounds of greens. Within an hour, I was tucking into a plateful of over-sized swiss chard ravioli tossed in browned butter sauce. They weren't much to look at, but homemade pasta doesn't have to be photogenic. Many comfy things aren't.

The beauty of this recipe is in the play between the soft, familiar pasta exterior and the dark, savory-sweet filling. The combination of swiss chard, pine nuts, raisins, and kalamata olives is an old Catalan formula, and I have to say, there's something about this recipe that tasted old, as in ancient...like something that could have been lost in the annals of culinary history. But it wasn't, bless the gods. Of this, I am sure: I won't forget it.

Swiss Chard Ravioli in Rosemary Butter Sauce
Adapted from a recipe that appeared in the February 1997 issue of Gourmet.
Makes 4 servings.

For filling:
2 pounds Swiss chard, stems and ribs discarded and leaves washed and drained
4 tablespoons finely chopped onion
2 garlic clove, chopped fine
3 tablespoons pine nuts, chopped coarse
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
6 Kalamata olives, pitted and chopped fine
4 tablespoons golden raisins, chopped fine
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
salt and pepper to taste

For pasta dough:
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour plus additional for kneading
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon water
1 teaspoon olive oil
1 teaspoon salt

For Browned Butter Sauce:
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 tablespoons pine nuts
1/4 cup white wine
1 tablespoon finely minced fresh rosemary
a few pinches of coarse salt

Make filling:
Finely chop Swiss chard (you should have about 6 packed cups). In a large non-stick skillet sauté onions, garlic, and pine nuts in oil over moderately high heat until onion is softened and pine nuts are a few shades darker. Stir in olives, raisins, and half of Swiss chard and cook, stirring, until chard is slightly wilted. Stir in remaining chard and season with salt and pepper. Cook filling, covered, over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until chard is tender, about 5 minutes. Add lemon zest, Parmesan cheese, and nutmeg. Cool. Chill filling, up to 1 day.

Make ravioli:
In a food processor blend all ingredients except for additional flour until mixture just begins to form a ball. On a lightly floured surface (or in a mixer fitted with a dough hook) knead dough, incorporating additional flour as necessary, until smooth and elastic, about 8 minutes. Dough is best used immediately but may be made 1 day ahead and chilled, wrapped in plastic wrap.

Set smooth rollers of pasta machine on widest setting. Cut dough into 4 pieces and wrap 3 of them separately in plastic wrap. Flatten unwrapped piece of dough into rectangle and feed through rollers. Fold rectangle in half and feed through rollers several more times, folding in half each time. Dust with flour if necessary to prevent sticking.

Turn dial down to next (smaller) setting and feed dough through rollers without folding. Continue to feed dough through, without folding, making space between rollers narrower each time, until narrowest setting is reached and pasta is about 4 inches wide.

Put pasta sheet on work surface with long side facing you and mound filling 2 inches apart lengthwise along half of the pasta sheet (you should have 4-5 mounds). Around each mound of filling brush dough very lightly with water. Fold dough lengthwise in half over mounds of filling, gently pressing around mounds to force out any air, and seal edges well. Trim edges with a fluted pastry wheel or knife, and cut between mounds of filling to separate ravioli.

Line a large tray with a dry kitchen towel and arrange ravioli in one layer. Make more ravioli with remaining 3 pieces of dough and remaining filling in same manner, transferring to kitchen-towel-lined tray and arranging in one layer. Ravioli may be made 8 hours ahead and chilled on towel-lined tray, covered loosely with plastic wrap.

In a large pot, bring salted water to a boil. Cook ravioli until tender, 5 to 6 minutes, and drain in a colander. Add ravioli to browned butter sauce, toss gently to coat, and top with grated Parmesan cheese.

For browned butter sauce:
While water is coming to a boil, heat 4 tablespoons butter over medium heat. Add wine and pine nuts and cook until sauce is golden-brown and pine nuts are toasted. Add rosemary and salt to taste.

Putting together the pieces

2007-10-29T20:39:00.000-05:00

This month, the cooking and eating routines to which I cling when all else turns helter-skelter fell apart and scattered. I'm eating olives for lunch, salted popcorn for dinner, and, owing to a glut of apples in my CSA farmbox, lots...

and lots...

... of apple pie.

I love a good, simple pie, and this is an excellent recipe for just such a thing. My trust in Ms. Stewart's pastries continues to grow, but my taste for good, simple apple pie is now on the wane. The fourth pie in four weeks did it. I suppose I have nothing to blame other than my own lack of improvisation in the apple recipe category. I did make a whole pot of apple chutney, but that was about all I could muster. October has not been a month for cooking. And now, while my ramshackle diet could certainly use a daily apple to keep the doctor away, I'm foisting bags of them on my neighbors.

It seems like more than a stroke of good fortune that in this time of culinary stagnation, I stumbled upon a lively bunch of cooking and blogging adventurers. The Daring Bakers took me in, and I hope they'll keep me. This month's secret challenge recipe, chosen by Mary of Alpineberry, helped me break out of the October apple funk. Let me introduce you to the Bostoni Cream Pie.

Borrowing its name from its larger, more popular cousin, the Boston Cream Pie, these little desserts are testimonies to the good things that come when a tried and true dessert is taken apart, shaken up a bit, and put back together. Rounds of orange-chiffon cake rest on a bed of vanilla custard, and, on top, a slick of dark chocolate. The result is rich (count those eggs!), and sweet, and--as triple layered desserts often are--a tad fancy.

When I received my October baking mission, I was relieved to find that this pie had been denuded of its crust, but despite all those apple pies, I missed it. And, while I appreciated the sophisticated pairing of citrus and chocolate, the chiffon cake was a tad too orange-y for me. Having sworn to stick strictly to the recipe (this being a part of the Daring Bakers' canon), I'll tweak future incarnations accordingly.

The best part about the Bostoni cream pie is that I would never have made one without the enthusiasm of a gaggle of other bakers whisking, stirring, and assembling along with me. I'm a day late posting my results (Mea culpa Daring Bakers!!!), but I'm hoping for a touch of mercy from the veterans.

Bostini Cream Pie
(from Donna Scala & Kurtis Baguley of Bistro Don Giovanni and Scala's Bistro)
Makes 8 generous servings

Ingredients:

Custard

3/4 cup whole milk
2 3/4 tablespoons cornstarch
1 whole egg, beaten
9 egg yolks, beaten
3 3/4 cups heavy whipping cream
1/2 vanilla bean
1/2 cup + 1 tablespoon sugar

Chiffon Cake

1 1/2 cups cake flour
3/4 cup superfine sugar
1 1/3 teaspoons baking powder
1/3 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup canola oil
1/3 cup beaten egg yolks (3 to 4 yolks)
3/4 cup fresh orange juice
1 1/2 tablespoons grated orange zest
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup egg whites (about 8 large)
1 teaspoon cream of tartar

Chocolate Glaze

8 ounces semi or bittersweet chocolate
8 ounces unsalted butter

Instructions

To prepare the custard:

Combine the milk and cornstarch in a bowl; blend until smooth. Whisk in the whole egg and yolks, beating until smooth. Combine the cream, vanilla bean and sugar in a saucepan and carefully bring to a boil. When the mixture just boils, whisk a ladleful into the egg mixture to temper it, then whisk this back into the cream mixture. Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. Strain the custard and pour into 8 large custard cups. Refrigerate to chill.

To prepare the chiffon cakes:

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Spray 8 molds with nonstick cooking spray. You may use 7-ounce custard cups, ovenproof wide mugs or even large foil cups. Whatever you use should be the same size as the custard cups.

Sift the cake flour, sugar, baking powder and salt into a large bowl. Add the oil, egg yolks, orange juice, zest and vanilla. Stir until smooth, but do not overbeat.

Beat the egg whites until frothy. Add the cream of tartar and beat until soft peaks form. Gently fold the beaten whites into the orange batter. Fill the sprayed molds nearly to the top with the batter.

Bake approximately 25 minutes, until the cakes bounce back when lightly pressed with your fingertip. Do not overbake. Remove from the oven and let cool on a wire rack. When completely cool, remove the cakes from the molds. Cover the cakes to keep them moist.

To prepare the glaze:

Chop the chocolate into small pieces. Place the butter in a saucepan and heat until it is just about to bubble. Remove from the heat; add the chocolate and stir to melt. Pour through a strainer and keep warm.

To assemble:

Cut a thin slice from the top of each cake to create a flat surface. Place a cake flat-side down on top of each custard. Cover the tops with warm chocolate glaze. Serve immediately.

Finger Food

2007-09-18T17:30:00.000-05:00

A party for forty with nary a fork or spoon in sight. That was the plan: a finger food smorgasbord. And, no, I don't mean finger food of this sort, but platters of pretty edibles, to be plucked up by hand and relished in a bite or two. Practicality, environmentalism and aesthetics came together in this regard. I don't own forty sets of silver ware; plastic utensils manage to look both tacky to the aesthete and extravagant to the greenie; and I've always thought the best parties those whose guests are unencumbered by plates and utensils, hands free to hold glasses of wine, cigarettes, or shake other hands.

In hopes of boosting the RSVPs, I sent out the following list of finger foods with the invitations:

~Menu~

Sips
Tomato Water with Basil Oil
Chilled Cumin Carrot Soup

Nibbles
Homemade Parmesan-Rosemary Crackers
Homemade Blue Cheese-Pecan Crackers
Assorted Cheeses
Mixed Olives with Caper Berries

Bites
Tartlets with Ricotta and Oven Roasted Tomato
Phyllo Cups of Mango-Curry Shrimp
Honey Glazed Goat Cheese Tartlets with Pecans and Rosemary
Hoisin and Honey Pork Riblets
Spinach Tortellini Skewers with Sun Dried Tomato and Mozzarella
Dill-Cured Pork Crostini, topped with Mustard and Chutney
Broiled Fig and Gorgonzola Crostini with Balsamic Drizzle

Sweets
Chocolate Covered Nuts and Fruits

The guest list was comprised almost exclusively of scholarly types, each with more than a passing interest in philosophy. This was a party in honor of C.D.C. Reeve, a scholar of Plato and love, but not necessarily in that order. I wasn't sure such shameless food bait would attract these consumers of p's and q's. I knew, though, having fed and feted a number of philosophers, arguments and objections sound better among nibbles and sips of good foodstuffs.

Throwing a party is a lot easier than documenting a party. It's awkward enough to wave a camera in the faces of your guests, but it's just weird to point a camera at the food in their hands. The technical challenges of photography by candlelight pose inconveniences of their own. There might not have been finger food photos to post had Patrick not set up an impromptu picture studio in one corner of the dining room. Disregarding the quizzical looks of philosophers and plenty of blushing and eye-rolling from me, he prudently set about securing fodder for the hostess' blog.

The photo shoot complete, the partying commenced. The verdict: Not a single guest asked for a fork. And, it's more than possible to chew over Plato and Freud between morsels of cheese and olives.

The party menu was not just a study in small bites, but in advanced preparation. Just about everything I served was at least partially prepared days, and sometimes weeks, before the party date. In the following recipes, I've tried to note what can be done in advance.

Hoisin and Honey Pork Riblets
Makes about 50 hor d'oeuvres. From Gourmet, June 1992.

These ribs were so popular among the philosophy crowd that I must testify to their goodness based only on hearsay. They were gone before I had a chance to chew into one. As these ribs are boiled, and then marinated overnight, they require little more than five minutes under the broiler to emerge crispy around the edges. Not only are they great party food, they go upscale once they're resting on a platter of nasturtium leaves and flowers.

3 1/2 pounds pork of spareribs, halved crosswise, preferably by a butcher, and cut into individual ribs
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 large garlic cloves, minced and mashed to a paste with 1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup hoisin sauce
1/2 teaspoon English-style dry mustard
1/4 cup distilled white vinegar

1. In a kettle of boiling salted water simmer the ribs, covered, for 30 minutes and drain them well. In a large bowl whisk together the honey, the soy sauce, the garlic paste, the hoisin sauce, the mustard, the vinegar, and black pepper to taste, add the ribs, and toss the mixture well, coating the ribs thoroughly. Let the ribs marinate, chilled, for at least 2 hours or overnight.

2. Remove the ribs from the marinade, arrange them in one layer on the oiled rack of a foil-lined broiler pan, and broil them under a preheated broiler about 4 inches from the heat, basting them with the marinade, for 3 minutes. Turn the ribs with tongs and broil them, basting them with the marinade, for 2 to 3 minutes more, or until they are browned well and glazed. Discard the marinade.

Dill-Cured Pork Crostini, topped with Mustard and Chutney

Makes about 50. Adapted from Bon Appetit, June 2003.

These crostini are like mini open-faced pork sandwiches. The curing method is like the one used to make gravlax, substituting pork tenderloin for the salmon. And then, of course, you cook the pork. A deep pink color and perfumed with dill, the tenderloin tastes more like pate than pork. I love this recipe, not only for its taste, but for its ease. The pork can be cured, roasted, and cooled in the refrigerator in advance. Crostini won't suffer for being stored a few days in an airtight container. When it's party time, you need only a dab of mustard and a dill frond, and that's if you like your pork fancy. I should say that the pork becomes quite salty from the curing process...not at all a bad thing, but it is best served in thin slices. Should you want to double the recipe (100 crostini!), don't double the salt.

1/4 cup coarse kosher salt
3 tablespoons plus 1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
2 18-ounce pork tenderloins
2 large garlic cloves, minced
3/4 cup chopped plus several branches fresh dill
mango chutney
country style mustard
1-2 sourdough baguettes, cut into 1/4-inch-thick rounds (at least 50)
olive oil
salt and pepper

1. Mix salt, 3 tablespoons sugar, and pepper in small bowl to blend. Place each pork tenderloin atop sheet of plastic wrap. Rub garlic all over pork tenderloins. Pat all of salt mixture over pork, coating generously. Sprinkle with 3/4 cup dill, patting to adhere. Wrap pork with 2 layers of plastic. Place in baking dish. Chill 6 hours or overnight.

2. Preheat oven to 400°F. Scrape off most of dill coating from tenderloins. Pat pork dry with paper towels. Place pork on heavy large baking sheet covered with aluminum foil. Roast until meat thermometer registers 150°F when inserted into center of pork, turning after 10 minutes, 20-25 minutes total. Cool pork completely. Cover and chill until cold, at least 6 hours.

3. Make crostini: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange bread slices in one layer on baking sheets. Brush bread slices on both sides with extra virgin olive oil. Sprinkle with a bit of salt and pepper. Bake for about 15 minutes, until golden brown. Rub toasts with a garlic clove, and allow to cool.

4. Assemble: Slice pork tenderloins into 1/4-inch slices. Top each crostini with 1-2 pork slices. Dollop a bit of mango chutney or mustard on top, and garnish with a small piece of dill.

Mixed Olives with Caper Berries
Makes 2 1/2 cups, from Ms. Stewart's Hors D'Oeuvres Handbook.

I let these olives sit for two days in the fridge before serving, which allowed the roasted garlic to permeate the olive flesh. Use large, stem-on caper berries, if you can find them. They're sort of exotic looking, and much easier to pick up than the smaller type.

2 cups assorted olives such as nicoise, kalamata, picholine, and cerignola
1/2 cup large caper berries
1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes
1 head roasted garlic, cloves peeled and left intact
1 sprig fresh thyme, picked
1 sprig fresh rosemary, picked

In a large bowl, combine olives, caper berries, red pepper flakes, and garlic, thyme, and rosemary. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours or up to a day. Transfer to a serving bowl, and allow to come to room temperature.

Rosemary-Parmesan Ice Box Crackers

I've made these crackers from Ms. Stewart's Hors D'Oeuvres Handbook once before. I sliced them thinner this time, and liked them better. The dough for these can be made and frozen in advance, which makes them convenient, at least within the realm of homemade cracker making. They're about a zillion times better than any cracker you can buy in the grocery aisle, and make such nice nibbles with a glass of red wine that you'll rethink the ubiquitous cheese and cracker pairing. With these, the cheese is in the cracker.

Savory Tartlet Rounds
From Ms. Stewart's Hors D'Oeuvres Handbook, makes about 2 dozen 2 1/2-inch round tartlets.

For the savory tartlets, I cut out rounds of rolled out pastry dough with a biscuit cutter, parbaked them, and froze them. Before the guests arrived, I crowned them with a few of my favorite crostini toppings, and then warmed them in the oven for a few minutes before setting them out. The dough is easy to work with and can also be frozen for weeks in advance.

[For rosemary tartlet dough, add 2 tablespoons finely chopped rosemary to the flour and salt.]

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
1/3 cup ice water

1. Place flour and salt in bowl of a food processor, and pulse to combine. Add the cold butter and pulse until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Slowly add ice water, pulsing to combine, until dough comes together. Transfer dough to a sheet of plastic wrap and form into a flat disk. Chill in the refrigerator for 1 hour or overnight. [Dough can be wrapped in a double layer of plastic wrap and frozen for up to three weeks. Allow to thaw in fridge overnight before rolling out.]

2. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or non-stick liners. Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface, and cut it into two equal pieces. Wrap one piece in plastic wrap and return it to the refrigerator. Roll out the other half to 1/8-inch thickness. Using a 2 1/2-inch diameter biscuit butter, cut out as many rounds as you can. Roll out the remaining dough and repeat. Arrange the cut rounds of dough on prepared baking sheets. Prick each round several times with the tines of a fork. Cover the sheet pans with plastic wrap and chill until firm, about 15 minutes.

3. Bake tartlets until set and dry (but not yet brown), 12-14 minutes, rotating pans halfway through for even cooking. Transfer tarlets to a wire rack to cool. [Baked tartlet crusts can be stored, arranged in single layers separated by wax paper in a rigid container for up to 1 week or in the freezer for up to 1 month.]

For Honey Glazed Goat Cheese Tartlets with Pecans and Rosemary, arrange baked rosemary tartlet crusts on a baking sheet. Top each tartlet with a slice of goat cheese. Heat tarlets in an oven warmed to 350 degrees F. until cheese is soft. Drizzle with honey, sprinkle with toasted pecans and finely chopped rosemary.

For Tartlets with Ricotta and Oven Roasted Tomato, arrange baked tartlet crusts on a baking sheet. Heat over to 350 degrees F. In a small bowl, mix a container of good ricotta cheese with a tablespoon of finely grated orange zest, a tablespoon of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste. Top each tartlet with ricotta mixture, and a few oven-roasted tomatoes. Garnish with a mint leaf.

Phyllo Cups of Mango-Curry Shrimp
Makes 45 bite-size cups. Adapted from Bon Appetit, November 2001.

With frozen phyllo cups, you can make finger food out of almost anything. This recipe is crazy-easy. It doesn't even require any cooking beyond toasting the phyllo cups in the oven before filling, and this can be done hours in advance. In every bite, you get a zing from the chutney and green curry, but the dressing doesn't overwhelm the shrimp. Next time I make these, I'm going to try adding some diced mango or red bell pepper.

45 frozen phyllo dough cups
16 ounces peeled cooked medium shrimp, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
2 tablespoons chopped chives
5 teaspoons fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon mango chutney
2 tablespoons Thai green curry paste
1 teaspoon hot sauce
kosher salt and pepper
1-inch pieces of chopped chives for garnish

Preheat oven to 325°F. Place phyllo cups on baking sheet(s) and bake until crispy, 5-7 minutes. Allow to cool.

Whisk lime juice, cilantro, chives, chutney, and curry paste in medium bowl to blend. Stir in shrimp. Season salad to taste with salt and pepper. (Salad can be prepared up to 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Spoon 1 teaspoon shrimp salad into each cup. Garnish with chives.

Beets of Burden

2007-09-07T14:12:00.000-05:00

When I see beets on a menu, I order them. Beet ravioli -- Yes, please. Beet risotto -- I think I will. I don't know if I've ever turned down a beet salad, and certainly not when goat cheese or gorgonzola is in the mix. I like the taste of beets just fine...I like the look of them even more. But the real reason I order beets at restaurants is because I like when someone else cooks them for me. I sort of hate roasting beets.

This is the only way I can explain my weekly reaction to finding yet another bunch of beets in the bottom of my CSA Farm Box. At first, I think, "Beets!" I start mentally rummaging through the variations on beet salad I could make: "Arugula and sunflower seeds ... mache with black olives and ricotta salata ... green beans and feta ... carrot and cumin vinaigrette... Beets!" Then, a few days pass while my beets sit quietly in the crisper drawer. Every time I open the refrigerator, I know they're there, just waiting. I start to resent them. My bag of beets starts to feel like a burden. I knew these vegetables were weighing on me when I began to think of them as bodies in need of being disposed. It's hard work, messy, likely to stain your cutting surfaces, and might even require a little bleach to remove all its traces. But its necessary work, and what a sense of relief once its done.

In search of recipes to make a dent in my growing beet collection before the arrival of another bunch in next week's Farm Box, I focused on techniques other than roasting. What I found still involved heating my kitchen a bit, but a good raw beet recipe is hard to find. I came up with two successes, both trolled from epicurious.com.

I've often had intentions of making chips out of non-potato vegetables, but it took a beet burden to make it happen. I was happy to find a recipe that didn't involve deep frying, which is not at all a late summer cooking technique. These beet chips are soaked in sugar water, which helps them crisp in the oven. The result is a sweet, crunchy chip, deep red in color, and very light. There's not a speck of oil in these munchies. They're quite sweet ... sort of like candy-coated potato chips. I sprinkled mine with plenty of salt and pepper. Next time, I might add a dusting of cumin.

Beet latkes don't require any oven heating at all, but they might splatter your dress with hot oil. I may have cussed a bit, but I couldn't stay cranky once I bit into a hot latke: crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, with a whiff of the exotic. The sweet flesh of the beets becomes rich, almost meaty tasting, when muscled up with a bit of flour and eggs, and fried in a cast iron skillet.

So, I'm beet-free for the moment, and without giving into the foil-wrapping, roasting, and peeling routine. Beets are messy things, though, and both of these recipes are likely to leave you spattered with red juice. Wear an apron when you grate the beets for the latkes. My kitchen looked like a scene from Sweeney Todd by the time I'd finished shredding.

Baked Beet Chips
Makes a snack for four people. From Gourmet, June 2004.

4 large beets
1 1/2 cups water
1 cup sugar
coarse salt and pepper

1. Peel beets with a vegetable peeler, then slice paper-thin with a mandoline. [Some of the epicurious user comments about this recipe complain that the chips don't become crisp enough. I think that problem comes from slicing the beets too thickly. I wouldn't make these unless I had a mandoline ... I just wouldn't be able to slice the beets thin enough.]

2. Bring water and sugar to a boil in a 3-quart heavy saucepan, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Add beets, then remove pan from heat and let stand15 minutes. Drain beets in a colander, discarding liquid, then let stand in colander 15 minutes more.

3. Preheat oven to 225°F.

4. Line two baking sheets a nonstick (Silpat-type) liner. Place a sheet of parchment paper on top of liners. This will keep your chips from sticking to the baking sheets or burning. Arrange beet slices snugly in 1 layer. Sprinkle with coarse salt and pepper. [You'll likely have many partial or broken slices. Once baked, they'll taste just as good as the pretty ones, but you can toss them if you fancy your beet chips nice and round.]

5. Bake beets until dry, about 1 hour. Using a thin spatula, immediately transfer chips to a rack to cool (chips will crisp more as they cool).

Note: Gourmet's recipe claims you can make these up to five days in advance and store them, once cool, in an airtight container. This didn't work for me. It may be the humidity in Pittsburgh, but my chips quickly wilted. In fact, I would recommend eating these at their most crispy -- right after they've cooled.

Beet Latkes
Makes about 12. From Bon Appetit, December 2004.

6 cups coarsely shredded peeled beets (about 6 medium)
3 scallions, white and light green parts, chopped
6 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground coriander
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
3 large eggs, beaten to blend
Canola oil (for frying)

1. Place beets in large bowl, and press with paper towels to absorb any moisture. In another large bowl, whisk flour and next 5 ingredients. Mix in beets, scallions, then eggs.

2. Pour enough oil into large skillet to cover bottom; heat over medium heat. Working in batches, drop beet mixture by 1/4 cupfuls into skillet. Spread to 3 1/2-inch rounds. Fry until golden, 4-5 minutes per side. Transfer latkes to baking sheet.

Can be made 6 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature. Rewarm in 350°F oven until crisp, about 10 minutes.

Celery and Cilantro Relish
Makes about 2 cups.

I made this accompanying celery relish because I had all of the ingredients, and I'm glad I did. To the original recipe, I added some lemon juice and a handful of raisins. It proved a fine way to freshen up a plateful of latkes.

2 cups finely diced celery
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
3 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/4 cup raisins

Combine all ingredients in medium bowl. Season relish with salt and pepper. Let stand at least 30 minutes. (Can be made 6 hours ahead. Cover and chill.) Makes about 2 cups.

My Tomatoes, Mea Culpa

2007-08-22T21:59:00.001-05:00

In a recent article for the New York Times, Melissa Clark offered a belly-full of ideas for making the best of the late-summer tomato bounty. I've tried to link the article, but it is now available only to those willing to shell out $4.95. Her recipes might just be worth the asking price, especially for anyone laboring under a pound or two of quickly softening tomatoes. Ms. Clark's recipes are simple, but sparkle with more imagination than I can muster myself these days come 6:30 when I wander into my hot kitchen, rummage through the vegetables spilling out of the refrigerator crisper drawer, and set to making yet another grilled veggie pasta salad. This article might just be worth the asking price, especially for anyone laboring under a pound or two of quickly softening tomatoes.

A tomato bounty is the last thing a tomato lover would complain about. And, my caprese-salad eating lips are not complaining. But, I have found myself thumbing cookbooks and trolling websites in search of tomato recipes to make me feel like I celebrated -- rather than simply managed to consume -- this season's crop. Ms. Clark's recipe for tomato confit, a more summery moniker for oven-roasted tomatoes, roused me from my tomato routine. Her suggestions for how to serve them -- over warm polenta, or ricotta-smeared crostini -- had me raiding my own plants, my CSA farm box, and eventually produce section of Giant Eagle. I think I've roasted 8 pounds of cherry tomatoes over the last two weeks. Is this late-summer sacrilege? Isn't this the season for hymning the simple perfection of a raw tomato?

Well, I'm shaking off my scruples. Heaven may taste like a ruby-ripe tomato plucked from the vine, but it's no sin to cook summer tomatoes. In fact, I'm starting to think heaven tastes like a small pizza, its crust so thin it shatters when bitten, topped with a scattering of charred cherry tomatoes. There are more ways than one to honor the tomato season and keep it holy.

My bounty of oven roasted tomatoes gave me the initiative to shake up the margherita pizza cycle I'd been happily perpetuating all summer. I switched out the mozzarella for ricotta, the basil for mint, and tossed on a few pine nuts.

And for the crust ... There was a time when I made my own pizza dough. Then, during a heatwave, I discovered the convenience of store-bought pizza dough and have rarely looked back. Guided by a recent edition of Lynn Rossetto Kasper's Splendid Table newsletter, I found a stash of thin crusts in my refrigerator packaged under the label,"flour tortillas." Cook your summer tomatoes. Borrow your pizza crusts from burrito parts. This might be gastronomic sacrilege, but I made it, I tasted it, and it was good.

Oven Roasted Tomatoes
Makes more than enough for four pizzas. Any extra tomatoes (I somehow never have any) can be refrigerated for a few days. Adapted from Melissa Clark's article in the New York Times.

For roasted tomatoes:
3 cups ripe cherry or grape tomatoes
5 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
generous pinch crushed red pepper flakes
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Spread tomatoes and garlic out on baking sheet. Drizzle with 1/4 cup oil, add crushed red pepper, a large pinch of salt and several grinds of pepper. Bake until tomatoes are wrinkled, fragrant, and a bit blackened, about 35 minutes, shaking pan once or twice. Transfer tomato pan to a rack to cool. Discard garlic.

Roasted Cherry Tomato Tortilla Pizzas
Makes 4 8-inch pizzas. Recipe inspired by Jacques Pepin via Lynn Rossetto Kasper's weekly newsletter from The Splendid Table.

For pizzas:
4 8-inch flour tortillas
extra virgin olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper
1 container good quality ricotta cheese
1/4 cup mint leaves, finely torn
fine zest of 1 lemon
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts

Preheat the oven to 500°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper. Drizzle some olive oil on parchment paper, and press tortillas in the oil to coat them well on one side, and then turn them over, so they are oiled on the other side.

In a small bowl, mix ricotta with a few drizzles of olive oil, coarse salt and pepper. Divide ricotta among the 4 tortillas and spread it thinly with a spatula.

Bake for 6-8 minutes, or until puffed and crisp. Divide roasted tomatoes among tortillas and continue to bake for a few minutes until tomatoes are heated through. Let the pizzas rest out of the oven for a couple of minutes, and then sprinkle with 1/4 cup mint. Scatter some pine nuts and lemon zest over each pizza. Cut into quarters and serve.

Encountering the Monster in the Cake

2007-08-19T10:55:00.000-05:00

Strange creatures are popping up everywhere. Late October might be the season when half-human forms with abnormally shaped body parts enjoy their haunting hour, but monsters tend to flock around me throughout the year. No matter what I happen to be reading, writing, or studying, they come in ungainly flocks and droves. And I don't mean the students, or even the professors, but bona fide monsters.

This semester, I've set aside the medieval monsters that populate my dissertation for their better known ancestors of Classical Mythology: There's the Minotaur devouring Athenian youths, the Sphinx riddling Oedipus, and the Cyclops, blind and hurling stones at Odysseus as he sails away. Briareus, Scylla, Charybdis, the Centaurs and Satyrs, Medusa ... it's a wonder I can sleep at night.

The monster has been defined variously in antiquity and more recently as an affront to ontological categories, an aberration of the natural order, a portent, and a marvel. Decked out with extra limbs, double faces, and hybrid silhouettes, monsters exasperate and intimidate, but they also attract.

In other words, encountering the monstrous is no cake-walk, but the monstrous just might be encountered through a cake. Or, so I began to think when I recently found myself elbow-deep in lemon curd, crafting my own edible boundary violation -- a cake whose parts I cobbled together from multiple recipes, hoping that the sum of its fragments would be more marvel than aberration of nature.

The shortbread crust and egg-white mousse I borrowed from epicurious.com. I chose the lemon curd formula from a long list of curd recipes on Martha Stewart's site. The glaze I pillaged from a blood-orange cheesecake recipe in Ms. Stewart's Desserts. I switched the juice flavor from orange to cranberry and doubled the quantity.

Not only was this cake a monstrous jumble of parts, it was a monster to make. As it emerged from pools of egg yolks, lemon juice, and cream, it left a trail of dirty bowls in its wake. Its birth was indeed exasperating, but -- as befits a monster -- strangely attractive.

This cake's cobbled-together parts were, in the end, a marvel: buttery shortbread feet; fluffy lemon mousse belly; mirror-slick cranberry head; nasturtium hair.

Monsters are, according to the Latin, "things that show" (monstra). They're able to show, I think, because they attract our gaze. When we look at their strange shapes, we sometimes see reflections of ourselves. This, at least, I learned as I peered into the shiny surface of this monster cake.

Lemon Mousse Cake with Cranberry Glaze
Makes 10-12 servings.

For Curd (makes about 3 cups):
12 large egg yolks
1 1/2 cup sugar
1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (about 6 lemons)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into pieces

For Crust:
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
2 cups shortbread cookie crumbs (about 7 1/2 ounces)
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted

For Mousse:
5 tablespoons water
4 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
6 large egg whites
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups chilled heavy whipping cream

For Cranberry Glaze:
12 tablespoons cranberry juice
2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
4 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon corn starch

1. Make curd: In a heavy saucepan, combine yolks, lemon zest, lemon juice, and sugar. Whisk to combine. Set over medium heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heat-safe rubber spatula. Make sure to stir all the sides and edges of the saucepan to keep curd from sticking. Cook until mixture is thick enough to coat a wooden spoon, about 20 minutes. Remove saucepan from heat and add the butter, a few pieces at a time, stirring into the smooth mixture. Transfer curd to a medium bowl. Lay plastic wrap directly onto surface of curd to prevent a skin from forming. Chill until firm, at least 1 hour.

2. Make crust: Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray bottom of an 8-inch-diameter springform pan with nonstick spray. Stir together cookie crumbs and butter is a small bowl. Press onto bottom of pan. Bake until golden, about 12 minutes. Set aside to cool.

3. Make mousse. Pour 5 tablespoons water into a small saucepan. Sprinkle gelatin evenly over, and let stand until it softens, about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, place 2 cups of lemon curd in a large bowl. Stir remaining 1 cup curd in another small saucepan over medium-low heat until very warm.

Stir gelatin mixture over medium-low heat until dissolved and liquid is clear (do not boil). Whisk warm gelatin mixture into 1 cup warm curd. Gradually whisk gelatin-curd mixture into the 2 cups curd in large bowl.

Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites in a medium bowl until soft peaks form. Gradually add sugar, beating until whites are think and glossy, about 5 minutes. Fold whites into curd mixture in 3 additions. Rinse medium bowl and beaters. Beat cream in rinsed bowl until peaks form. Fold into egg white-curd mixture in 3 additions. Pour mousse over cooled crust to fill pan almost completely. Cover and chill mousse-cake overnight.

4. Make cranberry glaze: Place 4 tablespoons cranberry juice in bowl. Sprinkle gelatin over top. Let stand until soft, about 10 minutes.

Combine the sugar and 6 tablespoons cranberry juice in a small saucepan, and bring to a boil. Combine the remaining 2 tablespoons cranberry juice and cornstarch in small bowl. Stir until dissolved, and then whisk into boiling cranberry juice. Remove from heat. Stir in softened gelatin-mixture. Cool glaze until lukewarm. Then, pour glaze over top of chilled mousse cake, tipping cake pan to cover completely. Chill until glaze has set, about 1 hour. Note: if the top of mousse-cake is not level, prop up the "low" side with a folded piece of paper as the glaze sets in the fridge.

Solitary Salad

2007-08-08T19:11:00.000-05:00

Whew! The last month has been a doozy ... Food and Paper hosted and recently posted the results of the monthly food photography contest, Does My Blog Look Good in This?. If you haven't taken a taste of the entries, pop over to the gallery. And, for dessert, linger over the outstanding winners.

There have been visitors and vacations, backyard and beach dining. On one July night, I found myself, together with 30 of my closest family members, tearing at the flesh of a suckling pig. Happy birthday, Granny.

In other news, we've welcomed into our household a rambunctious little Wheaten Terrier pup, who (sometimes) comes to calls of "Sadie." She may not be fodder for a food blog, but she has certainly made her home in the kitchen where she chews her stuffed woodchuck, digs in her water dish, and pees on the floor. When she does the latter, I threaten to cook her up in the crock pot, but it's all bluster... she'd be a monster to skin. These dogs are furry.

It's also been hotter than a habanero in Pittsburgh...too hot to hover over a stove, too hot to set the table, too hot to carry on a civilized conversation.

Whew!, I say.

When that's about all I can say, the time is right for solitary salad.

Solitary salad is my dinner choice when I have only my own belly to nourish and my own taste buds to please. It's a simple thing, ready in a jiffy, and capable of endless variation. What follows, then, is less a recipe than a record of what I ate on a steamy evening in early August, a book on Greek Archeology my only table guest.

It all starts with fresh greens, romaine when I have it, as I did in this case, scored from my CSA farm box. Avocado is an absolute. If the opportunity for a solitary salad presents itself, I'll make a run to the grocery, filling my shopping basket with nothing more than a single avocado. To this crunchy and creamy combo, I add something sweet (strawberries) or crisp (radishes). This particular incarnation features cherry tomatoes, the first few specimens from my garden, and the first tomatoes I've ever grown. Thanks, Mom, for wiggling your green thumb in my direction! Sliced gorgonzola, a cheese deemed by my daily dinner companion too stinky to be food, lends an whiff of indulgence to the salad bowl.

Stinky cheese often graces my table when it's set for one.

So do smoked sardines, layered on a bed of sticky rice and nori.

And, so does butter, lots of it, melted into a pile of egg noodles sprinkled with nutmeg.

M.F.K. Fisher opens An Alphabet for Gourmets with "A is for dining Alone," wherein she describes her own solitary suppers:

"I always ate slowly, from a big tray set with a mixture of Woolworth and Spode; and I soothed my spirits beforehand with a glass of sherry or vermouth, subscribing to the ancient truth that only a relaxed throat can make a swallow. More often than not I drank a glass or two of light wine with the hot food: a big bowl of soup, with a fine pear and some Teleme jack cheese; or two very round eggs, from a misnamed "poacher," on sourdough toast with browned butter poured over and a celery heart alongside for something crisp; or a can of bean sprouts, tossed with sweet butter and some soy and lemon juice, and a big glass of milk. Things tasted good..."

Ms. Fisher, as usual, tells the story of sensual pleasures in a matter-of-fact voice. Dining alone does taste good, at least when seen as gastronomic opportunity rather than social disappointment.

What, dear readers, do you make for yourself when dining alone? Do you have a particular hankering you indulge when you don't have other palates to please?

Solitary Salad
Makes a huge salad for one hungry person without dinner companions; otherwise, serves 2.

For dressing:
2 tablespoons shallot, finely diced
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper

For salad:
1 large head romaine lettuce, shredded
10 cherry tomatoes, cut in half
1 avocado, diced into large chunks
a good hunk of gorgonzola cheese, sliced into manageable hunks

1. Make dressing: Combine shallot and lemon juice in the bottom of a large, non-reactive bowl. Allow shallot to sit in lemon juice for a few minutes to mellow out. You can prepare the salad ingredients while this happens. Then, pouring in a steady stream, add olive oil to lemon and shallot mixture, whisking continuously until well blended. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

2. Assemble salad: Combine lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, and gorgonzola in the bowl holding the dressing. Toss thoroughly. Eat directly from bowl; or, if sharing, divide between two more reasonably sized bowls, and serve.

DMBLGiT results...

2007-08-07T08:55:00.000-05:00

A big thank you to all who sent in entries for July's round of Does My Blog Look Good in This. With squinty eyes and growling stomachs, your judges have scored all 88 photos, and I am pleased to announce the following winners:

Overall 1st Place:

La Tartine Gourmande

Saint Maure, Eggplant, Thyme, and Honey Tartlets
Canon 30D

Overall 2nd Place:

Rasa Malaysia
Bacon Wrapped Cherry Tomatoes
Canon EOS Digital Rebel XT

Overall 3rd Place:

Burnt Mouth
Dal with Crispy Fried Herbs
Olympus FE-170, 6.0

Winner in Aesthetics:

Bonappegeek
Be One with Peas

Winner in Edibility:

Cafe Fernando
Cherry Tomato and Feta Cheese Tart with Fresh Thyme
Kodak P880

Winners in Originality:

In this category, there was an unlikely four-way tie. In no particular order:

Ms. Adventures in Italy
Watermelon Sorbetto Granita

Cherrapeno
Raspberry Truffles
Canon PowerShot A640

Cook Almost Anything
Hazelnut Heart Doughnuts with Chocolate Sauce
Nikon D50

Tasty Palettes
Vegetarian Dumplings with Dipping Sauce
Canon Proshot Pro1 with color splash

Congratulations to the winners! You have earned the Good Looking Blog badge for your sites. You may choose from the following colors...thanks to Bea of La Tartine Gourmande and Suganya from Tasty Palettes for helping me figure out how to offer these badges.

Best of luck to next month's entries!

Dressing Up Tomato Tarts

2007-07-16T21:25:00.001-05:00

Recipes are sort of like outfits. The good ones bring together elements that enhance each other through a play of similarity and contrast so that the sum is greater than its parts. The bad ones fail because their elements either bore or clash...nothing to remember or something to forget. I find it's usually an accessory or two that pull an outfit together. A white sun dress is nice, but with a strand of thrift store wooden beads and a pair of skull-printed pointy flats, viola! That's gourmet dressing.

Good recipes tend to be well accessorized, too. A drizzle of fruity olive oil, a generous pinch of sea salt, a scattering of basil leaves...these are tried and true ways to freshen up many a dish, especially one made of a pastry crust filled with a cheese custard and topped with fresh tomatoes. I've done it before and I'd do it again. But I'm not sure I'd do it again any time soon without adding a certain accessory I picked up from Mr. Tyler Florence. Orange zest. And not just a little. A whole orange's worth. I never knew it before, but orange zest and tomatoes make a chic ensemble.

And then there's the roasted garlic, which permeates the ricotta filling. So, this ensemble is really garlic, orange, and tomato--a trio I never would have put together on my own, but now I'll never forget it. Roasting and squeezing out the garlic adds an extra step to an already involved recipe (where making and par-baking individual tart crusts = involved), but it would be a real shame to leave it out. The tart crust, by the way, is simple, but excellent--tender, crisp, a flaky container that won't go out of date or clash with its contents. Resist the temptation to add more ice water to the dough ... just pulse for a few more seconds without worrying too much about the dough becoming tough. It won't.

These tarts, paired with a light salad, make for a substantial first course, and might do better for a vegetarian main course. They would be lovely for brunch, and by fiddling a little with the baking time they would be quite nice transformed into mini-muffin sized hors d'oeuvres. The crusts can be par-baked in advance; the filling and topping come together quickly.

Ricotta Tartlets with Orange-Zested Tomato Salad
Adapted from Tyler Florence's Real Kitchen. Makes 4 4-inch individual tarts.

For crust:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold, cut into chunks
1 egg, separated
1 tablespoon ice water

1. Pulse flour, salt and sugar together in food processor. Put in chunks of butter, and pulse just until dough resembles cornmeal. Add egg yolk and ice water; pulse again for a a few seconds until dough comes together.

2. Lightly dust counter with flour. Dump dough out and form into a ball. Wrap tightly in plastic and let rest and chill in refrigerator 30 minutes or overnight. Cut dough into four pieces and flatten each one into a disk. Keep remaining disks under plastic as your form each crust.

3. Using a rolling pin, roll out one disk of dough on a on a lightly floured surface to a 6-inch circle. Roll dough onto pin and lay inside a 4-inch tart pan with removable bottom. Press edges into sides of pan, and fold excess dough inside edges. Repeat with remaining dough disks. At this point, tart shells may be wrapped in plastic and frozen for later use. If baking immediately, refrigerate shells for 15 minutes.

4. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prick bottom of shells with a fork. Lay a piece of foil on bottom of tart shells and fill with 1/4 cup dried beans. Bake tart shells for 20 minutes. Lift out beans in foil, and return tart shells to oven and bake an additional 10 minutes, or until lightly golden.

5. Beat egg white with 1 tablespoon water. Brush bottom and sides of pastry with egg glaze to seal any tiny holes. Tart shell is ready for filling.

For ricotta filling:
1 head roasted garlic*
4 eggs
1 (15-ounce) container ricotta cheese
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper

1. Squeeze roasted garlic cloves out of skins into a large bowl. Beat in eggs and ricotta and Parmesan cheeses; season with salt and pepper.

2. Place tart shells on a cookie sheet. Pour egg mixture into shells, filling 3/4 full. Carefully transfer to oven and bake 30 minutes. Tart should still jiggle slightly in center; it will set up as it cools.

*To roast a head of garlic, cut off the top (pointy) part so that the tops of the cloves are exposed. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil, sprinkle with coarse salt, and roast in an oven preheated to 350 degrees for about 30 minutes. Let head cool down enough to handle, and then squeeze the roasted garlic out of the cloves.

For orange-zested tomato topping:
3/4 pound small, ripe tomatoes, cut into halves
5 fresh basil leaves, cut into chiffonade
Peel of 1 orange, finely grated
Extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. In a small bowl, mix tomatoes, orange peel, and basil (reserving a bit for garnish). Drizzle with a little oil; season with salt and pepper and fold everything together.

2. Once cool enough to handle, carefully lift tarts out of rings and slide tarts off bases onto plates. Spoon some of tomato salad onto each tart. Season with salt and pepper. Garnish with reserved basil.

Announcing...

2007-07-06T14:13:00.000-05:00

Update: A big thank you to all of you who have submitted entries to Food & Paper for DMBLGiT. I have enjoyed receiving your photos in my mailbox every day... little doses of yum. The contest has now closed and the judging will soon be underway. Please check back here during the first few days of August for the winning photos! ~SM.

It is my pleasure to announce that Food and Paper will be hosting this month's food photography contest, Does My Blog Look Good In This? [DMBLGiT]. So, take a gander at the photos you posted on your blog in the month of June and pick a winner.

I am excited to have a panel of Pittsburgh food bloggers joining me to serve as this month's judges: Rebecca and Leland of Eat (Leland is actually a Pittsburgh transplant to New York), Lindy of Toast, and Jesse of Corduroy Orange.

Contest rules:

1. You may only submit one photograph.
2. The photograph must have been taken by you.
3. The photograph must have been posted on your blog in June of 2007.
4. Photos will be accepted until Wednesday, July 25 at midnight EST.
5. A panel of five judges will drool over the photographs until they have chosen winners based on the following categories:
-- aesthetics: how well is the photo composed? how does the styling of the photo contribute to its overall impact? how well is the photo lit and focused?
-- edibility: how much does the photo tempt the judges to lick their computer screens?
-- originality: how much does the photo elicit responses like, "Golly!" "Wow!" and "I never would have thought of that!"

If you would like to participate in this event:
1. Send an e-mail with DMBLGIT in the subject line to sarahalisonmiller [at] gmail [dot] com.
2. Attach your photo.
3. In the body of the email, include the following information:

-- your name
-- the url of your blog
-- the url of the post where your blog appears
-- any information you would like to share about the equipment you used to take your photo

Good Luck!!

Click here to browse the gallery of this month's entries.

Something old and something blue

2007-06-27T19:02:00.001-05:00

Before I loved to cook, I loved to thrift. (Those without the thrift-store itch will forgive my use of the verb.) My entire high school wardrobe, and much of my college one was hunted and gathered from various North Carolina Goodwills and American Ways. If you're from the Triangle and have ever donated a velvet jacket or thin-waled pair of cords, it's likely your clothes have lived in my closet. I still scavenge for summer dresses and vintage slips, but these days when I pop into the local thrift store--which goes by the shabby-chic name Thriftique--I tend to gravitate toward the kitchen wares section.

I've accumulated a little aluminum collection of old tart tins and cake pans. Some are tiny molds whose proper use I've yet to figure out...but, they may just become tortilla bowl molds considering how well they recently performed as such.

As I'm not in the habit of making mini-muffins, these tins are stashed away for a future cocktail party I occasionally fantasize hosting. So many possibilities in a couple of somethings worth nothing to someone else and about 50 cents to me: miniature strawberry cheesecakes...tiny tortilla cups filled with pulled pork and cilantro...baby spinach quiches.

I haven't a clue what this stainless steel bowl was meant to hold. It sort of reminds me of a mess-kit container, but it's far too heavy for hiking. It'll keep a couple of scoops of homemade ice cream cool in July, though, and that's how I plan to use it and its three siblings, all mine for a dollar a piece.

Every time I reach for one of these dry good containers--and I groggily reach for the third one from the left every single morning--I get a thrift-thrill. I grabbed these, along with a few wooden-handled spatulas and some copper-colored measuring cups, from the basement of Red Door Antiques and Interiors in Wake Forest, NC, a treasure trove of vintage kitchen wares.

My latest find: a couple of aluminum tart tins. Since my existing tart tin collection lacked right angles, I felt giddy when I scooped up the rectangular one. Then, I added the round one because I hated to separate the pair just to save a buck.

Sometimes, and I can't say just when those times occur, one wants a tart with corners. Recently, I did. And I wanted it sweet and sour with a shortbread crust and a bed of shiny blueberries on top.

If I had a picnic to attend this 4th of July, I would bring this tart. The crust is a simple, shortbread-like thing, and the blueberries are virtually naked save for a thin glaze of blueberry coulis. Baked in an old aluminum tin, this tart could be an immediate family tradition.
If I didn't have a picnic invitation, and I don't, I would eat it for dessert while watching Alfred Hitchcock movies, and I have. Mrs. Bates death-maw is even more electrifying accompanied by a bite of tangy lime curd.

Blueberry and Lime Curd Tart
Adapted from Bon Appetit, June 2002. The original recipe makes 8 3-inch tartlets, and can be found here at epicurious.com. This recipe is modified for a 6 by 10-inch rectangular tin, but will work in other dimensions, including round ones with 8-9-inch diameters.

For curd:
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
6 large egg yolks
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 teaspoons grated lime peel

For crust:
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
3 tablespoons (about) chilled whipping cream
1 large egg yolk

For blueberry topping:
3 1/2-pint baskets blueberries
1 tablespoon sugar

To make the curd:

1. Whisk sugar and lime juice in heavy medium saucepan. Whisk in yolks, then butter.

2. Cook over medium-low heat until thick, smooth, and just beginning to bubble, stirring constantly, about 12 minutes. Remove from heat. Mix in lime peel.

3. Transfer to small bowl. Press plastic wrap onto surface of curd. Refrigerate until cold, at least 4 hours. (Can be made 4 days ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

To make the crust:
4. Blend flour, sugar, and salt in food processor for 5 seconds. Add butter and cut in, using on/off turns, until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add 2 tablespoons cream and egg yolk. Using on/off turns, blend until moist clumps form, adding more cream by teaspoonfuls if dough is dry. Shape dough into a shape roughly the dimensions of your tart pan. Press dough into bottom and up sides of tart pan with removable bottom. Pierce crust with fork. Chill, wrapped in plastic, at least 1 hour and up to 1 day.

To make the topping:
5. Place 1/2 cup berries and sugar in heavy small saucepan. Using fork, mash berries coarsely. Cook mixture over medium heat until beginning to simmer, stirring often, about 5 minutes. Using rubber spatula, push as much of mixture as possible through strainer set over medium bowl. Mix remaining blueberries into strained berries. Set topping aside.

6. Preheat oven to 375°F. Bake tart crust until lightly golden, pressing any bubbles with back of fork, about 20 minutes. Cool crust completely on a rack.

7. Using a spatula, spread curd in crust. Arrange blueberry topping over curd. (Let stand at room temperature up to 2 hours or refrigerate up to 1 day.)