Not Derby Pie

New Year, New Site!

rivka — Fri, 15 Jan 2016 19:56:34 +0000

Friends, the time has come. This trusty old site of mine isn’t so trusty anymore, and for a while now, I’ve been craving a fresh, new space to share recipes with you — a space where I could focus more on the food, and less on the technical parts of the site. After a little staycation and a lot of elbow grease, I’m finally ready to share my new home with you. Come check it out: www.rivkafriedman.net. I hope you like it!

NDP will keep its little spot on the web, but I won’t be updating it anymore. From now on, new posts, pictures, and rants of all kinds will be housed at rivkafriedman.net. Happy cooking!

Maple Walnut Squares

rivka — Thu, 24 Dec 2015 14:02:05 +0000

I know it’s almost Christmas, but I’m about one month behind (on everything) and right now, I need to commit a tiny act ofÂ Thanksgiving blasphemy. I tell you this: the best dessert I ate on Thanksgiving was not pie.

By 7 pm the evening of the holiday, our house was full of neighbors who had decided to stay local. Our table was overflowing with pies, many of which our friends had brought: a glistening, lattice-topped sour cherry pie; several bourbon/brandy-filled pumpkin pies; a gorgeous rendition of Deb’s chocolate tart with gingersnap crust (a slice of which I carefully set aside for myself, which my unsuspecting and always-cleaning lady accidentally threw away, *sob*) and many more. I tried too many; I loved them all. But I think my favorite bite of all was a slice of these maple walnut squares.

The crust is a shortbread, from which I accidentally left out two tablespoons of the butter, yielding a somewhat crispier, sandier texture. The top is like pecan pie, but – dare I be even more blasphemous? – better. Little bits of walnuts instead of big nutty chunks; maple syrup instead of corn syrup, duh; a different ratio of everything else. Just a better overall texture. Not that I’m knocking pecan pie: I especially love the one we served, from David Lebovitz, which has bourbon in the batter and a whole load of chocolate chips mixed in. Yum.

Meanwhile, I realize I have told you only aboutÂ sweets these past few months. I promise, we’re eating dinner before dessert; I just can’t seem to get the camera into the kitchen before the foodÂ disappears. But last week I made a handful of things that I really want to share with you, so stay tuned for some not-so-great iphone photos of some really good food in the next couple weeks. Happy holidays to all of you celebrating. To the rest of you, I wish you delicious Chinese food, a movie or two, and some quiet time with people you love.

Maple Walnut Squares
Adapted slightly from Saveur

I accidentally forgot 2 tablespoons of the butter in the crust. The result was a sandier dough that came together more slowly, but I loved how it came out. If you want to stick with the original, use a full stick of butter for the crust.

For the crust:
6 tablespoons (3 oz.) unsalted butter, chilled, cut into pieces; plus more for pan
1 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for pan
1/4 cup maple sugar (which I miraculously had from a trip to Montreal; turbinado sugar also works here)

For the filling:
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2/3 cup maple sugar* or turbinado sugar
1 cup maple syrup (preferably American Grade B or Canadian Grade A Dark)
1 cup walnuts, chopped
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
2 large eggs, lightly beaten

Heat the oven to 350Â°F. Lightly butter the bottom of an 8-inch square baking pan and line with parchment paper, allowing the excess to hang over the sides. Butter and flour the parchment, tapping out any excess flour.

In a food processor, process the butter, flour, and maple sugar until combined. Press the crust evenly in the bottom of the pan. Bake until lightly browned, about 15 minutes.

Whisk together the flour, maple sugar or turbinado sugar, maple syrup, walnuts, salt, and eggs. Pour the filling over the warm baked crust. Return the pan to the oven and bake until the filling is golden brown and set, 30 to 35 minutes.

Let the maple walnut squares cool in the pan for about 2 hours. Then lift out the entire block using edges of the parchment paper as handles, place on a cutting board, and cut into squares.

The squares keep for at least a week, but really two. They’re quite sweet, so cut them small.

How to Give Thanks

rivka — Tue, 24 Nov 2015 02:33:05 +0000

Do you also feel like you need a breather from the onslaught of unbearable news? Me too. I cannot stop thinking about the children paralyzed by instability, hunger, and fear. But I doubt you need me to pile on more sadness and anxiety. I’m sure you have plenty of your own.

Here’s my contribution to happier things: a menu for Thursday’s dinner, where we’re hosting 13 people from two sides of our family, spanning four generations. Eldest guest: my bubby, rounding 90. Youngest guest: our one-year-old (!), with an appetite and a belly to rival the grown-ups’.

I tell you, the news from the past several months makes giving thanks seem easier, ever more obvious a thing we must do. We are safe, warm, and well-fed. We worry about small things more than big things. If I overcook the turkey, or forget a dish in the fridge, or break a platter, whatever. What. ever.

So here is our menu, of altogether too much food that no doubt we will all enjoy. I plan to spend time reflecting on our immense luck, thinking about the things that matter. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday with loved ones, where you feel safe, sated, and happy.

Croissants (really, I made croissants) + other croissant-ish things

rivka — Thu, 05 Nov 2015 15:59:56 +0000

Oh, hi! Yep, we’re still here, I promise. Just busy. Work is nuts, the kiddo is rounding the corner on her first birthday (!!), and cooking at this stage is….funny. It’s not over, not by any means: if you open my fridge, you’ll see a rather sundry assortment of edibles, including a stuffing that I made because I had the ingredients, some leftover vegetarian chili from an epic batch that fed our family plus three friends who just had babies (!), a few stray hunks of cheese, some concord grapes that I scored at Whole Foods after the local season was over, sue me, plus a little container of my pear sauce mixed with yogurt, for the babe. As they do.

So yes, we’re cooking. (Okay: I’m cooking.) Sometimes I’m just cooking down some pears with cinnamon and pureeing them, but Adi goes to town on my chicken wings like the best of them. Watching her take to food, specifically things I make but really any food, has been one of the best things about this year. (Also: kid is ticklish like you wouldn’t believe. It’s the best thing ever.)

But sometimes, I get an odd hankering for fussing in the kitchen over something fancier and more involve. 1% of those times, I actually go ahead and make it. So it was two weeks ago: I wanted croissants on Friday, and by Sunday brunch, we were eating hot, buttery, flaky croissants that I MADE MYSELF.

This is my third attempt to make croissants. The first two times, I followed Chad Robertson’s recipe. His croissants are my gold standard: I literally cried tears of happiness the first time I bit into a Tartine Bakery croissant. But those recipes, what is the deal with their editors? The instructions are unclear and often misleading. In the case of the croissants, their flavor was fantastic but they didn’t proof enough pre-baking, and they ended up denser than they should be.

This third time, I went down a different road, entrusting my pounds of butter in the capable hands of FranÃ§ois Payard, at whose now-closed Payard Bistro I had one of my first truly excellent meals in New York. His croissant recipe took me across the finish line.

This isn’t a shortcut croissant recipe. It’s slightly condensed (e.g. two folds at once means less waiting time), but it’s also just straightforward and well-written. The dough isn’t a hundred parts – no poolish/sourdough/dough here. Just one big mess that becomes two big pans with rows and rows of beautiful croissants.

Most of them were plain, the better to cradle some butter and jam at brunch time. But I set aside a couple pieces of dough to recreate this seasonal pastry from Dolcezza, because croissant dough + pureed squash + seeds + cheese is a winner.

For those of you reading this and rolling your eyes: I’ll post something less fussy next time, I promise.

For now, it’s off to Barcelona, where I plan to eat all of the things and drink mostly vermouth. CANNOT WAIT.

FranÃ§ois Payard’s Croissants
Adapted, just barely, from this recipe

Ingredients
1 tablespoon yeast
1â„2 cup (120 grams) milk
1â„3 cup (67 grams) sugar
1 1â„2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (374 grams) unsalted butter, barely softened; plus 3 tablespoons melted and cooled
1 tablespoon powdered milk
1 tablespoon kosher salt
4 cups flour

Put yeast into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook. Add 1/2 cup warm water, stir to combine, and let sit for 5-10 minutes, until starting to foam. Add milk, sugar, the 3 tablespoons of melted butter, powdered milk, and salt. Stir to combine. Add flour; mix on low speed until mostly incorporated. Raise speed to medium and mix until a stiff dough forms, about 5 minutes. Transfer dough to work surface and form into a thick square. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate 2 hours.

Place remaining butter on a sheet of plastic wrap or wax paper; cover with another sheet. Using a rolling pin, pound and shape butter into a 6-inch square that’s 1/2-inch thick. Set aside.

Remove dough from refigerator. Use rolling pin to roll dough into a 16-inch square on a lightly floured work surface. Unwrap butter square, and place butter square on dough square rotated 45 degrees, so its corners line up with the middle point of each side of dough square (the butter should look like a diamond on top of the dough square).

Fold dough corners over butter so they meet in the center. Roll dough into a 12â€³ x 9â€³ rectangle, and then tri-fold dough like a letter. Roll the dough into a 12â€³ x 9â€³ rectangle again, and repeat folding. Wrap in plastic wrap; chill for 30 minutes. Repeat rolling and folding dough described above (roll and fold twice each); then chill for 1 hour.

Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Roll dough into a 20â€³ x 14â€³ sheet, 1/4-inch thick; halve lengthwise. Cut each half into about 9 triangles, about 3 1/2 inches wide at their base. Roll each triangle from the wide base to the narrow tip, forming a tight roll. Transfer each croissant onto a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving at least 1 inch between croissants. Let croissants sit until doubled in size, about 2 1/2â€“3 hours.

Heat oven to 375Â°. Working with one baking sheet at a time, brush croissants with egg wash; bake until deep golden brown, about 20 minutes. Serve immediately.

Spicy Creamed Feta Spread

rivka — Mon, 21 Sep 2015 15:22:29 +0000

Earlier this summer, we met up with a couple friends and their kids at Right Proper, a not-so-new brewery in Shaw. They’ve got a great selection of beers brewed onsite, plenty of high chairs, and a passable food menu. Still, it’s a perfect spot for Sunday with little ones, whose grabbing and clapping are rivaled, if not bested, by the laughter and occasional shouts from beer-drinkin’ grown-ups.

Strangely, the best thing on the table wasn’t beer: it was a spicy feta spread, which was eaten — okay, the plate licked clean — before our second round of beers had even been ordered. We briefly contemplated ordering a second round of feta spread, too, but we had burgers and grilled cheeses and fried pickles to get through, so we held back. Silly us.

The next weekend, as we sat around contemplating another afternoon of beers and $10 feta spread, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I had half a block of the Whole Foods brand feta in the fridge, which is both good and cheap. To make the spread, I broke up the feta and dribbled some cream into the bowl, mashing the mixture with a fork until smooth. I stirred in a bit more cream, then finished things off with a couple spoonfuls of the homemade apricot-habanero hot sauce that I don’t use nearly often enough.

The spread became a staple nearly immediately. I’ve had it on tomato sandwiches, on avocado toast, layered with smoky eggplant, under fried squash blossoms, in omelettes, and on its own with toasted pita chips, should I keep going? I have even served the spread on slices of baguette alongside a pile of dressed greens and called it dinner, and no one complained. Now you can skip the $10 restaurant version, too.

Spicy Creamed Feta Spread
inspired by an appetizer at Right Proper Brewery

5 oz. feta cheese
1/4 cup milk or cream
Sriracha, Cholula, or another hot sauce

Crumble feta in a medium bowl and mash with a fork until no chunks remain. Drizzle in milk/cream one tablespoon at a time, mashing and stirring as you go, until feta is smooth and creamy. You’ll need less milk if aiming for a stiff spread, and more if you want the consistency of a dip.

Add chile sauce a couple teaspoons at a time, stirring to incorporate and tasting as you go, until spread has reached your ideal spice level.

To serve:

simply, with bread/toast points/pita/pita chips, as a dip

with carrots/cucumbers/green beans/other dipping vegetables

spread on a sandwich with tomato, avocado, roasted eggplant, roasted squash, etc

scooped over a big bowl of farro/wheatberries with roasted veg, to be mixed at the table

hollow out a couple small tomatoes, put a spoonful of the feta inside, top with bread crumbs and a drizzle of olive oil, and roast until hot and bubbly

inside an omelette

dozens of other possibilities

a spoon.

Roasted Cauliflower with Red Onion-Yogurt Sauce

rivka — Wed, 26 Aug 2015 15:46:43 +0000

It makes no sense to start a post about cauliflower with a public service announcement about plums. That said, I happened to pick up a bag of methly plums at the market a couple weeks ago; they were juicy and wet, sold as seconds because they were…on the verge. They were begging to be mushed with some sugar and made into jam. So I did it. And friends, that jam is so good, so utterly addictive, that I’m rather heartbroken methly plums are now out of season here. With that, the PSA: if methlys are still growing where you are, get a bag. Combine them with some sugar, some lemon juice, and some ground ginger, or better yet, some ground galangal. Cook until bubbly but still runny. Jar. Smear some on toast with a bit of fresh cheese. Summer has never, ever, tasted this good.

The dish I’m actually here to share with you won’t win any awards for the summeriest dish around, but it’s landed on our table four times in the past month, including twice for company. It’s the thing Adi eats the most of right now – she can’t seem to get enough cauliflower in the belly. And three of our guests have asked for the recipe, confirming that this is good enough to last beyond our family cauli kick.

The florets are blasted in a super-hot oven for a surprisingly long time. You’d think they come out total mush, but instead, they come out browned in spots, very crispy, and fully cooked but still with bite.

But the real magic is the sauce: a beautiful, pink-hued yogurt blended with sauteed, caramel-edged red onions. The onions get soft enough to disappear completely into the yogurt, lending a sweet-savory depth that goes ridiculously well with singed cauliflower. Vinegar-soaked raisins and some mint leaves round out the salad. I can’t get enough of it; none of us can, really.

I’m always looking for dishes that work well together as part of a menu, and last night’s meal pretty much hit the jackpot for me as far as menus that fit in my schedule without requiring too many concessions or short cuts, so I thought I’d share it. We had rosÃ© night with our wine club, and I made dishes whose flavors I thought would complement rosÃ©s. I got some planning help from my buddies Jennifer Hess and Mike Dietsch, via twitter, so they deserve some credit for pulling this dinner party together. The menu was as follows:

Chilled curried summer squash soup, adapted from Saveur
Molasses-roasted salmon, roasted in the morning and chilled served cold
Tomato salad with spiced brown butter, inspired by this recipe (soon on the blog!)
Pissaladiere, made in advance and reheated in a warm oven before serving
Cauliflower with red onion yogurt sauce (recipe below), roasted in advance; served at room temperature
Peach crisp (adapted from this recipe)
Vanilla ice cream

This is a menu that I can see reusing in the future. Except for the salmon, which I assembled before lunch, I made pretty much everything during Adi’s two-hour nap. The only a-la-minute prep required was to assemble the cauliflower salad, reheat the (baked, pre-sliced) pissaladiere, and dress the tomatoes. I felt less in the weeds as a host than I have in eons. That’s what summer’s all about.

Roasted Cauliflower with Red Onion-Yogurt Sauce

As you can see in the photos above, I tossed some zucchini coins in with the cauliflower. Highly recommend.

Serves 4 as a side

1 large head of cauliflower
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
salt and pepper

1 small or 1/2 a large red onion, cut into a large dice
Juice of 1 lemon
Turkish or other fragrant dried red chile, to taste
1 cup Greek yogurt

1/4 cup red raisins or currants
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
a sprig of mint

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

Cut the cauliflower into roughly 1-inch florets. Spread in a single layer on a rimmed 13×17 baking sheet; drizzle with 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast, turning florets halfway through baking, until browned on both sides and cooked through but not mushy. For me, this takes about 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside.

Meanwhile, add remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil to a small saucepan and set over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add diced onion and a couple pinches of salt and pepper. Stir to coat in the oil, then cover saucepan and cook for about 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are mostly translucent but caramelized around the edges and very fragrant. Unlike caramelized onions, which are made over a low, slow burner, these are cooked over higher heat, resulting in a translucent onion with slightly browned/frizzled edges. If your heat is lower or your onions are taking longer to soften and cook, don’t rush them; they’re the basis of the yogurt sauce, so you really want to coax as much flavor out of them as possible.

Set onions aside to cool for 5-10 minutes, then add to a blender with any residual oil, and the yogurt, lemon juice, a pinch each of salt and pepper, and a pinch of the red chile. Blend, first on low, then on high; add water by the tablespoon if your blender is struggling to catch. When mixture is smooth, stop the blender and taste; add more salt, pepper, chile, or lemon as needed.

To serve, plate cauliflower on a shallow platter. Sprinkle currants/raisins evenly over the dish. Drizzle yogurt sauce over cauliflower, and finish with a few strewn mint leaves. Serve with extra yogurt sauce on the side.

How to Summer

rivka — Wed, 19 Aug 2015 13:20:56 +0000

I know, I’ve disappeared lately. We’ve been summering. I don’t have a full post for you today, because doing summer properly in Washington involves lots of time away from Washington: we spent a weekend up in PA, where I snapped the aboveÂ photo of the team roaming through a lavender field. This is the right answer.

When we are in town, we spend Sundays in a hot kitchen with jars of tomato on the counter and glasses fogged from the steam. Morning canning projects are followed by languid afternoons on the porch, and evenings comforted by a glass (alright, two) of Amaro Lucano where IÂ almost pick up the camera to snap a photo of the roasted cauliflower before it’s devoured, but then IÂ remember the languid part and IÂ don’t get up, and the cauliflower gets polished off, escaping any photographic proof that it existed. WeÂ feel full. And tipsy from the amaro. WeÂ go nowhere, weÂ do nothing. WeÂ summer.

But I assure you, things are getting made. Bellies are getting filled. Of note:

The tomates farciesÂ from David Tanis via NYT look amazing. I bookmarked them immediately after he published them, intending to make them for the weekend. But the weekend rolled around, and when I lazily googled “tomatoes farcies,” only to be sent to a much meatier recipe from 1981. I didn’t notice that it was the wrong link; I just forged ahead with the new recipe, swapping out pork for cured beef sausage and skipping the cheese. The results were positively divine. Three of us polished off the lot of them one Saturday, after discovering – whoops, summer! – that I’d left them in the oven the previous evening, an entire dish of my Friday night dinner unserved, unmissed, unnecessary. (I am becoming my mother.) Make both.

The tomato bread soup from the Franny’s cookbook continues the streak of A-grade soups from the Franny’s folks. (You can find the recipe here.) I hesitate to slap the word “sludge” on anything I intend to encourage you to make, but heck: it’s a sludge, the best, summeriest sludge ever.

If you can get your hands onÂ methly plums – those small, fragrant dark-ruby plums with equallyÂ red centers – try your hand at a conserve with either ground ginger or, even better,Â galangal. I lucked out on about 5 pounds of second methlys from Toigo, a favorite farmer, last weekend. I followed Cathy’sÂ template for plum jam, and ended up with hands down the best jam I’ve made all summer – maybe ever. GO.

Adi loves nectarines like her mama. We’re not big peach people: fuzz ruins the the experience. But we (sans Adi) did very much enjoy a gin-based cocktail with muddled peaches, basil, and some demerara sugar. Sub mint if that”s your thing.

I’ve always been partial to basil pesto over the parsley variety, but this summer, I’ve found multiple uses for a punched-up pesto with both herbs. I’ve been using a bit of shallot, some green garlic, equal parts parsley and basil, lots of lemon zest, and some very fragrant Turkish chile, pounding everything together in a mortar and pestle with plenty of olive oil.

I’ve twice found myself ten minutes before serving dinner and at a loss for an appetizer. The solution, both times, has been a simple cucumber-avocado soup. There are many recipesÂ for this, but I’ve ridden bareback: 2 small cucumbers (I like the thin-skinned Persian ones), 1 avocado, juice of a lemon or lime, a slice of jalapeno, salt and pepper to taste. Whir that blender and pour into small bowls. This makes four small bowls. You can add cilantro, mint, or chives if you’d like.

Mark my words, IÂ will tell you about that cauliflower. Soon, I hope.

Happy summer, friends.

Mushroom and Kale Breakfast Strata

rivka — Mon, 20 Jul 2015 14:18:07 +0000

Turns out, unsettling from the old place was much harder than settling into the new place. Luisa told me that I shouldnâ€t worry if, for weeks after the move, I still wondered when weâ€d finally go back home. Thatâ€s just what I expected to feel. But those final weeks pre-move were so stressful and sleepless and unsettling that by the time we unpacked everything, the place already had started to feel like ours.

It helps that 24 hours after move-in, we were fully unpacked. Thatâ€s my leading lady: sheâ€s extremely efficient, she hates transitions, she wants it donedonedone. So it was.Â By Sunday morning, I was back to weighing coffee beans, pouring the slow stream of hot water over my filter, setting my favorite mug on the counter. And exactly one week after that, with both my brother and old friends in town, we managed to host some folks for brunch.

Save for a few old jars and nubbins of past-prime vegetables, the contents of our fridge made the move with us. Among the contents: half a stale baguette, most of a bunch of kale, and the end of a log of goat cheese. This is practically the holy trinity of strata, so strata it was. It’s simple, really: stale bread, some sauteed vegetables. A not-very-large quantity of milk, a not-very-small quantity of heavy cream. Layer; bake. Poof: the house smells like home.

And speaking of recipes that bring us home, I need to tell you about a book.

My friend Jess, she of the wonderful blog Sweet Amandine, has written a book (!!) about herÂ brain aneurysm, and also, food. A confusing combination, no? But it works. Oh, does itÂ work.

When Jess was 28, an aneurysm ruptured in her brain. The recovery was slow and uneven. To regain a sense of normalcy – and to fill the long days – Jess started baking. StirÂ is the story of the recipes that helped her heal.

In college, Jess was the awesome senior who ran the a cappella choir, lurking in my social periphery. We reconnected over our blogs, though – and one day, in Boston for business with a morning to myself, I hopped over to her place for brunch. Jess was one month into motherhood,Â an impossibly tiny Mia bundled in the stroller she pushed on our walk. We picked up bread from High Rise Bakery – a corn flour loaf, I think – and back home, she cooked me what to this day are the most perfect sunny-side-up eggs I’ve ever had. While she made the eggs, Jess put me to work grinding beans for my coffee. She’s a tea person, but she still managed to have the world’s coolestÂ HarioÂ grinder and ChemexÂ carafe. I learned about both from her. I also heard more about why she’d started the blog in the first place.

Jess has quite a story to tell, and she tells it perfectly. (Frankly, she could write about wallpaper, and you’d still want to read more.) She also shares recipes at the end of each chapter, and having tested several of them, I can tell you that they, alone, are worth the price of the book. Apricots with cardamom and pistachios? Yes. My favorite Jess recipe, ever. Folded slow-rise challah? Feathery and brioche-like. You want it. An almond cake requiring one bowl, one pan, and lots of self control? Friday night dinner just got fancy.

Jess isÂ baaacckkk. Go read her book. Make her apricots; serve them for brunch, with this strata, or just eat them straight out of the fridge. Toast your health and hers. Congrats, dear Jess!

Mushroom and Kale Breakfast Strata
Adapted, just slightly, from Merrill Stubbs, of Food52

This is almost exactly Merrill’s strata formula, minus sausage plus mushrooms. I did reduce the amount of pecorino, since I find it easily overpowers other flavors. I swapped out gruyere in favor of goat cheese, too. Merrill recommends assembling the strata 6 hours before serving, to let the bread fully soak up the liquid. I didn’t do this – not everyone plans brunch in advance! – and the strata came out great anyway.

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 sweet white or yellow onion, diced
8 oz. mixed mushrooms (I used a mix of cremini and shiitake), wiped clean and sliced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 large bunch kale (I prefer dino, the kind with the bumpy dark green leaves), stems removed, washed, dried, and chopped
6 eggs
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon smooth dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground if possible)
a few grinds of black pepper
7 cups cubed stale bread
5 oz. goat cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/4 cup grated pecorino cheese

Butter a 9×13-inch baking dish and set aside. If serving the strata immediately (see headnote), preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Heat olive oil and butter in a large, shallow sautÃ© pan over medium heat. Add onion, and sautÃ© until soft and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Add mushrooms and salt and increase heat to medium-high. SautÃ©, stirring occasionally, until onions and mushrooms have softened and some have turned golden, 5-7 minutes. Add kale, reduce heat to medium, and cook until kale has wilted, about 3 minutes more. Remove from heat and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, cream, mustard, nutmeg, and pepper until fully combined. To assemble the strata, spread half of the cubed bread into the bottom of the prepared baking dish. Top with half the greens, half the egg mixture, and half of each of the cheeses. Repeat with the remaining bread, greens, and egg mixture; sprinkle the remaining half of each of the cheeses over the top of the strata. At this point, either bake the strata immediately, or set in the fridge for up to 6 hours to set.

Bake strata for 35-45 minutes, until the top is golden brown and the middle is set (check with a toothpick). Let cool for 5 minutes before serving.

Barley Porridge with Orange and Black Sesame

rivka — Mon, 29 Jun 2015 15:14:56 +0000

This wasÂ the big weekend, the one where home changedÂ locations.

I keep trying to remember the day we moved out of our first apartment in this city, into a slightly larger, slightly quieter one four doors up the block. I can picture the movers — one in particular, who carried a very tall bookshelf on his back around three flights of curved stairs like it was a pocketbook. I remember our first night in the new place, marveling at how much of a difference four doors west could make for the noise level. Everything was so…quiet.Â But before I picture all of this, my mind skips two steps backward, to the day I moved usÂ intoÂ that first apartment, on the corner of a quiet street and a busy one. The apartment with the big bay window, the Formica counters, the incredibly-hip and not-totally-practical lofted bedroom, the wall I insisted on painting pink. Move-in day wasÂ just me – D was still in Michigan – and a pile of cheap furniture I’d found on Craigslist. One of the two front doors was stuck shut, so I spent the bulk of the day jamming the legs of various tables in the small front opening, then around and around that three-flight twisted staircase.

That was eight years ago. Since then, we’ve accumulated five moreÂ bottles of bitters (current favorites: Fee Brothers black walnut; Jack Rudy aromatic), and a pantry full of last year’s preservesÂ threatening to take away my canner for the season if I don’t use them up soon. And of course, now we’ve got our daughter, too. She comes with her own accumulation: books and toys andÂ tall stacks of hand-me-downs that could last beyond her first birthday. There certainly was more to pack and move this time around, which caused several nights of sleeplessness, 24 hours of mild turmoil, and lingering fatigue. But even more daunting than the actual move is the prospect of trying to hold ontoÂ memories from three homes.Â I don’t want to lose any of it.

Our kitchen has been dark for much of the past month, save for a couple meals over father’s day and a last-hoorah birthday dinner for our friend Jana. But before we shut down operations entirely, I cooked a batch of porridge from Ottolenghi’s newest book,Â Plenty More,Â for breakfasts.

In a week full of transitions, that porridgeÂ was the perfect thing. Comforting and familiar, like a good bowl of oatmeal. Fresh and intriguing, from fragrant marinated orange segments and a pile of sugary, crunchy sesame seeds. The new and the old, together. That is how we will proceed.

Barley Porridge with Orange and Black Sesame
Adapted from Ottolenghi’s new cookbook, Plenty More
Serves 4

I find constant inspiration from Ottolenghi’s recipes – his celebration of vegetables, his bold embrace of meatless feasts. That said, his recipes are extraordinarily fussy, and — at least for me — not always in ways that improve the result. I’ve simplified his instructions liberally, so that something as homey as porridge can stay that way. If you want to make the original, get the cookbook. It’s worth it.

For the porridge:
1 tablespoon mixed black and white sesame seeds
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon muscovado sugar, divided
125 grams (scant cup) whole or pearled barley, covered with cold water and soaked overnight
750 ml (3 cups plus 2 tablespoons) whole milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Zest of 1/2 a lemon
Zest of an orange
Salt
20g tahini

For the orange topping:
1 orange
1/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup water
1/4 teaspoon orange blossom water

Prepare orange topping: Peel off a strip of orange rind and add to a small saucepan. Next, supreme the orange, transferring both the segments and the resulting juice drippings into a bowl as you work. Set aside.

Add sugar and water to the pan with the strip of zest. Bring to a boil, stirring regularly, and cook until sugar has dissolved, about 3 minutes. Set aside to cool; then add orange blossom water and reserved orange segments and juice.

Make porridge: Drain and rinse the barley. Tip it into a medium saucepan with the remaining 2 tablespoons muscovado sugar, milk, citrus zest, and a three-finger pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, then turn the heat to medium-low and simmer for an hour, stirring occasionally, until the barley is cooked but still has some bite: if it’s becomes very thick, add a little water towards the end.

Make sesame topping: Toast sesame seeds by shaking them around in a small, dry pan over medium heat until fragrant, about 3 minutes. Combine seeds and 1 teaspoon of muscovado sugar in a mortar, and crush lightly. Set aside.

Serve: Stir vanilla into porridge, then leave to cool for five minutes. Divide between four bowls. Dribble a teaspoon of tahini over each portion, spoon the orange segments and syrup, and sprinkle with sesame topping.

Fennel frond pesto + what to do with those pesky stalks

rivka — Mon, 22 Jun 2015 12:28:15 +0000

I love fennel, especially the bright, beautiful bulbs available at my farmer’s marketÂ right now. But I do feel a small pang of guilt when I buy whole fennel, because the bulb? It’s so small. And — at least in my case — the stalks are so big. I mean:

So you see what I’m dealing with here.

A quick search for what to do with my piles of fennel stalks turned up some truly dainty advice: “sprinkle the fronds on salad,” and “add a pinch of fronds to simple syrup, then mix with gin for a nice cocktail.” That all sounds lovely, but if I were to “sprinkle” these fronds on my salad, I’d end up with something akin to fennel tabouli. (Which, come to think of it, doesn’t sound half bad. Next time.)

I thought momentarily about trying a few different preparations and seeing what panned out, but quickly abandoned that idea for fear of excessive fussiness. I wanted to give my pile of fronds destination and purpose, and I wanted to do so post haste. So I went long – six cups long — on what, in retrospect, was the most obvious choice: pesto.

I started with Melissa Clark’s basic formula: fronds, toasted almonds, garlic, olive oil. You could stop there and have something worthy of fridge space. But I ended up adding a bit of orange zest and some Turkish chile to round things out, and I’d recommend both additions.

When the pesto comes out dense, as it did in the photo above, you can just add more oil. If you’re going to use it relatively quickly, you can even add a bit of water to help thin it out.

Can we talk for a moment about all the ways to use this pesto? A few are obvious, but others are less so:

mixed with ricotta, spread on baguette slices
spread on a tart or a sheet of puff pastry, topped with tomatoes or, hey, slices of roasted fennel
a spoonful mixed into a simple vegetable soup or dolloped into a bowl of minestrone
added to salted water as a lovely cooking broth for any vegetable, especially artichokes
as a layer in a grilled cheese sandwich (with blue, gruyere, parmesan, or pecorino)
as a condiment on a cheese plate (see recommended pairings above), alongside orange marmalade
Tossed with spaghetti and any number of other things (tomatoes; anchovies; raisins/currants; toasted bread crumbs)

We had it on tarts for Friday night dinner, layered under shaved zucchini, crushed tomato, and parmesan cheese. Â For Father’s Day dinner, I folded a bit of the pesto into tomato sauce for campanile (those little bell-shaped pasta), which I topped with a carefree helping of olive oil-toasted bread crumbs. I’ve still got a Â tub of it left in the fridge; whatever I can’t get through before the move, I’ll freeze in small containers for use later this summer.

As for those pesky fennel stalks, they are far more stubborn than the bulb, slower to yield. That said, a long, lazy bake in a cast iron pan did the trick, and now I’m addicted. I sprinkled them with sea salt and pepper, drizzled a tablespoon or so of olive oil and about half as muchÂ honey, and baked them in a cast iron pan at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes. The result was a pile of soft, goldenÂ stalks, sweet and yielding and delicious as I’d ever tasted. They made a great cook’s snack, but next time, I’ll try layering them on a tartlet, on top of a smear of that frond pesto, finished with some honey or orange marmalade and maybe some soft cheese.

With that, I’m off to toast a slice of the last challah this AdMo home of ours will see. *sob*

Fennel Frond Pesto
Adapted from Melissa Clark
Makes about 2 cups

Clark calls for an 8:1 ratio of fennel:nuts, but I prefer more nuts in my pesto. Because I used whole roasted salted almonds, I didn’t need to add any salt. If you’re using unsalted nuts, add salt to taste – probably no more than 1 teaspoon, but I’m guessing here.

3 cups fennel fronds, roughly chopped
1 cup toasted salted almonds (if toasting yourself or using unsalted, you’ll salt the pesto to taste after blending)
1 garlic clove
1-2 teaspoons fragrant medium-spicy chile, to taste
1 teaspoon orange zest
3/4 cup olive oil

Combine all ingredients except oil in a food processor. With the motor running, drizzle in olive oil 1/4 cup at a time, until pesto reaches the desired consistency. If adding salt, add by the 1/2 teaspoon to taste.

Store in the fridge in an airtight container topped with a thin layer of olive oil. Keeps at least aÂ week, probably two.

Vegetarian Bahn Mi Sandwiches

rivka — Fri, 05 Jun 2015 12:40:06 +0000

It seems like only a few weeks ago that we finally finished our new kitchen. It’s actually been a couple months, but time flies when you’re parenting a six-month-old (!).

Back to the kitchen: it has a butcher block, which we “reclaimed” (can you do that if it was yours to start with?) from an old shelf and installed atop a long row of gleaming white cabinets; in the small finishes department, we put up a new knife strip, which holds my sharpies in a neat row, flush against the wall. It’s sort of perfect, and it made us both excited to cook and eat in it for months and years to come.

We unpacked all of our stuff into our new space, set everything up, and figured we were done with the packing and moving for a while. Silly us. What actually happened – with shocking speed – was that we bought a house.

This isn’t the move of five years ago, when we picked up all our belongings and walked four doors down the street. This is a different street in a different neighborhood. It shifts our center of gravity.

We’re ~~not moving until the end of the summer~~ moving in two weeks! Does anything happen gradually anymore? I love our new house, but I really, really love our current home. Between us, I’m not quite ready to leave it.

Finalizing plans to sell a condo, buy a house, pack, move, and unpack all over again — it’s keeping us rather busy. This on top of my busiest season at work means the cooking is sort of on hold. But lurking amid the chaos of our packed calendars and many to-do lists was a day worth setting everything else aside an celebrating: our first Mothers’ Day.

So we did. We shut down Redfin and went to the park to play, with Adi in the swing, my dad doing the pushing, and my mom chatting with other parents in the park like the pro that she is. Then we walked the half-block back to our place, and I whipped up some bahn mi sandwiches for dinner.

The sandwiches are suprisingly simple to make: you marinate and roast tofu (or, in a pinch, buy the pre-marinated stuff at the grocery store), and layer it onto a baguette slathered with spread and piled with crispy mushrooms and pickled vegetables.

As for the spread: Mayonnaise is traditional here, but as has been documented over and over again, I just don’t enjoy the stuff. Taking my cue from the New England lobster roll, I ditched the mayo in favor of butter, and mixed in a bit of sriracha. I’m sure sriracha would taste great mixed with mayo, if you like that sort of thing.

Because it was Mothers’ Day, I even made my own baguette — from this extremely low-maintenance, relatively foolproof recipe. Since then, I’ve piled these same ingredients on a store-bought loaf, cut it in half, wrapped it in parchment paper, and taken it to the office for lunch.

Adi has just started to eat solids, which is a topic for another day. But I’m reasonably sure by the time she tries her first bite of bahn mi, our beloved condo will be quite far in the rear view mirror, and we’ll be settled into our new home. Sigh, time.

Vegetarian Bahn Mi Sandwiches
Serves 4

For the tofu:
1 pound extra-firm tofu, sliced into half-inch slabs
2 tablespoons peanut butter
2 tablespoons warm water
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil

For the pickles:
2 carrots, julienned
1 thick stump of daikon, julienned
1/3 cup rice vinegar
1/3 cup water
2 teaspoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons salt

For the mushrooms
6 ounces shiitake mushrooms, sliced
2 tablespoons grapeseed or canola oil
salt and pepper
Juice of one lime

For the sriracha butter:
2 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
2 teaspoons sriracha

For assembling the sandwiches:
2 long baguettes, ends trimmed, halved
Pickled carrots and daikon
Marinated baked tofu
Sauteed mushrooms
1 avocado, halved and sliced
Sriracha butter
Cilantro

Make the tofu: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Press a towel (or paper towel) firmly against each slab of tofu to remove some of the residual liquid, wringing the towel as you go. Combine all the ingredients for the tofu marinade, whisk until smooth, and brush on tofu slabs. Lay coated slabs on a rimmed baking sheet, leaving at least 1 inch of space between pieces. Bake for 15 minutes until tofu is firm and mostly dry. Set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, make the pickles: Combine water, vinegar, sugar, and salt in a small saucepan. Pile julienned vegetables into a heat-safe jar. Heat pickling liquid until it just comes to a boil, then remove from heat, let cool about 15 seconds, and pour into heat-safe jar, over vegetables. Set aside.

Make mushrooms: Heat oil in a small stainless steel or cast iron pan over medium-high heat. When oil shimmers, add mushroom slices; they should sizzle. Cook for a total of 6-8 minutes, flipping mushrooms as they start to brown, until all mushrooms are golden and crispy. Sprinkle with salt, transfer to a small bowl, and squeeze lime juice over top.

Make sriracha butter: Stir together butter with half the sriracha. Taste, and add more sriracha as desired.

Assemble sandwiches: Slice baguette into sandwich-sized pieces. Slice into each length of baguette lengthwise, leaving one end connected. Splay baguettes open on a work space.

Spread a layer of sriracha butter on the insides of each baguette length. Layer two slabs of tofu, a handful of the pickled vegetables, several mushrooms, slices of avocado, and a pinch of cilantro into each baguette. Serve.

Sandwiches will also keep relatively fresh for about 2 hours after assembly.

Ramps ‘n’ Eggs Biscuit Sandwiches

rivka — Fri, 01 May 2015 14:11:06 +0000

Ramps have ridden the wave of foodie obsession. In years past, from the moment the green bundles made their season debut in Instagram feeds, fanatics and curious innocents would rush to the market to purchase their share. The next few days would see post after post of ramp-infused everything. I’ll own it: I played the game. I bought my little ramps, priced rather preciously at $5 for a tiny fistful. I folded them into butter, plopped them on pizza, even grilled them whole and served them with romesco sauce, fancy-style. It was all a bit exhausting.

This year, it seems, the craze has died down. Ramps were at the market last week, but if my memory is correct, they were priced slightly cheaper than last year, something that never happens. There also weren’t hoards of people clustering to snatch them all up; in fact, there was barely a peep about them. I ran into a couple of friends, and when I went to purchase a bundle or two, they frowned: why would you buy those?

Fair enough. They’re fancy wild onions, not truffles. Point taken. But here’s what I like about them: they’re like the green part of scallions on steroids. Super grassy, with a distinctly wild bite. A little goes a long way. And because the leaves are so delicate, they don’t need much — if any — cooking before they get added to whatever you’re making. And what you’re making, if you’re with me, is brunch.

In the case of last Sunday’s brunch, it was a basic biscuit egg sandwich. Ramps rescued the thing from being purely a bald-faced attempt at consuming as much butter as possible and calling it a meal. Now everything was green! Sort of. But it was more than sort of tasty. And come Sunday, it’ll probably grace our brunch table yet again. ‘Tis the season; it doesn’t last for long.

Ramps ‘n’ Eggs Biscuit Sandwiches
Serves 4

The biscuit recipe is adapted from my go-to, Marion Cunningham’s cream biscuits. There’s no butter in the dough itself; it just gets brushed on (liberally!) before baking. Here, I subbed out half the cream for yogurt, which worked really well.

Biscuits:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon sugar
3 ramps, green tops only (white bottoms reserved), sliced
3/4 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup yogurt (preferably full-fat)
4 tablespoons butter, melted

Eggs:
6 eggs
2 ramps, green and white parts, chopped, plus reserved white ramp bottoms from biscuits
salt and pepper
2-3 tablespoons butter

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

Combine flour, salt, baking powder, sugar, and ramp tops in a medium mixing bowl. Stir to combine.

In a separate bowl, combine cream and yogurt; stir until smooth. Pour yogurt-cream mixture into flour mixture, and use a fork to start combining the mixture. When most of the flour has been incorporated, dump the mixture onto a clean work surface, and use your hands (and a light touch) to bring it together. Knead the dough gently for about 30 seconds, until it comes together fully.

Shape dough into a mass (round if you want pie-slice biscuits; square if you want square biscuits), and slice into about 9 pieces.

Brush biscuits with melted butter on all sides; set buttered biscuits 2 inches apart onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for about 15 minutes, until browned and puffy.

Once you’ve taken the biscuits out of the oven, heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a small saute pan over medium heat. When butter foams, add the sliced white bottoms of all the ramps. Cook for about 3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until ramps are fragrant and softened. Meanwhile, combine green ramp tops and eggs in a mixing bowl. Whisk to combine; season with salt and pepper. Add remaining butter to the pan, then add egg mixture. Use one hand to vigorously shake the pan back and forth; hold a fork in the other hand, and make continuous mixing motions with the fork, to break up the eggs and create a light, custardy texture in your scramble. When eggs are cooked to your liking, remove from the heat. Serve immediately, on or alongside hot biscuits.

Asparagus Toasts with Pistachios and Mint

rivka — Tue, 21 Apr 2015 15:22:39 +0000

I think I speak for all of us on the east coast when I say, FINALLY. Winter can see its sorry self out the door for another nine months or so. I’m preoccupied by my true loves, the asparagus that have arrived,* and I can’t bring myself to talk about much of anything else.

*As I’m writing this, asparagus season hasn’t really started here in Washington.** Usually I’m a stickler, waiting with embarrassing impatience for local farmers to harvest their crop. But this year, weeks after I ran out of creative uses for beets and kale, the asparagus still hadn’t made their debut at my farmers’ market, and yet there they were on display at the Whole Foods, skinny little bundles of asparagus from California. Are they as good as the ones grown nearby? Not even close. But I figure since all my citrus comes from the west coast anyway, I may as well start spring vegetable season a bit early, too.

This is a great recipe for those transitional weeks, when the produce isn’t gleaming and perfect. The WF asparagus had a longer woody stem than I’m used to, so I removed those and sliced the rest of the spear on the bias into short coins. Over medium-high heat, I sauteed themÂ rather unevenlyÂ in plenty of butter, so some just barely cooked through while others got nicely browned and crisp.

There’s pretty much nothing you can do to mess up a good slice of bread slathered with ricotta. Adding browned, buttery asparagus: not an exception. To keep things bright, I ran to a flavor combination that I think I originally saw in the Zuni Cafe cookbook: pistachios, orange, mint.

If you time things right, you’ll catch the tail end of citrus season: these toasts really benefit from the zest of a good orange (or blood orange) and the juice from a meyer lemon.

The weather’s still bouncing back and forth here, one day as beautiful as it gets and the next cold and rainy. Spring isn’t predictable, but there’s one thing I can guarantee the coming weeks will bring: plenty more asparagus recipes.

** In the end, it took me almost a week to get this post live, and as of right this very instant, ASPARAGUS SEASON HAS STARTED!!

Asparagus Toasts with Pistachios and Mint
Makes 4 toasts

1 small bunch (about 8 spears) asparagus, rinsed and trimmed, sliced into 2-inch pieces
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
salt and pepper
1/4 teaspoon chile flakes (I like Turkish chile)
zest of half an orange or one lemon
1/3 cup good ricotta
4 half-slices of very good crusty bread (I like sourdough)
leaves from one sprig of mint, rinsed and torn into small pieces
2 tablespoons salted (shelled) pistachios, coarsely chopped
small wedge of lemon

Heat butter in a small saute pan over medium heat. When butter foams, add asparagus and a pinch each of salt and pepper. Add turkish chile and citrus zest. Cook, tossing pan occasionally to prevent sticking, until asparagus are on the crunchy side of tender and golden brown in spots; I found that this took around 3-4 minutes for stalks on the thin side. Set pan aside and allow asparagus to cool slightly.

Toast bread in a toaster or hot oven to your liking. (I’m a golden girl.) Spread a thick layer of ricotta onto the toast slices, and divide the asparagus spears evenly among the toasts. Finish with a pinch of mint, a sprinkle of pistachios, and a squeeze of lemon. Serve immediately.

Eggplant-Walnut PÃ¢tÃ© + Passover Ideas

rivka — Thu, 02 Apr 2015 15:18:43 +0000

D’s birthday falls on Passover this year, which means I can’t get away with thrice-a-day matza brei as our only sustenance. For the first time in a long time, I will be cooking a meal on Passover in actual, non-disposable pans, and serving food to actual friends on actual plates. This small feat makes me feel like an actual grown-up. What that says about me, or the holiday, or both, is a conversation for another day. For now, we need to talk about our menus.

Were my birthday on Passover – and seriously, I love food too much for that to be the case, soÂ phew for February birthdays – I’d probably want a big Greek salad, a plate full of avocado in different preparations, and a dessert made with no small quantity of egg yolks, cream, and chocolate. But this is D; not much of a dessert person, undying lover of meat. We’ll be having brisket.

Our brisket is from KOL Foods, a purveyor of sustainable, grass-fed beef thatÂ also is kosher. The brisket’s flavor is good enough — and, considering the astronomical cost, rare enough in our house — that I’m taking a minimalist’s approach to cooking it. Instead of my usual pomegranate molasses recipe, I’ve settled on the famed approach ofÂ Nach Waxman. It’s deceivingly simple: onions, tomato paste, and one carrot. But in my experience,Â no recipe celebrates the flavor of brisket more than his.

As for the rest of the meal, I’m planning to slow-roast a mess of red onions until they become sweet and soft. I’ll also make a carrot kugel, because kugel is D’s favorite, and it’s her day.

But the brisket can’t last forever (at least, not this brisket), and chocolate pudding/mousse/ice cream only gets us so far. Many of our other meals are likely to include a heaping scoop of thisÂ pÃ¢tÃ©. It’s pictured here with sourdough. Of course, it’s better on sourdough; everything’s better on sourdough. But if matzah is your cracker (it’s not bread, people), thisÂ pÃ¢tÃ© will make it taste like something, something delicious.

The method is simple: broil a mess of eggplant slices and a whole bulb of garlic. If you’ve got a food processor, you’ll puree those with a bunch of ground walnuts, some raisins and capers, and a hit of cinnamon. If you don’t, some patient knife work will yield a lovely caponata-style spread, which is less shmearable but, on the bright side, lets each component shine more independently.

Either way, on a holiday where hummus and peanut butter and bread (sob) are not on the menu, this does a lot to compensate.

Passover, previously:

These pina colada-flavored macaroons are good. Not in a relative sense – I’d eat them not on Passover.
Carrot kugel is an essential part of our Passover diet.
Good weeknight supper? These twice-baked sweet potatoes should fit the bill.
If you must make cookies, these chocolate ones are a great choice.
Plenty of other ideas here.

Passover, elsewhere:

Deb’s mushroomÂ pÃ¢tÃ© looks awesome.
Passover desserts need not contain matzah/coconut/almond flour. I’ll be making this flanÂ at some point.
This Persian-inspired frittataÂ looks like a fantastic addition to my Passover lunch-for-company menu.
For a show-stopper main dish at a vegetarianÂ meal, this gorgeous cauliflower is my choice.

However you celebrate, whatever you celebrate, have a wonderful weekend.

Sweet-Tart Roasted Eggplant and Walnut PÃ¢tÃ©
Serves 6-8 as an appetizer

2 large eggplants
4-5 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
1 whole head garlic, unpeeled
1/2 cup raisins
1 tablespoon honey
1 1/2 cups walnut pieces
2 tablespoons capers (optional)
2-3 tablespoons lemon juice
pinch cinnamon
chopped pistachios, for garnish

Set a rack about 4-6 inches away from the broiler in your oven and preheat the broiler. Trim eggplants and slice 1/2-inch thick. Drizzle 1 tablespoon olive oil onto an unlined baking sheet; sprinkle a pinch or two of salt over the oil. Place eggplant slices in a single layer on the sheet (if they donâ€t all fit, youâ€ll broil them in batches). Drizzle a bit more of the oil and sprinkle salt onto the tops of each slice. Broil for about 5 minutes, moving pan around under the broiler to ensure that slices brown evenly. Turn slices and broil another 4-5 minutes, until nicely browned. Transfer to a plate, layering slices on top of each other. Repeat with remaining slices. When all eggplant has been broiled and piled into the plate, cover the plate with plastic wrap and let sit for at least 15 minutes, and as long as overnight. Eggplant will steam and soften as it cools.

Place whole garlic bulb under broiler (on the same pan as the eggplant, if thereâ€s room) and broil for 10-12 minutes, until skin has blackened and garlic is soft. Tuck garlic bulb onto the plate with the eggplant and let it steam-cool as well.

Meanwhile, place raisins in a bowl with the honey and 2 tablespoons of water. Let them plump up while the eggplant and garlic cool.

Place walnuts into the bowl of a food processor fitted with the blade attachment, and grind until the texture resembles bread crumbs. Squeeze the contents of the broiled garlic bulb into the bowl, along with the eggplant, the raisins and their liquid, the capers (if using), the remaining tablespoon of olive oil, the cinnamon, and 2 tablespoons of the lemon juice. Pulse until eggplant has broken up, then blend until mostly smooth. Taste; add salt, pepper, and more lemon juice as needed.

Serve cold or at room temperature, with a drizzle of olive oil and maybe a few chopped pistachios on top.

Best Mushroom Pizza (or any white pie, really)

rivka — Wed, 25 Mar 2015 18:12:59 +0000

I’ve been on a bit of a library bender.Â Did you know you can borrow Kindle books from the library? Like, without leaving the house? I’m working my way through the GoldfinchÂ and My Brilliant Friend. Both highly recommended. And, in case two books isn’t enough to juggle, I’m also casually readingÂ a real-life paperback copy of The Debt to Pleasure, a novel full of foodstuff. It’s glorious. Here, from the instructions for a certain Russian pancake:

“When smokeÂ starts to rise out of the pan add the batter in assured dollops, bearing in mind that each little dollop is to become a blini when it grows up, and that the quantities here are sufficient for six. Turn them over when bubbles appear on top. Serve the pancakes with sour cream and caviar. Sour cream is completely straightforward and if you need any advice or guidance about it then, for you, I feel only pity.”

Further evidence of my many-books-at-a-time habit: I have three cookbooks checked out of the library, and as of last week, they were all piled on my nightstand. One is Jim Lahey’s My Pizza, which I may have owned at one point but no longer do. It’s almost due back at the library, so last weekend we had friends over and I put the cookbook to use at a pizza night. The momentous occasion here is not that I actually cooked from a book before returning it, though that gets honorable mention; what’s really noteworthy is that, after many failures, a couple semi-successes, and much handwringing, I finally mastered white pizza.

Tomato pie lovers, take note: I am on your team. D is, too — perhaps even more vehemently than I. We both are loyal to red pies. That’s partly because we love tomatoes, but partly it’s because white pies are often brittle, dry things with a heap of vegetables, but nothing to soften those vegetables and coax them into submission. More like flatbread than like pizza.

The answer, at least according to Jim Lahey? Embrace the genius of bechamel.

Bechamel is white pizza’s answer to tomato sauce. It bridges the gap between crust and topping. Also — dare I suggest it has an advantage over tomato? — it gets bubbly and browned in the oven, adding more meltiness than mozzarella alone can provide. Under the scalding heat of my oven at its max, last Sunday’s white pizzas became glorious, white-hot pillows cushioning piles of sliced mushrooms, garlic confit, and caramelized onions. Because the bechamel had less liquid than tomatoes, the underbelly of my white pies stayed impressively crisp.

The verdict was clear. Red pies still hold the special spot in our hearts, but bechamel-blanketed white pies now make the permanent roster, too.

If you’re not a mushroom fan (weirdo), we also really loved the cauliflower version: chopped cauliflower, bits of green olive (the kind with pimentos, so throwback), lots of garlic confit and caramelized onions, and maybe a chopped anchovy or two.

With that, back to Passover cleaning.

Best Mushroom Pizza
Adapted from Jim Lahey’s My Pizza
Makes 2 personal pizzas or 1 large (13 x 18 sheet pan) pizza

This is a pizza with several steps, but it more than rewardsÂ yourÂ patience. Â In truth, the process won’t take more than an afternoon; most of the prep work can be completed while the dough rises. We use a white flour dough for most pizzas around here, but these tomato-lessÂ pies respond particularly well to a whole wheat crust enriched with a bit of honey.

Dough:
250 grams (2 cups) all-purpose flour, plus more for shaping the dough
275 grams (1 3/4 cups) white whole wheat (or regular whole wheat) flour
1 gram (1/4 teaspoon) active dry yeast
16 grams (2 teaspoons) fine sea salt
350 grams (1 Â½ cups) water
30 grams (1.5 tablespoons) honey

Bechamel:
243 grams (1 cup) whole milk
57 grams (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
9 grams (1 heaping tablespoon) all-purpose flour
1 grams (1/8 teaspoon) fine sea salt
3 rasp grates of nutmeg or a pinch of ground nutmeg

Garlic confit:
8 cloves garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt

Caramelized onions:
1 onion, halved and sliced into rings
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 teaspoon salt

Toppings:
20 grams (6 tablespoons) grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
100Â grams fresh mozzarella, pulled into small clumps
300 grams (10.5 ounces) mixed sliced mushrooms (we used shiitake, cremini, and oyster)
1 recipe garlic confit
1 recipe caramelized onions
1 recipe bechamel

Make dough:Â Combine flours, salt, and yeast in a medium mixing bowl. Add water and honey, and stir with a fork to combine. (Everyone else uses a wooden spoon, but I don’t get it – everything sticks to wood.) Cover the bowl with plastic wrap or a kitchen towel, and set aside in a warm, draft-free spot for about 18 hours, until the dough has doubled in volume. This will take less time in a very warm spot and more time in a cold spot.

Lightly flour a work surface and turn dough onto floured surface. Divide in half, and shape each half into a ball, by lightly stretching the four sidesÂ of each piece out and back into the center of the ball, one by one, helping build surface tension in the dough. Then shape each piece into a ball, and turn seam-side down onto the work surface. If dough is sticky, dust each with a bit more flour.

Cover with a damp cloth and letÂ rest for at leastÂ an hour while you assemble the fillings, or wrap the balls individually in plastic and refrigerate for up to 3 days. If refrigerating, return to room temperature by leaving them out on the counter, covered in a damp cloth, for 2 to 3 hours before needed.

Make bechamel while dough rises: In a small saucepan, melt butter over medium heat until it foams. Add flour, and stir until flour and butter are fully combined but flour has not started to brown. Add milk in a slow stream, whisking to combine it with the roux. It will start to thicken slightly as it heats up; continue stirring to prevent clumps. When milk is the thickness of heavy cream, add salt and nutmeg, give a good stir, and remove from the heat. It will continue to thicken as it cools. By the time it’s fully cool and ready to go on pie, it will be almost shmearable.

Make garlic confit: In a small saucepan, combine garlic, olive oil, and salt over medium-low heat. Garlic should sizzle lightly; if it looks like it’s starting to brown too quickly, turn down the heat. Cook for 10-15 minutes, until cloves are soft and lightly golden. Set aside to cool.

Make caramelized onions: Peel onions, halve them from pole to pole, and slice into thin half-rings. Pile the onions into a large shallow skillet that has a lid. Turn the heat to medium and add the butter and salt. When the onions start making those wonderful sizzling noises, give the onions a good stir, reduce the heat to low, and cover the pan. After 20 minutes, check the onions. They should have sweated down considerably to the point where they are very soft and possibly turning tan. Cook the onions 5-10 more minutes uncovered, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking and ensure even cooking. Remove from heat and set aside.

Assemble and bake pizzas: If using a pizza stone, place in whatever part of your oven contains the heat: in my gas oven, the heat comes from the bottom so I put my stone in the bottom third of the oven. Preheat oven as high as it will go (for me, that’s 550 degrees F).

If using a stone, dust your peelÂ with semolina or flour. Take one ball of dough, and gently stretch it, slowly and deliberately, until it is 9-11 inches across. Set the disk onto your peel; working quickly, spoon the bÃ©chamel over the surface and spread it evenly, leaving about an inch of the rim untouched. Sprinkle the surface with Parmigiano. Distribute mozzarella clumps, mushroom slices, bits of the garlic confit, and caramelized onions over the surface. Sprinkle a bit more Parmigiano on top.

Use a quick, jerking motion to transfer the dough from peel to stone. Bake 6-8 minutes, until pizza is bubbling and golden brown. Use peel or a very large flat spatula to remove pizza from oven. Slice and serve immediately.

If using a metal sheet pan, drizzle sheet pan with olive oil, transfer the dough onto the pan, and slowly and deliberately spread the dough until it mostly fills the sheet pan. This may take time; if the dough tenses up, let it rest for 10 minutes or so and it will relax and be ready for spreading. Once dough mostly fills the pan, distribute ingredients as described above.

Bake pan pizza for 7-10 minutes, until brown and bubbly. Remove, slice into squares, and serve immediately.

Chocolate Walnut Marmalade Tart

rivka — Fri, 13 Mar 2015 19:40:26 +0000

Guys, tomorrow is Pi Day. Not just any Pi Day, but the Most Exciting Pi Day Ever: 3.14.15. If you eat this pie at 9:26:54 in the evening (or hey, the morning – pie for breakfast!), you are an absolute nerd and I love you for eternity.

If you don’t make this in honor of Pi Day, you should make it because it’s amazing. As I hinted in an Instagram post a couple weeks back, I think this is the best tart I’ve ever made. The picture at the top of the post is a glamour shot of the single sliver that remained we gorged ourselves on it all weekend.

“But it’s a tart, not a pie!” True, true. The first time, I made it in a tart pan, and it was glorious. But I knew I wanted to post it for Pi Day, so to please all you literalists, I made it in a pie dish this time around. The filling didn’t cook as evenly (you can see that in the photo below), but it’s still a winner.

Chocolate, ground walnuts, thick dark honey, and lots of marmalade – this tart is no shrinking violet. But as good as the flavor is, it’s texture that really distinguishes it: like custard, maybe slightly more set, it’s smooth and silky, and has just enough chew that I guarantee, you won’t be able to stop at one piece. Sorry, not sorry.

Chocolate Walnut Marmalade Tart
Adapted from Nigel Slater’s Ripe

I made this in tart pans and pie pans. I like the version in a tart pan better, but both work.

Crust:

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
9 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cubed
1 egg

Filling:

10.5 tablespoons (150 grams) unsaltedÂ butter
5 ounces (140 grams) bittersweet chocolate, chopped
2/3 cup (215 grams) orange marmalade
1/4 cup (85 grams)Â honey, preferably dark
1/4 cup (60 grams) sugar
1/4 cup (80 ml) heavy cream
1 cup (100 grams) walnuts, ground
1 egg

Make the crust: In the bowl of a food processor, pulse flour, powdered sugar, and butter until the butter is in pea-sized pieces. Add egg, and pulse several times, until the mixture starts to form small clumps, then larger clumps, and the flour disappears. Dump the mixture onto a piece of plastic wrap, bring together into a single mass, wrap up the dough, and shape into a disk. Refrigerate 1 hour.

Make the filling: Melt butter and chocolate together in the microwave or over medium-low heat, stirring at regular intervals, until completely smooth. Add marmalade, honey, sugar, and cream; stir to combine. Add egg and mix until fully incorporated. Add walnuts and mix until evenly distributed.

ShapeÂ crust:Â Roll the dough out into a 12-inch circle. Fold dough gently in quarters without creasing and transfer to a 9-inch tart pan. UnfoldÂ the quartered dough, setting it gently into the pan, and press gently into the bottom and sides of the pan, trying to keep things as even as possible.Â Â

Blind-bake crust:Â Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line the crust with a layer of tin foil, and fill with pie weights or uncooked beans (I have a set I keep specifically for this purpose, since you can’t cookÂ the beans after using them as pie weights.) Bake for 20 minutes. Carefully remove foil and weights/ beans, set on a rack or tray, and let cool completely before filling.

Fill and bake crust: Fill crust with enough filling so to leave about a 1/2-inch worth of empty space in the tart shell. (If you have bothÂ extra tart dough and extra filling, you can bake off a few tartlettes.) Bake for 30-35Â minutes, rotating half way through baking if your oven heats unevenly. The tart is done when it is only slightly wobbly right in the center of the tart; lots of ripply wobbles probably mean it needs more time.

Serve: Let the tart cool completely (about 1 hour) before serving. Serve with spoonfuls of whipped cream or creme fraiche.

ExtraÂ keeps for about a week tightly wrapped, but c’mon – you won’t have extra.

Lentils and Rice with Tamarind Sauce and Dukkah

rivka — Mon, 09 Mar 2015 14:02:21 +0000

As someone who rarely eats meat and almost never makes it to the fishmonger, I’m always on the lookout for vegetarian main dishes that don’t just feel large side dishes. Mujadarra is one of my favorites: basmati rice, Puy lentils, and lots of spiced yogurt for serving and scooping.

This here is another rice+lentils creation, the idea for which came from a couple of Food52 recipes. The first is a pistachio dukkah, which I’ve had my eye on for a while; do you know all about dukkah already? It’s pretty new to me, and altogether delightful: a combination of nuts, seeds, and spices that’s technically a condiment but very easily slips into savory granola territory. The Food52 folks warned me that I might shovel this stuff straight into my mouth, and that’s pretty much what happened. Fortunately, I made a double batch.

The other recipe was for lentils and rice with tamarind sauce, which rather ingeniously called for tempering nigella seeds before mixing them with tamarind paste. Nigella seeds are a favorite discovery from my time living in Jerusalem: their flavor is subtle, a bit like caraway but less severe and more mysterious. I don’t use them nearly enough.

Combined, these two recipes became a pretty magical vegetarian main: a pile of rice and lentils drizzled with tamarind sauce, sprinkled with crunchy dukkah, and served with a scoop of yogurt. It’d be great alongside curried tofu or salmon with Indian spices, but it’s substantial and interesting enough to stand on its own.

In other news, our kitchen is finally finished; I can’t wait to share pictures now that it’s ready for its glamour shot. Stay tuned.

And looking through photos for this post, I realized that I managed to make a rather astonishing amount of food while the kitchen project was underway. I owe you homemade chilaquiles (with homemade tortilla chips that are easy, really!), a walnut cake, and the best chocolate tart I’ve ever made, scouts’ honor. Let’s get to it.

Lentils and Rice with Dukkah and Tamarind Sauce
Adapted from a couple recipes on Food52
Serves 4 as a main, 6 as a side

For the rice and lentils:
1 1/2 cups (scant 10 oz.) brown rice
1 cup (7 oz.) green lentils

For the sauce:
2 tablespoons coconut oil (or substitute vegetable oil or ghee)
1 tablespoon nigella seeds
1/4 cup tamarind puree
3Â teaspoons brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the dukkah:
3 tablespoons coriander seeds
1 tablespoon cumin seeds
1/2 cup shelled pistachio nuts
1/4 cup sesame seeds
3 tablespoons unsweetened shredded coconut
1 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

For serving:
Yogurt
Chopped cilantro, fennel fronds, minced chives, or another green herb

Make rice and lentils: Fill a large pot with water, add a big pinch of salt, and bring to a boil over high heat. Add rice, and cook for 35-40 minutes, until rice is cooked through but retains its bite. 10 minutes into the cooking time, add lentils; the two should be done at about the same time. Drain and set aside.

Make the dukkah: Toast coriander and cumin seeds in a small skillet over medium heat until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Allow spices to cool completely before transferring to a spice grinder or mortar and pestle and grinding. Transfer ground spices to a mixing bowl.

Meanwhile, roast nuts in the same small skillet until golden, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board and finely chop. Transfer to mixing bowl. Add sesame seeds to the skillet and toast until golden brown, about 2 minutes, then transfer to mixing bowl. Finally, toast coconut in the skillet, stirring constantly until golden, about 2 minutes. Add to mixing bowl. Add salt and pepper, and adjust spices/s&p as needed.

Make sauce: In the same skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add nigella seeds and cook for about 1 minute; they might sputter a bit, so be careful. Remove from heat. Add tamarind puree and brown sugar (again, might sputter), stirring to combine. Add salt and combine. Taste and adjust salt/sugar as needed.

To serve: Scoop a portion of rice and lentils onto a plate. Drizzle with a spoonful of tamarind sauce, sprinkle with dukkah, and top with a dollop of yogurt and a pinch of herbs.

Better Hamentaschen

rivka — Tue, 03 Mar 2015 14:31:07 +0000

Since we’ve already established that I’m entering the era of last-minute, hastily prepared dinners, it should follow logically that down-to-the-wire blog posts may happen as well. In this case, it occurred to me perhaps a bit too close to Purim that I should share an update to my hamentaschen recipe. At least one of the changes came about due to desperation — of the “ice storm, not enough butter in the house” variety — but this year’s cookies are the best in recent memory, so even if you’ve got loads of butter in the house (and lucky you if you do!), you might want to make them.

First change: swap out half the butter for an equal amount (by weight) of cream cheese. I’m pretty sure I’ve done this before, but it’s a winning substitution, as it makes the dough ever so slightly tangy and quite a bit more pliable.

Second change: no more splayed-open specimen. I think I’ve finally mastered getting my ‘taschen to stay closed. Two tricks: First, have a little bowl of water handy while shaping the hamentaschen. Dip your finger in the water, and make several circles around the perimeter of each dough circle before filling them (it’s easier that way), so that the dough gets moist and a bit sticky. Second, instead of folding the three sides upward, fold them over each other, like flaps. I made 60 ‘taschen this year, and only 2 flaps opened. Not bad.

Other no-big-deal changes I made: I used a food processor instead of a stand mixer, and it worked great. I also reduced the oven temp to 350, because some of my fillings were pretty high in sugar content and I didn’t want them to harden in the oven. 350 worked as well as 375 – this dough is flexible.

Fillings? This year I went with a theme, called use up the four jars of jam that don’t currently have a space in my pantry. Cherry-vanilla, peach-apricot, chocolate-raspberry. All highly delicious. Nice people that we are, we’ve only eaten ~~a couple~~ six.

Happy Purim, friends.

One year ago: Eggplant Pea Curry and Yellow Lentils with Tamarind
Two years ago:Â Nutmeg Muffins and Perfect Porridge
Three years ago:Â Beets with Pistachio SauceÂ and Moroccan Apricot Chicken
Four years ago:Â Best Almond CakeÂ and Triple Ginger Biscuits
Five years ago:Â Caesar SaladÂ and Chocolate Babka
Six years ago:Â Rice Paper RollsÂ and Coffee Walnut Cookies
Seven years ago:Â Raisin Pecan BreadÂ and Leek and Onion Tart

Better Hamentaschen
Makes 75 cookies

5 1/2 tablespoons (2 3/4 oz.) butter
5 tablespoons (2 1/2 oz.) cream cheese
1/2 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
zest of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 cups flour, plus another 1/2 cup for rolling out the dough

Make the dough: In the bowl of a food processor, mix butter, cream cheese, and sugar until blended. Add the egg and lemon zest, and mix until combined. Scrape down the bowl.

Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture, and pulse several times, scraping down the bowl if necessary, until dough starts to come together. This is a fast enough dough that you need not worry about creating gluten. Just pulse until the dough forms large clumps; the sound of the processor will change just as dough starts to come together.

Gather the dough into plastic wrap or a plastic bag, compress into a solid disk, and refrigerate 30-45 minutes (much longer, and itâ€ll be tough to work with).

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper or silpat.

Sprinkle a work surface liberally with flour, and roll out the dough to 1/8-inch thick. Use a 2.5-inch cutter to cut disks of dough, and immediately plop the disks onto the lined baking sheet. When the work surface is floured, the disks will pop right out when you pull up the cutter. If not, donâ€t worry â€“ just use a bench scraper or metal spatula to lift the disks and put them onto the baking sheet. Donâ€t worry about spacing the disks evenly; these hamentaschen donâ€t need much breathing room, and folded hamentaschen take up much less space than the disks.

This dough has very little liquid, so it lends itself well to re-rolling scraps. I generally work with half the dough at a time, and refrigerate the bunched scraps from one round while I bake the next batch. My oven only fits one of my cookie sheets at a time, but if yours fits multiple, feel free to shape and bake these in fewer batches than I did.

Once youâ€ve got a baking sheet full of disks, prepare your workstation: bring over your filling and two small spoons, and fill a small bowl with water.

Put a scant teaspoon of filling into the center of each disk. Use your finger to brush water along the edge of each disk, then fold three “sides” of the circle over each other as flaps (see above photo).

Bake cookies for 12-15 minutes, until tops are slightly golden. Remove from the oven and let cool for 10 minutes before transferring. Meanwhile, fill your second sheet with cookies. By the time round 2 is ready to bake, round 1 will be cool enough to transfer, and that baking sheet will be free for batch 3.

Hamentaschen will keep in an airtight container for at least a week, probably more. They also freeze very well.

Big Kale Salad with Pomegranate and Feta

rivka — Mon, 02 Mar 2015 16:41:17 +0000

A few days ago, I sat on our couch in stretchy leggings, nursing a mug of my favorite chai and watching Adi figure out what hands are. She brought themÂ really close to her face and justÂ stared, turning them slowly, trying to figure out whether they were attached to something, or someone, and what they might be there for. Â And I realized, as I watched her patiently, painstakingly, unrelentingly trying to figure out her limbs, that this first chapter of parenthood might already be behind me.

I’ve got so many photos and videos of Adi cooing and laughing and doingÂ sweet, adorable, hilarious things that my icloud won’t sync. Among those photos are a few hastily snapped shots of the salads we’ve been eating for dinner, and the (very simple) stews I’ve been making on the weekends to feed us at work.Â My real camera is lurking neglected in some corner of our house, patiently waiting for our kitchen to be not 90% done, not 97% done, but actually, 100% done. (Did I mention we’re redoing our kitchen? This seemed like the ideal time, because, you know, we don’t have much else going on. We’re waiting for it to be done, too, but not so patiently.)

Since the above pics were taken, we got a fresh coat of paint, cabinet hardware, and a few more finishing details in place. I tell myself that once the granite is installed and the moving boxes are gone, I’ll start blogging in earnest again, with the same frequency as before Adi was here. But that’s probably not realistic. Life is busier now. There’s less time, which means fewer fussy recipes, and fewer pictures. The whole enterprise of eating feels different these days; I’m proud if I manage to bake off a loaf of (no-knead) bread in time for Sunday breakfast. When dinner isn’tÂ one of my increasingly-becoming-my-specialtyÂ salads, it’s a bag of soup or beans from the freezer. As I slowly but surely draw down my stash of frozen meals, I wonder when I’ll have a chance to replenish it.

So what does this mean? If I had to guess,Â I’d bet on more posts aboutÂ fast lunches and dinners, and fewer tales of day-long projects. Hopefully that’s good news; everyone is busy, and everyone could use some inspiration when it comes to good, healthy, non-fussy meal options.

So here’s one to start: plenty of kale, pounded soft. Diced cucumbers. A can of chickpeas. Feta cheese, pomegranate seeds, fresh croutons. That, and aÂ coupleÂ clementines, was our dinner last Monday. And even though the weather outside was a biting, blustery, rather unbearable 5 degrees, we managed to eat salad for dinner – and feel full and satisfied and not sad that we didn’t eat soup. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I start the croutons on the stove, then transfer them to the oven so they don’t char too much. I tear up the kale and dice the cucumbers while the croutons toast, so everything is ready at about the same time. As for the pomegranates, I tend to prep two at once, then stow the seeds in a container in the fridge for a la minute use. You can also buy the seeds ready to go at TJs and other grocery stores.

If you don’t have pomegranate seeds in the house, don’t despair. One night last week, I added in some grapefruit segments. Chickpeas became cooked cannellini beans from the freezer, and I added some slivered radish for crunch. The template is aÂ big pile of kale, a simple vinaigrette, and enough croutons that dinner doesn’t feel overly virtuous. Everything else is customizable. It’s a winner, even in winter, and a staple once the chill starts to thaw.

Big Kale Salad with Pomegranates and Feta
Serves 2

1 big bunch Tuscan kale, leaves removed from ribs and torn into large pieces
2 thick slices of bread, cubed or torn into bite-sized pieces
1/4 cup olive oil, divided
2 Persian (small, crunchy) cucumbers, diced
Seeds from half a pomegranate
Slice of a red onion, diced
8 oz. chickpeas (half a can), rinsed
salt and pepper
1/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled
juice of 1/2 a lemon
1 tablespoon champagne or white wine vinegar

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Put the kale in a large mixing bowl and massage the leavesÂ lightly with your hands, to break up the fibrous texture and soften them.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a frying pan (I like cast iron) over medium heat. Add bread cubes and a light sprinkle of salt, and cook 2-3 minutes, until crisped on the bottom side. Turn croutons, then transfer to the oven for 8-10 minutes while you assemble the rest of the salad.

In a small bowl, combine remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil, lemon juice, and vinegar. Add a large pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper; whisk to combine.

Add remaining salad ingredients to the bowl with the kale. Drizzle dressing over salad, and toss to combine. Remove the croutons from the oven (careful – they’re hot!) and add them to the salad. TossÂ to combine, and serve.

Punchy Crunchy Ginger Salad

rivka — Mon, 09 Feb 2015 16:09:47 +0000

So here’s something that just occurred to me: It’s ironic — cruelly ironic — that the season of resolutions (and trying to keep them) coincides with the season of trying not to freeze here on the east coast. The food pages hawk salads and smoothies; bluster and chill begs for stew and hot cocoa. Perhaps we should mark the new year in May, or just move to California. Or Australia. Alas, I don’t have much pull with the folks who set the calendar – and I may have even less sway when it comes to convincing my wonderful wife that the west coast would suit us well. DC friends, rejoice: we’re not leaving.

Instead, we’re hunkering down under fleece blankets and finding one too many excuses to make hot cocoa. But even the frigid depths of January and February require occasional salads. We can’t subsist entirely on soup (though rest assured,Â I have tried). Here’s what I have to say about those winterÂ salads: theyÂ don’t always want leaves. They certainly don’t want to be nibbled, or speared politely with a small fork. These are hungry days; we want to shovel our salads with a spoon, in big heaps, and let them fill our bellies.

And I think I speak for all of us when I say that January salads need not be so salad-y. Â I’ll take my winter greens with crunchy croutons, fried shallots, crispy eggs, and maybe even someÂ steak. In this case, I went for a handful of the un-salad additions, and lo, I did not regret that decision. There were plenty of fried aromatics (shallots, garlic; even lemongrass one time); crunchy non-vegetable things (peanuts, pickled ginger); and a zippy little dressing of fish sauce, lime juice, and palm sugar that I can’t get enough of these days. There were also out-of-season tomatoes, which really were not worth adding. Resist the urge.

Tomatoes or not, this salad isÂ punchy and crunchy. It’s partially a riff onÂ NaomiÂ Duguid’s recipe from her wonderful book,Â Burma, The elements of her recipe – pickled ginger, crunchy vegetables, a zinger of a dressing – are all here. I added cabbage and daikon because I wanted a more substantial, slaw-like salad. But when you set out to make it, know that only the ginger and the dressing are mandatory; everything else is optional, and you can build the salad however you’d like, or however the contents of your fridge allow.

And just now, I realized that despite nay-saying the new years resolution crowd, I’ve posted not one but two salads over the past few weeks. Apologies! I think it’s time I dunk my head in a big vat of chocolate pudding and set things straight.

Punchy Crunchy GingerÂ Salad
Inspired byÂ recipes inÂ ChowÂ and Naomi Duguid’sÂ Burma
Serves 2-3

I triedÂ severalÂ methodsÂ of pickling my own ginger for this salad, hence the various types of ginger you see in the photos above. If you’ve got the time and the drive, definitely do it, using either of the recipes I linked here. The first is sweeter, the second more savory; the results from both are really worthwhile. If you do pickle your own ginger, a 6-8-inch knob produces about 1 cup fresh, or 3/4 cup pickled ginger. It’s worth making more than you need, as the leftovers are great in all sorts of things. But salads shouldn’t be complicated, and I’m happy to report that jarred pickled ginger — widely available — works just as well here.

As for everything else, this recipe is extremely flexible. Aim for 5-6 cups leaves and vegetables; 3/4 cup of nuts and seeds; and about 1/2 cup crisped alliums. What you use is entirely up to you.

One other note: to make this salad, you crisp shallots and garlic in some oil, and then use that oil in the dressing. 1/4 cup of frying oil should leave you with about 2 tablespoons left for the dressing, but if not, feel free to supplement with more of whatever oil you used.

For the salad:

1/4 cup canola or vegetable oil
4 shallots, peeled and thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1/3 cup pickled ginger, sliced into thin strips
10 oz (about 5 heaping cups) radicchio, cabbage, or a mix, shredded
1/2 cup shredded daikon (optional)
1/2 cup grape or plum tomatoes, halved or quartered depending on size (optional)
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons roasted salted peanuts
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons roasted salted pumpkin seeds
1/4 cup sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan over medium heat until fragrant

For the dressing:

2 tablespoonsÂ palm sugar or brown sugar
2 tablespoons oil from fried shallots/garlic (supplemented if necessary)
2 teaspoons fish sauce or soy sauce, more to taste
6 tablespoons lime juice (fromÂ 2-3 limes)
1 thai chile, sliced (seeded if less spice desired)

Fry the shallots and garlic: Line a small plate with paper towel and set next to your stove. Heat oil in a small pan over medium heat until it shimmers. Add shallots in a single layer (do this in batches if necessary), reduce heat to medium-low, and cook for 5-7 minutes, turning once or twice,Â until shallots are uniformly golden brown. Strain well, and transfer to towel-lined plate. Repeat with remaining shallots, if cooking in batches. If oil looks low, add an extra tablespoon or two.

Add sliced garlic to pan, and cook for 2-4 minutes, until golden brown. Strain and transfer to plate. Reserve oil for dressing.

Make the dressing: Combine all ingredients in a jar, seal, and shake thoroughly, until sugar is dissolved and ingredients are emulsified. Dunk a finger in the dressing and taste it; add more fish/soy sauce, lime juice, or sugar to taste.

Combine all salad ingredients in a large bowl, and pour most of dressing over top. Mix well, then taste, and add remaining dressing if necessary. Serve within 30 minutes of dressing the salad – the fried alliums don’t stay crisp for too long.

Dates Stuffed with Chevre, Pistachio, and Chive

rivka — Thu, 22 Jan 2015 15:37:27 +0000

Having been out of cooking commission for most of fall, I missed the season of fancy party snacks and holiday breakfasts. I spent December gazing at a certain very delicious little face, foregoing the mistletoe and the cocktail parties. Now it’s January, and the cinnamon rolls and champagne flutes are fading in the rear view mirror on your way to the gym. 2015, you came quickly.

But I’ve been making up for lost time, now that the babe and I have hit our stride. We’ve had scones and omelettes for brunch, wintry mixed drinks at happy hour, and plenty of snacks. I’ll spare you the over-the-top breakfasts and the bourbony indulgence — for now — but the snacks I’ve been making these past couple weeks are too good not to share. Think of it as some belated holiday cheer.

These dates snapped back into my repertoire after I received a version of them from a friend, shortly after Adi was born. Jana, an excellent cook (and now a maker of very fancy cakes), slipped some chevre into pitted dates, and topped each date with a slice of pistachio and a pinch of minced chives. I ate one, then shamelessly ateÂ all the others before D could get any. And then, the very next day, I added a TJ’s run to our itinerary to pick up dates and chives and chevre and do the whole thing again.

In my scrambled-up version, the chives and chopped pistachios are folded into the chevre, so I could assemble the dates whenever hunger struck. Lazy me snacks straight from the fridge, but if I’m serving them to other people, I bring the dates to room temperature before serving. When I’m feeling fancy, I heat them in a low oven. The heat softens the dates andÂ caramelizes their edges, and of course, no one ever said no to hot, melty cheese.

Maybe you’re the lucky type to be hosting or joining a January dinner party, in which case, go you. Bring these along. If not, there’s not an ounce of shame in eating themÂ for dinner.

Dates Stuffed with Chevre, Pistachios, and Chives
Makes about 20

1 lb. medjool dates (20-22 dates)
5 oz. chevre or other fresh goat cheese
1 1/2 tablespoons minced chives
3 tablespoons shelled salted pistachios, coarsely chopped
flaky salt andÂ crackedÂ pepper

Use a small paring knife to make a lengthwise slit in each date. Remove pits, and splay dates open.

In a small bowl, combine chevre, chives, and 2 tablespoons of pistachios. Use a fork to mash the cheese, softening it while combining it with the chives and pistachios.

Fill each date with a heaping teaspoon of filling. Sprinkle remaining pistachios over dates, and finish with a sprinkle of salt and a bit of cracked pepper.

Apple-Manchego Salad with Roasted Garlic Dressing

rivka — Wed, 07 Jan 2015 15:22:27 +0000

Since Adi was born, we’ve been the extremely lucky beneficiaries of meals that our friends have prepared and delivered to us a few times each week. While I’ve managed to cook and bake a few things, the opportunities tend to come in very short spurts: 30 minutes of down time in the morning means I can put up a bread dough or simmer some lentils, and if I’m lucky, I get an hour of quiet in the afternoons to bake off that bread or season those lentils. Lunch time isn’t downtime, though, so I often find myself reaching for a few apple slices and a hunk of cheese from the fridge, just enough to tide me over. I’ve got a bag of mixed nuts and raisins that I keep on the side table where I nurse, and I’d say I polish off that bag and call it lunch more often than not.

There was a time when apples and cheese weren’t just snacks to grab on the go. We’re part of a wine club, which meets once a month for wine tasting and a dinner, cooked by the host, to match the wine. Before the babe was born, my brother- and sister-in-law Adam and Julie hosted an evening of Rioja tasting, and Julie made an absolutely bang-up meal to go with the wine, riffed on tapas she’d eaten at restaurants around town. Pretty much everything on the table was a standout, but one recipe in particular has become a staple in our house ever since: a simple, addictive apple salad with shavings of manchego cheese, buttery marcona almonds, and roasted garlic dressing.

It feels like cheating to even call this a salad, especially in a week where everyone’s resolving to eat more kale. There isn’t a leaf in sight: apples are the star of the show. On a couple occasions, I’ve sliced a small wedge of fennel bulb into the salad, but honestly, it’s best when the apples do the job alone.

The dressing is a big part of the genius behind this recipe: you poach garlic in olive oil until soft, then blend the oil and garlic into a smooth emulsion that serves as the base for the dressing. I find that this works best when done in larger quantities, since the olive oil and garlic can fill the bottom of the pan. Conveniently, I eat this salad frequently enough that it serves me well to have a jar of garlic oil dressing ready to go in the fridge. If you’re so inclined, double or triple the dressing recipe so that if, as I can pretty much guarantee, you love this salad, you can make it again in a jiffy.

One last recommendation: If you’re eating it alone (as I so often do), get yourself a nice, hefty bowl. Salads are so much happier when the key players have room to mingle. Don’t suffocate the poor thing with a tiny dish.

And eat this salad with people you really like. Those seven cloves of garlic aren’t kidding.

Apple-Manchego Salad with Roasted Garlic Dressing
Lightly adapted from aÂ recipe in Mercury News

Notes: As I mentioned above, I often double the dressing and keep the extra in the fridge. It goes well on pretty much any salad; it’s also lovely drizzled over warm goat cheese or as a marinade for chicken.

Marcona almonds are a Spanish almond that’s sold blanched and roasted. TheirÂ rich, buttery flavor is totally different from the almonds we’re used to eating, so you should go to the trouble of procuring them for the salad. (The good news is they’re available at Trader Joe’s.) If you can’t find them, roast almonds in a bit of olive oil and salt until golden and fragrant.

For the dressing:
7 medium garlic cloves, peeled
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar (or substitute apple cider vinegar)
1 tablespoon chopped shallots
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

For the salad:
6 large Granny Smith apples
Juice from 1 lemon
3 tablespoons chopped chives
3 ounces manchego cheese, shaved with a vegetable peeler, divided
1 1/4 cups marcona almonds

Make the dressing: In a small saucepan, combine garlic cloves and olive oil over medium heat. Cook until garlic has softened and started to turn golden around the edges, about 5 minutes. The smaller the pan, the better – you want the garlic nearly submerged in the oil. Sometimes I set the pan onto the burner tilted, so the garlic and oil gather in one corner and the garlic is fully submerged. Either way, make sure not to burn the garlic; reduce the heat if garlic sizzles a lot or seems to be cooking too quickly.

Blend garlic and oil in small processor or using immersion blender, until smooth. Add vinegar, shallots, salt, and pepper; stir to combine.

Make the salad:Â Using a knife or a mandoline with a matchstickÂ attachment, julienne the apples into matchsticks about 1/3-inch thick, or simply slice apples thinly. Combine apple slices with the juice of one lemon, which prevents the apples from browning.

If serving family style, combine all salad ingredients in a large bowl, reserving a pinch of chives and a small handful of almonds. Dress the salad, starting with just enough dressing to coat, and adding to taste. Toss; top with remaining chives and almonds.

If plating, combine everything but the almonds in a bowl, dress as above, and plate before sprinkling almonds over each portion.

Curried Carrot Apple Soup

rivka — Thu, 18 Dec 2014 17:44:06 +0000

In the weeks leading up to Adi’s birth, I started baking and cooking food intended entirely for the freezer. If I’m being honest (and inviting you all to take some jabs at my sensibilities), some of what I stowed away was a bit…frouffy: butternut sage scones and carrot bran muffins, for the absurd but oh-so-likely future occasion that I need to throw a brunch together at the last minute; embarrassingly large quantities of cookies (NYT chocolate chip and chocolate gingerbread and snickerdoodles, I know you’re curious) because nursing is really hard, and after a long day of rather painfully feeding my babe, I need to feed myself and you know what? These days, that involves a cookie.

Not that cookies aren’t a practical choice, but I can assure you thatÂ in plotting what would occupy my precious freezer real estate, I did consider courses other than dessert. I’ve frozenÂ small bags of chicken stock to have on hand for easy rice or vegetable dishes, and I even froze some of Lisa Fain’sÂ fantasticÂ seven-chile chili. whichÂ I make precisely once a year. But most of what I froze in the non-brunch, non-dessert department consisted of soup. And since we’ve now had the chance to defrost a couple of containers for no-thinking-required dinner, I can tell you that this curried carrot-apple number has proven a clear favorite.

The recipe comes from Food and Wine, Â which I once made time to read. (These days, I barely get through a Saveur before the next one arrives.) I love this soup: its pungency and spice are tempered by plenty of sweetness from carrots, apples, and a brilliant secret ingredient: gingersnaps. While the recipe calls for chicken stock, I used water and was quite happy with the results. I also shortened the ingredient list, because vegetable soup mustn’t call for one of every single winter vegetable. Skipped fennel, added more leek. Skipped fussy garnish in favor of a simple spoonful of yogurt. Wasn’t sad.

The soup went into the freezer perfectly smooth.Â It separated a bit whileÂ defrosting,Â but that resolved itself once I heated up a bowlful.

These days, the mornings fly by, and then I realize that suddenly it’s 1:30 and I haven’t thought about lunch. This soup’s been a lifesaver. The fact that it’s delicious? Well, that’s icing on the cake.

One year ago: Gingerbread Oat Waffles and Maple Cardamom Marshmallows
Two years ago: Cocoa Rye Raisin BreadÂ and White Hot Chocolate with Warm Spices
Three years ago: Leek Latkes and the best, easiest tomato soup ever
FourÂ years ago: Kohlrabi and Apple SlawÂ and Pasta with Eggplant Sauce
FiveÂ years ago: Hazelnut ShortbreadÂ and Brown Butter Cauliflower
SixÂ years ago: Apricot-Stuffed French ToastÂ and Great Homemade Granola
Seven years ago: Chocolate Pretzel CookiesÂ and oh, look! another Carrot Soup

Curried Carrot-Apple Soup
Adapted from Food and Wine

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
2-4 medium leeks, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced crosswise
Salt and pepper
2 pounds carrots, coined
1 1/4 pounds celery root, peeled and chopped
1 Granny Smith apple, peeled, cored and chopped
7 small, crunchy gingersnap cookies (about 1 cup), plus extra crumbled for garnish, optional
1 tablespoon curry powder
2 garlic cloves, crushed
1 teaspoon finely grated peeled fresh ginger
leaves from 2 thyme sprigs or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
2 quarts stock or water
1 cup sour cream or yogurt, plus more for serving
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
fresh nutmeg, for serving, optional

Melt the butter in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onion, leek, and generous pinches of salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and just starting to brown, about 10 minutes. Add the carrots, celery root, apple, gingersnaps, curry powder, garlic, ginger and thyme and cook, stirring, until the carrots and celery root soften slightly, about 10 minutes. Add the stock or water and bring to a boil, then simmer over moderate heat until the vegetables are very tender, 25 minutes.

Working in batches, puree the soup in a blender (regular blender is best, but immersion blender will also work) with the sour cream/yogurt and vinegar until smooth. Taste, and season with salt and pepper as needed. Serve with a dollop of yogurt and an optional (but very lovely) dusting of freshly grated nutmeg or some crumbled gingersnaps.

Thanksgiving.

rivka — Mon, 15 Dec 2014 17:10:48 +0000

In a cliche to end all cliches, thanksgiving came early for us this year.

Our little Adi was born Saturday before the holiday. She came into the world with a super-alert gaze, a chill, lovely disposition, and a full head of hair. Needless to say, we’re over the moon.

We’ve spent the past few weeks offline, adjusting to the rhythms of parenthood. I keep thinking back to the Friday night dinner we hosted back in early November, where I made Peking duck, and that last apple pie I made the week before I went into labor. Both feel like they happened eons ago. Now there’s a tiny human in our house, and we’re responsible for her. It’s all quite surreal.

To our great fortune, my brother- and sister-in-law also ensured that we had Thanksgiving of the more traditional variety. There was turkey, stuffing, kale, green beans, brussels sprouts, sweet potato casserole, gravygravygravy, cranberry sauce, and more pies and cakes than I had time to inventory. Loving, eager hands held and passed Adi all night; she cooperated perfectly. And when we had to leave rather abruptly, our wonderful family sent us home with a huge bag of leftovers to sustain us through the weekend. I even managed to secure a piece of gingerbread chocolate cake for the road.

Friends, I have so many recipes to share with you. If you’ll be patient, I’ll try to work through them over the next few weeks. The days (and nights!) are rather unpredictable, but they’re growing less so. And to my great surprise, my desire to cook hasn’t really faded since I gave birth. Time is in shorter supply and comes in small spurts, but I’ve managed to squeeze in a bit of cooking and baking between feeds and burps and whatnot. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, happiest of holidays to all of you. Enjoy this lovely time of family and friends. See you back here in a bit with a recipe or two. xo.

Any-Chile Hot Sauce + Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry

rivka — Fri, 14 Nov 2014 14:39:31 +0000

These past few weeks can be summed up as an epic attempt to fill our freezer with as much ready-to-eat food as possible. I’ve frozen unbaked scones in little zip-top bags. I’ve filled about ten containers with Persian beef-rice stew and carrot-ginger soup and plenty of chicken stock. I’ve even baked and frozen whole loaf cakes, to defrost for unexpected company. A couple hours this morning and a long day in a low ovenÂ produced a batch of Lisa Fain’s chili, which isÂ officially in the freezer. Â Still on the cooking wishlist: This lovely eggplant tagineÂ from Blue Apron, which my friend Rachel raved about and for which I have procured all the ingredients. (Stay in, baby, just a little bit longer!). Previously on the wishlist: cookie dough (rolledÂ into balls and frozen unbaked, you know, for emergencies). It was a nice-to-have, but then I woke up at 5 and couldn’t fall back asleep and, well, the cookie dough happened. Thanks, kiddo.

But the whole cook-to-fill-the-freezer thing isn’t new. In truth, my attempts to fill our pantry began back in late summer, when I got to sneak a peek at the galleys of my dear friend Cathy’s book.

Do you know Cathy? She is Mrs. Wheelbarrow, canner, cheesemaker, charcuterie queen, and general goddess of the larder. She was one of the earliest contributors to my beloved Food52, and has penned some of my favorite recipes on the site. She teaches cooking classes out of her home, where I’ve learned to make canned tomatoes, salsa, and all sorts of other canned goodies, as well as goat cheese, feta, and even Camembert. She’s also a hostess extraordinaire, and I’ve been lucky enough to attend many wonderful parties courtesy of her and her husband, Dennis.

Now, after years of blogging, posting on Food52, and writing for Washington Post, New York Times, and more, Cathy’s finally got her own corner of the universe: a book, Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry.

To give you a sense of this book’s utility, here’s a list of some of the things I’ve made so far: strawberry jam. Tomato sauce. Tomato soup. Grape jelly. Salt-water pickles. Fennel-orange-olive pickles. Marinated artichoke hearts. (Amazing.) Blackberry-hazelnut conserve. Asian plum chutney. Peach-rosemary jam. Since I’m doing this from memory, I’m probably forgetting a few. You get the point: this book has been my constant companion through summer and fall. If you come over this year and I serve you something delicious from a jar, chances are the recipe for it came from Cathy’s book.

But here’s the best part: This isn’t just a preservingÂ book. While the canning and preserving recipes sit at the center, Cathy offers a slew of “bonus” recipes that put your jars to use. A rugelach recipe made with her jam, tortilla lasagna made wither chile-spiked tomatoes, and my personal favorite, inside-outÂ samosas to serve with her fantastic mango chutney. Even if you’re not big on canning, you’ll find plenty to cook, and cook again, in the Practical Pantry.

What most sets Cathy’s book apart is its fearless approach. Cathy is first and foremost a teacher: She wants you to feel her excitement when there’s a deal on second tomatoes or bruised peaches, and armed with this book, you will. You will jump to grab that big bag of $2 chiles, the long, slender box of “basil for pesto,” the bushel of assorted spot-filled apples. You will lug the spoils home, and you will know exactly what to do with them.

Those chiles, for instance, easily become a tangy, slightly sweet hot sauce that you can either can and shelve, or tuck in the fridge and eat immediately. (On everything.) To suit your mood, Cathy offers three different ways to make it: with raw chiles, charred, or smoked.

I first made this hot sauce at one of Cathy’s classes. I got hooked pretty much instantly, and I’ve made it several times since. The recipe has changed a bit since I first encountered it, in one of Cathy’s stapled cooking class handouts; not surprisingly, it’s even better now.

In case it’s not obvious what I think you should do, here it is: make this hot sauce. Buy this book. Then take it to bed one night, read it cover to cover, and bring some sticky tabs, because the next day, you’re going to want to buy everything from the market, andÂ cook this book from front to back.

Congrats, Cathy. It’s gorgeous.

Cathy Barrow’s Any-Chile Hot Sauce
From Mrs. Wheelbarrow’s Practical Pantry
Makes 16 ounces

For canning purposes, Cathy recommends jarring this in 4-oz. portions. Since I didn’t can this latest batch, I just stored it in a big 8-oz. jar in the fridge.

1/2 pound fresh hot chiles of any kind (red are prettiest; any work with this recipe)
1 cup (8 ounces) white or apple cider vinegar
3 large garlic cloves
1/2 tablespoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons honey
1 1/2 tablespoons minced dried pineapple
1/2 tablespoon minced dried mango
1/4 teaspoon Coleman’s dry mustard
pinch ground ginger

Prep the chiles: to use them fresh, carefully stem and roughly chop them. Gloves are helpful here. Alternatively, you can char them in a heavy skillet or griddle over high heat for 6-8 minutes, until blistered all over. Then put them in a bowl, cover, and let steam for 1 hour. Stem and roughly chop (again: gloves). Last option is to smoke them using an electric smoker. Cathy recommends 30 minutes. Stem and chop.

Make the sauce: Combine vinegar, garlic, and salt in a large jar. Shake and swirl to dissolve the salt. Add chiles, cover, and leave on the counter overnight to brine.

Transfer the contents of the jar into a 1.5-quart non-reactive (not copper or aluminum) pot. Add honey, fruit mustard, and ginger. Cover and bring to a strong boil for 3 minutes. Beware of the fumes – you may want to wear a mask for this part.

Puree the sauce in a blender in batches, filling the container only halfway in each batch to avoid explosions. Run your blender long enough to ensure that the sauce is completely smooth.

Press the mixture through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl. If you find large pieces of chile or garlic in the strainer, you can re-run them through the blender.

Return the sauce to the pot, bring back up to a boil, and boil for 5 minutes. Do not lean over the pot and smell it while this happens – you will regret it. Instead, dip a small spoon into the pot and then taste just a drop. If you want it sweeter or saltier, now is the time to add more honey and/or salt.

When your sauce is ready, either ladle it into sterilized, warm jars leaving 1/2-inch of headspace and process for 10 minutes in a boiling-water bath, or just ladle it into a big jar (preferably with a spout, but not necessary) and store in the fridge.

The sauce is shelf-stable for 1 year when canned, but it may separate; shake well before using.