From Brooklyn to Beacon

at the farmers market: summer

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 16:50:00 +0000

For this summery post, we set out to make ice cream from ingredients in our CSA shares, local farmers markets, and gardens.

kate (brooklyn)

Ice cream was the perfect treat this summer. With temperatures in the mid to high 90s in July and August every day was meant to be an ice cream day. Unfortunately, once you start it’s very hard to stop eating and before you know it you’ve gobbled up a whole bowl of your favorite flavor. I think ice cream has to be one of my (if not my most) favorite desserts.

There are lots of great places in Brooklyn to buy ice cream and so many choices from sit-down boutiques to traveling vans. One of my favorite places in Williamsburg is Uncle Louis G on Graham Avenue, which sells both ice cream and Italian ices. The shop is very small; just a sliding storefront window where the customer places his order from the sidewalk. You can sit down and enjoy your ice cream on one of two benches on the sidewalk next to the parking meters and watch the neighborhood go by; it’s a nice neighborhood gathering of young and old and the prices are very reasonable.

Another very popular ice cream spot in the Greenpoint area is Van Leeuwen Ice Cream, located on Metropolitan Avenue. They also have vans that travel throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan and people line up in huge numbers to order their ice cream. Their ice cream is made with simple, local, and organic ingredients. I’ve tried a few of their flavors and it’s really good, however at over $5 for a single scoop the price tag is quite expensive. People gather in long lines to taste their ice cream so I guess price is not a deterrent. Coincidently (or not), there is a Baskin-Robbins directly across the street, where you can get double the amount of ice cream for the same amount of money. I think Van Leeuwen is a bit overrated.

Despite the endless possibilities of ice cream varieties, I tried my hand at making my own ice cream this summer after seeing friends create really creative flavors like sweet potato and kale. I decided to try making a seasonal fruit ice cream and left my fate up to our CSA fruit share from Montgomery Place Orchards (an orchard that is actually much closer to Kristen than me) in Red Hook, NY. We are lucky to have Montgomery Place once a week in Brooklyn as part of the East Williamsburg CSA. I absolutely love our fruit share. It is extremely generous; we usually get at least three or four varieties of seasonal fruit a week.

The past weekend’s share was full of Seckel and Bartlett pears so I decided to try a pear ice cream. I decided to use half and half to substitute for the cream. The ice cream definitely had a nice flavor and makes a refreshing and not too sweet dessert.

I’m curious to try more ice cream flavors. I'm currently waiting for David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop, which should arrive any day now in the mail, so I can read up on more recipes and techniques. I’m also curious about other ice cream hot (or should I say cool) spots around and whether or not it’s worth paying the higher price for a “gourmet” ice cream.

pear ice cream
adapted from Martha Stewart

2 cups 2% milk
2 cups 1/2 and 1/2
1 cinnamon stick
6 Seckel or Bartlett pears, peeled and cored
6 large egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons brandy (optional)

Combine milk, cream, and cinnamon stick in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Heat until small bubbles appear around the edge. Remove from heat, cover, and let steep for 30 minutes.

In a large saucepan over medium-high heat, cook pears for 45 minutes, or until they make a thick sauce. Let cool a bit, then purée in a food processor or blender.

Beat together egg yolks and sugar in a small bowl. Bring milk mixture back to a simmer, and whisk about 1 cup hot milk into egg mixture. Return to pan, and cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon until thick enough to coat the spoon, about 5 minutes.

Stir puree into ice-cream base. Chill, then stir in brandy, if desired. Freeze in an ice-cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. Store in an airtight plastic container up to 2 weeks.

(Above photo l to r: Pears from Montgomery Place Orchards; Uncle Louis G in Williamsburg)

kristen (beacon)

The last few days have felt like anything but summer: brisk mornings, downright chilly evenings, the tips of the leaves outside our bedroom window turning the slightest shade of red. Despite all of this, I am determined to hold on to every last vestige of summer I can. I will wear my Saltwater Sandals until October winds turn my feet blue. I will check the garden for ripe tomatoes until the tomato plants wither and wilt. And I will make ice cream until… well… I will always make ice cream.

I visited the Beacon Farmers Market on Labor Day Weekend in search of ingredients for my market-inspired ice cream. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I was in good hands. Lee Davenport, whom I recently met on Flickr, was visiting me in Beacon for the day. Lee grew up in western New York but had never been to Beacon, and I think our little town (especially Homespun Foods, Zora Dora, and Electric Windows) won her over in a big way. She knows her way around a farmers market, having worked for various restaurants and farms in New York City and Madison, Wisconsin (where she currently resides) and producing her own line of preserves. She also knows her way around an ice cream maker, so I was excited to introduce her to our market and get her input on ingredients.

Before heading over to the market, I had been tossing around the idea of making tomato ice cream. But the raspberries, sparkling in the sunshine at the far end of the market that day, roped me in. They were from Honey Locust Farm House in Newburgh and tasted just like late-summer should: sweet and perfumey. I bought 2 pints and set out in search of complementary ingredients. Thank goodness Lee has an eye for all things delicious, because otherwise I would have missed the tiny sign for Ronnybrook Farm Dairy’s crème fraiche. She mentioned that the crème fraiche would help to improve the consistency of the ice cream, since I was determined to create a recipe that didn’t require eggs.

Raspberries, crème fraiche, a little sugar or honey, and… “Anise hyssop!” Lee exclaimed, since she had spotted a few pretty bundles of it next to the raspberries. “Anise nothing,” I replied. Anise is one of my least favorite flavors. I have been known to break out in a cold sweat upon getting within ten feet of licorice and fennel. But after some gentle prodding and encouragement, I reluctantly purchased one of the small bundles and assured Lee I would add it to the ice cream.

But when it came time to add it, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I needed to replace it with something astringent, and that’s when I thought about rosemary. Something about the idea of raspberries, crème fraiche, and rosemary together sounded so lovely.

The pretty purple-flowered anise hyssop bundle went into a small vase beside the bed, and a sprig of rosemary went from our garden into the ice cream.

And it was delicious.

Ciao, summer.

raspberry, rosemary, & crème fraiche ice cream

2 cups fresh raspberries
1 sprig of rosemary
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup crème fraiche
1/3 cup sugar (plus more to taste)
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

Purée raspberries in a food processor or blender.

In a saucepan, over medium-low heat, bring cream to a simmer with the sprig of rosemary, sugar, and salt. If the raspberries are very tart, you may wish to add another tablespoon or two of sugar to the saucepan. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sugar dissolves.

Transfer the heated cream, keeping the rosemary in the mixture, to a bowl, and set in an ice bath or in the refrigerator to chill for at least one hour, but preferably more.

When thoroughly chilled, add the crème fraiche to the cream mixture and blend with a wire whisk. Add the raspberry purée and whisk until combined. Strain the entire mixture into a fresh bowl using a mesh strainer, pressing as much liquid out as possible, whisk one last time, and pour into an ice cream machine. Churn the mixture according to the manufacturer’s directions. When finished, freeze the ice cream in the freezer until solid, at least two hours, but preferably more.

Allow the ice cream to sit at room temperature for 5 to 10 minutes before serving, as it may tend to freeze a little too hard for immediate scooping.

(Above photos l to r: Organic raspberries from Honey Locust Farm House; Raspberry, Rosemary, & Crème Fraiche ice cream)

View more of our photos from this post on Flickr.

summer cocktails

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 17:00:00 +0000

kate (brooklyn)

As a child I grew up on whiskey sours. Well, okay, not really, but they were always around at my grandparents' house for the grown-ups on Sunday afternoons. The minute we would walk into my grandparents' home, my grandfather, "Pops," would have a drink ready for my father and anyone else who was not the designated driver for the night. There would even be batches chilling on the porch in the winter if the fridge was too full. Don't get me wrong, I tried little sips here and there but thought it was pretty gross at the time. I would make my own "Shirley Temple" with ginger ale and cherry juice and go into the TV room and pretend to watch PBS, while I really watched MTV. My grandfather made his drink with sweet and low and a few other mystery ingredients... it was quite an art. Branden and I served them at our wedding this past summer in two containers: one labeled "whiskey sours" and the other labeled "swiskey wours." I bet you can guess which one would knock your socks off. I think Pops would have been proud.

A few months ago, Kris and I decided it would be fun to try a seasonal cocktail post using fruits and vegetables from our CSAs. In this past week's share we received a bunch of cucumbers and sprigs of basil, among many other delicious veggies. Recently I came across Lillet one night at a bar in our neighborhood called Five Leaves. It was a lovely digestif. I shared my newfound love of Lillet with my family recently when they came to visit NYC and it was the perfect aperitif after a long day of sightseeing and walking around the city.

So, for this post I decided to make a Lillet-inspired cocktail with some summertime ingredients. I set the basil, cucumber, gin, Lillet, ice cube tray, etc. neatly out on the counter. And then I realized I did not own a cocktail shaker. Hmm... I thought about shaking a glass and covering it with my hand or putting it in the French press and swishing it around... then I found it. My Klean Kanteen water bottle. Hey, it wasn't perfect, but it did the trick. The basil and cucumber really add a little "je ne sais pas." (Okay, I had to add a little bit of French in there somewhere.) Enjoy!

(Above photos l to r: Makeshift cocktail shaker; One lillet-basil cocktail)

lillet-basil cocktail
Adapted from MarthaStewart.com
Serves: 1

1 cup ice, plus more for serving
1/2 cup Lillet Blanc
1 ounce (2 tablespoons) gin
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
1/4 cup loosely-packed fresh basil leaves, plus sprigs for garnish
Splash of tonic water
1 cucumber spear, for garnish
1 cinnamon stick, for garnish

Put ice, Lillet, gin, orange juice, and basil in a cocktail shaker and shake well. Fill a glass with ice and strain mixture into glass. Add tonic water. Garnish with cucumber spear, cinnamon stick, and basil sprigs.

(Above photo: Fresh basil sprigs and Lillet Blanc)

kristen (beacon)

Summertime in Beacon is magical.

I've heard my fair share of cricket songs, being from the South and all, but in Beacon they seem to chirp and hum the happiest. A full July moon rising over Mt. Beacon is a sight like no other, and during storms on hot nights the thunder rolls down the mountain and seeps into our bones.

Amidst that abundance of seasonal inspiration, our local farms and home gardens are also teeming with summertime offerings. Like bright, pink watermelon. And aromatic (and quintessentially summery) basil. And cool, crisp cucumbers.

Luckily, I had all of these treats on-hand when embarking on this little cocktail experiment. Our CSA, Common Ground Farm, provided the gorgeous watermelon and sunny lemon cucumbers. Some sweet neighbors (Esther and Gordon) provided the fresh basil (as ours was devoured by a mysterious pest).

The cocktail, which I have very affectionately named, is a breeze to make, as it requires no fancy cocktail-making equipment. It's bright and fresh, not unlike Beacon in summer.

(Above photos l to r: Watermelon from Common Ground Farm; Gin, infusing)

the beacon summer
Serves: 2

Infused gin (see recipe below)
Handful of fresh watermelon dices, lemon cucumber slices, and basil leaves
Tonic (look for a brand made without high fructose corn syrup, like Q Tonic)
Honey, agave nectar, or simple syrup (optional)
Ice

Strain infused gin into 2 cold glasses, pressing out every last bit of juice from the soaked fruit and leaves. Add a bit of fresh (not gin-soaked) watermelon, lemon cucumber slices, and basil leaves, and muddle. Add tonic and ice. Add optional sweetener to taste. Stir, garnish with a cucumber slice, and enjoy!

infused gin

1/4 cup fresh watermelon, diced
1/4 cup fresh lemon cucumber slices (any variety of cucumber will do)
6-8 fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup gin (I used the already-summery Hendrick's because it's infused with cucumber and rose petals)

Muddle the first three ingredients in a small bowl, add gin, and stir. Cover, and let sit in the refrigerator for as long as possible (the longer it sits, the more flavorful the gin will be).

(Above photo: Cocktails, ready to sip)

art as food as art

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 15:57:00 +0000

Welcome back to "From Brooklyn to Beacon!" For this post, we made dishes inspired by locally exhibited works of art.

(Above photos l to r: Lick and Lather by Janine Antoni; Shadows by Andy Warhol, © The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. Photo: Bill Jacobson)

kate (brooklyn)

“Food Allowed in the Museum.” That was the name of a tour proposal for children that a fellow intern of mine at MoMA suggested one year while we worked at the museum together. It made total sense: between the Cezanne paintings of oranges and fruits to Claes Oldenburg’s giant foam cake sculpture there was definitely plenty of food inspiration! However, this idea was rejected and she was told it wasn’t very “serious.”

I thought my friend’s idea was an interesting one considering the history of food as subject matter in still-life paintings and sculpture, or as in artist Janine Antoni's case, food becoming the medium and the body becoming the object.

I came across Antoni’s work many years back in college and felt a connection in my own way to the different ideas she expressed through her work. I had the chance to hear her speak at the Guggenheim last Friday and I enjoyed learning about her interest in trying new and out-of-the-ordinary materials and also how generous she was to explain her process to the audience – what had worked, what had failed, and what she had learned. Even though she spoke to a crowd of education and museum professionals, her talk could have been to a crowd of chefs, arachnologists, or demolition workers, as her work transcends many boundaries of what that we typically consider "art" and explores topics that we can all relate to. Antoni is constantly challenging herself to learn about and try new, totally off-the-wall things (such as comparing the weight and sound of a wrecking ball to the web pattern of spiders). I think that's why I like her work so much.

Currently, Antoni has a sculpture called Lick and Lather on view at Luhring Augustine Gallery in Chelsea. The piece is made up of two self-portrait busts that she cast in chocolate and one in soap. She cast herself in alginate, a material used in dental offices for creating molds. For the chocolate bust, she melted thirty-five pounds of chocolate and poured it into the mold.

When I first saw this artwork, I couldn’t help but think of the classical Greek sculptures and how perfect in form they are (or were, before they lost parts of their arms, legs, and noses). I also think of copper or bronze sculptures in city squares that depict busts of politicians or historical figures. Antoni points to an interview with Art 21 that “the thing about the classical bust is it’s usually reserved for depicting men and usually very powerful men, And then when we see women in classical sculpture they depict hope charity and love. I was particularly conscious of that when I made the bust and thinking about this act of erasure of this specific personality."

Antoni licked the sculpture across the face, over the cheek and over her eyes, lips, and nose. Her piece evokes different reactions and interpretations: awe, humor, shock, curiosity. I'm sure men and women have different reactions to this work. I instantly think of our ideals of beauty and how Antoni literally "erases" herself and comments on the "love-hate relationship we all have with our physical appearance."

Needless to say, it was very difficult for me to think of a way to justify this artwork with my own culinary skills. I very much admired Antoni's openness to discuss her learning process during her talk at the Guggenheim, which is something that we can all relate to: even us amateur cooks. Food is a way we express ourselves, our love, our creativity. Having this work as part of the Chelsea gallery walk makes complete sense for a city that is both very self-conscious and always reinventing itself.

As I left the frigid Guggenheim auditorium, I walked out into the 90-degree heat and immediately needed something to cool me off. I had recently acquired an ice cream maker and it seemed like the prefect way to cool off over the weekend, which was only supposed to get warmer.

Fortunately, I didn't need to melt thirty-five pounds of chocolate. However, Antoni and I both use one similar ingredient: fenylamine. “All chocolate has fenylamine in it. That product is the chemical that’s produced in our body when we’re in love. So I think that’s why chocolate is so addictive," Antoni says.

Indeed, both art and food are addictive and intoxicating.

chocolate ice cream
adapted from Food Network

1 1/2 ounces unsweetened cocoa powder (approximately 1/2 cup)
3 cups half and half

1 cup heavy cream

8 large egg yolks

9 ounces sugar

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Place the cocoa powder along with 1 cup of the half and half into a medium saucepan over medium heat and whisk to combine. Add the remaining half and half and the heavy cream. Bring the mixture just to a simmer, stirring occasionally, and remove from the heat.

In a medium mixing bowl whisk the egg yolks until they lighten in color. Gradually add the sugar and whisk to combine. Temper the cream mixture into the eggs and sugar by gradually adding small amounts, until about 1/3 of the cream mixture has been added. Pour in the remainder and return the entire mixture to the saucepan and place over low heat. Continue to cook, stirring frequently, until the mixture thickens slightly and coats the back of a spoon and reaches 170 to 175 degrees F. Pour the mixture into a container and allow to sit at room temperature for 30 minutes. Stir in the vanilla extract. Place the mixture into the refrigerator and once it is cool enough not to form condensation on the lid, cover and store for 4 to 8 hours or until the temperature reaches 40 degrees F or below.

Pour into an ice cream maker and process according to the manufacturer's directions. This should take approximately 25 to 35 minutes. Serve as is for soft serve or freeze for another 3 to 4 hours to allow the ice cream to harden.

(Above photos l to r: Ice cream process; Finished and ready to lick/eat)

kristen (beacon)

When Kate came up with the idea for this post, I was worried. I love art, and value living in a city that is as immersed in art as Beacon is, but for a non-artist like me, that can also be intimidating. I feel like I never quite know how to appropriately express how a piece of art makes me feel, so I’m generally quiet on the subject.

Beacon is a city that has been transformed by art. Down on its luck for the last few decades, new life was recently breathed into our city with the establishment of Dia:Beacon - a museum that houses large-scale contemporary works that cannot be accommodated by more conventional museums – and by an influx of creative, energetic, entrepreneurial, and artistic folks who have relocated from New York City and other areas to open innovative galleries, stores, and studios. The artistic vibe is one of the reasons BPJC and I moved to Beacon, too. Being around such creativity and innovation is constantly inspiring and uplifting.

But even amidst all of this awesomeness, I was nervous about making food inspired by a work of art in town. Would it be cliché, I wondered? Probably. Would I fail to express how I really feel about the art? Most likely. Should I just forge ahead with an open mind and see how I fare? Absolutely.

The first time I visited the Dia, I was blown away. It's not the kind of museum you expect to find in a small city like ours. It is special in ways that I cannot adequately describe (you’ll have to come and see for yourself). One of my fondest memories of that first visit (and subsequent ones) was walking into the massive room that houses Andy Warhol’s Shadows, which is a series of paintings in 102 parts. I sank into the couch in the middle of the room, and stared for what seemed like hours. I was transfixed.

I don’t pretend to know what the images in the paintings are, but the colors and how they work together are jarringly beautiful. Warhol used 17 hues in the piece, and according to Dia:Beacon’s website they range from a “Day-Glo acid green to a majestic purple, from a lurid turquoise to a sober brown.” It’s a strange, glorious combination.

Shadows is the first thing I think of now when I think of the Dia, so I had to choose it for this post. And naturally I had to make a cake. A cake with lots of layers and Shadows-inspired colors. I wanted to make 17 layers to represent each hue, but I needed it to stay (somewhat) upright, so only made 6. The cake, which was filled with dark chocolate buttercream and then frosted with vanilla bean buttercream, took about 4 hours to make and assemble, but it was worth it. It stained our teeth bright colors and may have been a bit too sweet, but it sparked a lively conversation about the art.

Working on this post helped me to realize that art is relative. I don’t need to be an expert, or to say something wildly intelligent about a work of art for it to be true. We all interpret and appreciate it in our own way, and should never be ashamed of that.

rainbow cake
adapted from Whisk Kid

2 sticks butter (at room temperature)

2 1/3 cups sugar

5 egg whites (at room temperature)

2 teaspoons vanilla

3 cups flour

4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt

1 1/2 cups milk, warmed for 30 seconds in microwave to bring to room temp

Food coloring

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter and line how ever many 8-9” cake pans you have (I have two and just reused them).

Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.

Cream the sugar and butter, then add the egg whites and add them a little at a time. Add the vanilla and mix until fully incorporated. Then, alternating between wet and dry, add the milk and flour mixture in two parts.
Divide the batter amongst 6 bowls and then whisk a fair amount of the appropriate food color into each bowl. Pour into the pans (I didn’t fill the pans over halfway) and bake for 15 minutes each. When you remove them from the oven, let them rest on the cooling rack, in the pan, for ten minutes. Then flip, cover, and stash them in the fridge to cool quickly.

dark chocolate buttercream frosting

5 1/3 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 1/2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tbsp instant espresso powder
12 tbsp butter
10-11 tbsp milk
2 tsp vanilla

Combine confectioners' sugar and cocoa in a small bowl. Cream butter with 1 cup of the cocoa mixture in a small bowl. Alternately add remaining cocoa mixture and milk; beat to spreading consistency. Stir in vanilla.

vanilla buttercream frosting
adapted from Billy's Bakery

4 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
12 to 14 cups confectioners’ sugar
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
Scrapings of 1 vanilla bean

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter until smooth and creamy, 2 to 3 minutes. With mixer on low speed, add 12 cups sugar, milk, and vanilla; mix until light and fluffy. If necessary, gradually add remaining 2 cups sugar to reach desired consistency.

(Above photos l to r: Frosting the colorful layers; Digging in)

View more of our photos from this post on Flickr.

brief hiatus

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Mon, 10 May 2010 13:03:00 +0000

Hello, friends. We are taking a brief hiatus from blogging for the month of May, but will resume posting in early to mid June. Stay tuned, and thank you so much for reading!

our bread

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 00:16:00 +0000

For this post, we were inspired by Jim Lahey (of Sullivan Street Bakery) and his new book, My Bread. In the book, Mr. Lahey describes his now-famous "no work, no-knead method" of bread baking, which involves "flour, water, and time" and a Dutch oven. Read his recipe for basic no-knead bread and our interpretations of it below.

basic no-knead bread

from My Bread by Jim Lahey

Makes one 10-inch round loaf; 1 1/4 pounds

Equipment: A 4 1/2-5 1/2-quart heavy pot

3 cups bread flour

1 1/4 teaspoons table salt

1/4 teaspoon instant or other active dry yeast

1 1/3 cups cool (55 to 65 degrees F) water

Wheat bran, cornmeal, or additional flour for dusting

In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, salt, and yeast. Add the water and, using a wooden spoon or your hand, mix until you have a wet, sticky dough, about 30 seconds. Make sure it's really sticky to the touch; if it's not, mix in another tablespoon or two of water. Cover the bowl with a plate, tea towel, or plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature (about 72 degrees F), out of direct sunlight, until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough is more than doubled in size. This will take a minimum of 12 hours and (Mr. Lahey's preference) up to 18 hours. This slow rise - fermentation - is the key to flavor.

When the first fermentation is complete, generously dust a work surface (a wooden or plastic cutting board is fine) with flour. Use a bowl scraper or spatula to scrape the dough onto the board in one piece. When you begin to pull the dough away from the bowl, it will cling in long, thin strands (this is the developed gluten), and it will be quite loose and sticky - do not add more flour. Use lightly floured hands or a bowl scraper or spatula to lift the edges of the dough in toward the center. Nudge and tuck in the edges of the dough to make it round.

Place a cotton or linen tea towel (not terry cloth, which tends to stick and may leave lint in the dough) or a large cloth napkin on your work surface and generously dust the cloth with wheat bran, cornmeal, or flour. Use your hands or a bowl scraper or wooden spatula to gently lift the dough onto the towel, so it is seam side down. If the dough is tacky, dust the top lightly with wheat bran, cornmeal, or flour. Fold the ends of the towel loosely over the dough to cover it and place it in a warm, draft-free spot to rise for 1 to 2 hours. The dough is ready when it is almost doubled. If you gently poke it with your finger, making an indentation about 1/4 inch deep, it should hold the impression. If it doesn't, let it rise for another 15 minutes.

Half an hour before the end of the second rise, preheat the oven to 475 degrees F, with a rack in the lower third position, and place a covered 4 1/2-5 1/2-quart heavy pot in the center of the rack.

Using pot holders, carefully remove the preheated pot from the oven and uncover it. Unfold the tea towel, lightly dust the dough with flour or bran, lift up the dough, either on the towel or in your hand, and quickly but gently invert it into the pot, seam side up. Cover the pot and bake for 30 minutes.

Remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a deep chestnut color but not burnt, 15 to 30 minutes more. Use a heatproof spatula or pot holders to carefully lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool thoroughly. Don't slice or tear into it until it has cooked, which usually takes at least an hour.

(Above photos l to r: First bite of Kate's bread; Kristen's bread smeared with goat cheese and lemon and topped with roasted asparagus)

kate (brooklyn)

Tuesday evening, 6:35 PM. I hurry up the subway stairs and walk quickly down Graham Avenue in Williamsburg, hoping Grande Monuments is still open. I see the bright red neon "Monuments" light in the window. I pop my head into the door.

Just a minute... Grande Monuments? Yes, it's a tombstone store. However, I'm not in the market for a headstone. I'm going there to buy a delicious baguette for dinner. "Have you got any bread left?" I ask. "You bet," Jerry said as he pointed to a few baguettes lying on top of a grey flecked granite tombstone and handed me a fresh loaf.

I stop by Grande Monuments once or twice a week after work to purchase a loaf of two of bread. In my opinion, it's the best bread nearby and also perhaps the most peculiar. "I just have to ask," I say to Jerry, "bread and tombstones? I just don't get it. How did this get started?"

Jerry smiled and sat back on a headstone and told me his story. His cousin is the owner of a bakery in Bensonhurst called Il Fornaretto, where his 19-year-old daughter, Angela, also works. In the early days, she would bring home extra loaves after a day at the bakery and Jerry would share them with people in the community, including the nuns who lived around the corner. Pretty soon the priest from the church was ordering loaves for the congregation. People were coming by the shop and asking for more bread. The business took off from there.

Jerry puts his loaves in the window right next to a statue of the Virgin Mary. They are not easy to resist, despite your beliefs. I literally had to do a double take when I first saw them; it seemed like such an odd combination.

Jerry told me that one thing he really enjoys about selling the bread in his shop is that he gets a chance to work with his daughter. They started a savings account for her with the profit they made from the bread they sold each day. The bread experience gives them a little time to chat and get to know each other, since communication with teenagers, as Jerry mentions, "can be a bit tough." He really values this experience and hopes his daughter will one day come to work for the family business. "She went to a funeral the other day," he said with hope. You can tell that he's really proud of his daughter and the unique and lively business they created in their neighborhood. I imagine it's the kind of place you'd only find in Brooklyn.

Baking bread is definitely a talent and something that I never though I had the skills for until I tried Jim Lahey's recipe. I've tried making bread in the past, most recently a whole wheat loaf that could have been mistaken for a brick and perhaps used as a small weapon. There was always a lot of work and waiting... it seems so much easier to just go out and buy a loaf at the store.

This recipe doess require a bit of time: 12-18 hours! I found it best to make the dough the night before and to then continue to recipe the following afternoon so it can be finished a few hours before dinnertime. It's all about timing. There are only a few simple ingredients and barely any elbow grease needed! The bread slides easily out of the bowl after the first rise with the help of a spatula. And once the bread has finished baking you will just dive in and enjoy every bite. It's hard not to eat the whole loaf!

Anyone can try this and you'll want to keep baking it over and over and trying new variations. I have a whole wheat loaf rising in the kitchen as I write this. I can't wait to try many of Jim Lahey's other no-knead, one pot bread recipes.

(Above photos top and l to r: Jerry at Grande Monuments; Ready for second rise; Afternoon snack)

kristen (beacon)

I’ve always wanted to be a prolific bread baker. I daydream about being the kind of woman who is covered in flour and sweat every Saturday afternoon, my kitchen warm from the oven.

However, I’ve always been slightly intimidated by making my own bread. It seems like such an exact science, one that I would surely get wrong in my haphazard way of doing things. I can’t even make a decent pie crust, so how would I be able to turn out an edible loaf of bread? In the past, I’ve left the bread making to the professionals.

Fortunately, in Beacon, a loaf of freshly-baked artisan bread is not too hard to find. Beacon does not have a dedicated bakery, but we do have an incredible café, Homespun Foods, that sells exceptional baked goods and bread. A large selection of Homespun’s bread is made right in town by Beacon residents Simone and David from All You Knead, a small bread making operation based in a classroom-turned-baker’s-kitchen at the old Beacon High School. Simone and David’s bread is crafted with love and chock full of local grains from Lightning Tree Farm in Millbrook. In addition to Homespun Foods and Adams Fairacre Farms, they sell their loaves each Sunday at the Beacon Farmers Market. Wendy from The Locavore Baker, another bread making operation in Beacon, mills local, organic grains and bakes bread right in her own kitchen. This year, for the first time, she will be offering bread shares to members of our local CSA, Common Ground Farm.

Simone, David, and Wendy are making incredible bread. Right here in my town. One in her very own kitchen. Maybe bread making doesn’t have to be so scary and hard? If they can do it right here in Beacon, can I?

Jim Lahey makes bread making easy for amateurs like me. His book is a beautiful thing. It’s full of gorgeous how-to photos, charming stories, and very approachable methods. It makes me want to bake my own bread over and over. I have a feeling it’s going end up being one of those cookbooks that is perpetually covered with flour and smeared with butter… you know… the best kind.

I was excited to try his recipe, so I dove headfirst into the 20+ hour long process without even thinking about the timing. I mixed my ingredients together and started the first rise on a Saturday morning, which meant that Step 2 would arrive at 4:30 AM the following morning. Smart, Kristen. Very smart. At least my 4:30 AM wake-up call was greeted with the most amazing bread dough smell ever. After a dusting of wheat bran, I wrapped the dough in a tea towel, in which it rose for another two hours. Finally, the soft, aromatic dough was ready for a go in the Dutch oven. Bleary eyed, I popped the bread into the oven and waited.

Less than an hour later, the bread was on the counter, deeply golden and whistling and crackling. I felt such a sense of accomplishment! It looked so professional and smelled heavenly. After several hours of allowing the flavors to develop, PJ and I tore into the loaf and smeared slices with goat cheese mashed with lemon zest, lemon juice, salt, and pepper, and layered them with roasted asparagus (a la shutterbean). We poured ourselves a beer and took a seat outside. The flavor of the bread was deep and tangy and matched well with the sharpness of the goat cheese and the woodsy asparagus.

I think it’s safe to say I’m hooked, and I’ll be baking loaf after loaf of Mr. Lahey’s bread. Come on over on any given Saturday afternoon for a slice.

(Above photos l to r and underneath: Dough, ready for baking; Fresh out of the oven; Simone from All You Knead)

View more of our bread photos on Flickr.

visiting: brooklyn

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 15:54:00 +0000

For this post, we spent a day together and shared a meal in Brooklyn. Read about our day and the ensuing deliciousness below.

(Above photos l to r: Kate and Branden's table; A sweet message in Brooklyn)

kate (brooklyn)

Spring was finally on its way. Time to put away those heavy coats and bulky sweaters and pull out the sunglasses and lighter colors. At least I thought that 'til last week when the coats came back out of the closet and our heat finally started coming on full-blast in our apartment for the first time since we moved in. March really couldn't make up its mind whether to be a lion or a lamb.

Kristen and PJ drove down to Brooklyn from Beacon on a warm and glorious 70-degree middle-of-March day. Unlike the unending rain and thunderstorms that took over the day/night of our last dinner party, the sky was clear and the sun was quite warm. I got up early that morning and had a chance to run into the city to get some last minute things at the Union Square Greenmarket and Fishs Eddy (upon realizing we didn't have enough plates or bowls to serve our guests). Seeing a glimpse of colorful flowers under the tents in the market gave me a burst of energy: Winter was finally over and warm weather would save us all.

I wanted to spend as much time with my guests as possible on Saturday afternoon, so I cooked the main meal, a Spring vegetable stew, the night before. Soup always tastes better the second day, and it would be something quite easy to heat up and serve to a crowd of 6. I couldn't find every ingredient I needed for the soup, but luckily the recipe was very forgiving (as you'll see below) and allows for a lot of creativity.

Everything seemed to be going well, until I made the hot pink cupcakes. Or, perhaps, I should refer to them as the hot pink mess. Everything was pretty much a disaster: the cake part tasted weird and spongy and the icing was so bright and tasted like an over-sugared Easter bunny toothpaste. Luckily, my friends, Jannine and Nathan, came to the rescue and brought delicious cookies from the East Village. Branden came up with some amazing appetizers: sweet pea guacamole, Jerusalem artichokes, and hummus. Kristen and PJ topped off the meal with some great wine from the Hudson Valley. One of my favorite things about the night was how we all contributed a bit to the meal in our own way, and it seemed the perfect way to celebrate a first glimpse of Spring.

I didn't even realize that the main course was from the Hudson Valley Mediterranean cookbook, which focuses on seasonal ingredients and highlights farms and small businesses in the Hudson Valley. I wonder if Kris and PJ will make some Brooklyn-ish for us when we come up to Beacon to visit them... ?

spring vegetable soup
adapted from Hudson Valley Mediterranean
Makes: 6 servings

This classic summer vegetable stew is referred to as "ratatouille." What could be better than cooked down tomatoes, summer squash, eggplant, onions, garlic, and herbs? With its many delicate flavors, this Spring stew eases us away from the root vegetables of Fall and Winter and toward a Summer with bold flavors.

2 large lemons, halved
4 medium artichokes * (I used canned artichokes and you could also substitute frozen for fresh ones)
2 shallots, thinly sliced
9 small red potatoes (1 to 2 inches in diameter), quartered
1/2 cup dry white wine
3 cups vegetable or chicken stock or reduced sodium broth
12 fresh asparagus spears, trimmed and sliced on the diagonal into 3/4-inch pieces
1 cup fresh or frozen peeled fava beans (I substituted edamame)
1 cup shelled peas (fresh or frozen)
1/4 cup snipped chives
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat leaf parsley (you may also substitute basil or tarragon)
3 tablespoons finely grated Grana Padano or Parmesan cheese
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Shaved Grana Padano or Parmesan cheese, for garnish

* (If you decide, like me, to work with frozen or canned artichokes, begin reading at 3rd paragraph)

Fill a large bowl with 1 quart of water, and squeeze two lemon halves into it. Add the squeezed lemon halves to the water.

Working with one artichoke at a time, bend back the outer leaves close to the base until they snap off where they break naturally. Discard the layers until the exposed leaves are pale green at the top and pale yellow at the base. Using a small sharp knife, trim the stem and the base until it is smooth and no dark green areas remain. Trim the leaves. Rub the base with the remaining lemon halves. Cut the artichoke lengthwise into 4 wedges. Using a small knife, cut out the choke and the small purple-tipped leaves, then halve again for a total of 8 wedges. Place the artichoke wedges in the lemon water.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 3 minutes. While the shallots are cooking, drain and rinse the artichokes. Add the artichokes and the potatoes to the skillet and cook, stirring for 1 minute. Pour the wine and simmer until the liquid is reduced to a few spoonfuls, about 6 minutes. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Add half of the asparagus, fava beans, peas, cover the skillet, and simmer the stew for 10 minutes. Stir in the remaining asparagus, fava beans and peas, 2 tablespoons of the chives, and 2 tablespoons of the parsley. Let the mixture simmer, partially covered, for about 4 minutes, or until the potatoes and artichokes are tender. Stir in the remaining herbs and the grated Grana Padano, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve topped with shaved Grana Padano.

(Variations: Serve the soup over orzo or with your favorite pasta, or add chicken or sausage. I added green chorizo from The Meat Hook... yum!)

jerusalem artichokes appetizer
adapted by Branden from his friend, Neil

The Jerusalem artichoke (Helianthus tuberosus), also called the sunroot, earth apple or topinambur, is a species of sunflower native to the eastern United States, from Maine west to North Dakota, and south to northern Florida and Texas. It is also cultivated widely across the temperate zone for its tuber, which is used as a root vegetable. (Source: Wikipedia)

4 fresh artichokes or 1 can full
Olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Parsley
Parmesan cheese

Leaving skin on, slice artichokes thinly. Add oil, pepper and salt. Thinly sliced fennel is also nice to add to each slice. Put a sprig of fresh parsley on each slice and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

sweet pea guacamole
adapted from Hudson Valley Mediterranean
Makes: 6-8 servings

2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon salt
2 cups shelled fresh peas (or frozen peas, thawed)
1 tablespoon fresh mint
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper

Bring 1 quart of water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Season the water with the sugar and salt, then add the peas. Boil for 4 to 5 minutes, untol the peas are tender and bright green (if using frozen peas, cook for only 1 minute).

Meanwhile, prepare an ice bath by filling a medium bowl 3/4 full with ice cubes and water.

Drain the peas, reserving 1 cup of the cooking liquid. Transfer the peas to the ice bath and let them cool completely. Then drain the peas and add them to a food processor along with 1/3 cup of the reserved cooking liquid and the mint. Pulse to combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl to make sure all of the peas hit the blade. Turn the motor on and add more of the cooking liquid, a little at a time, through the feed tube to work the peas into a thick puree with the consistency of guacamole. With the motor still running, drizzle the olive oil through the feed tube. Adjust the seasoning with more salt, if necessary, and pepper, and transfer the guacamole to a serving bowl. Serve with pita, crostini, or crackers.

(Above photos l to r: Colors along a walk in Greenpoint; The Brooklyn Standard)

kristen (beacon)

Brooklyn is a magical place.

Its energy is palpable. The colorful graffit at every turn, the easy pace of Greenpoint, the volume of Williamsburg, the Italian food in Bay Ridge, the Chinese food in Sunset Park, the majestic homes of Dyker Heights, the hot dogs and rollercoasters in Coney Island, matzo ball soup in Borough Park, the cobbled and cavernous streets in DUMBO, the borscht in Brighton Beach, the beer gardens in Red Hook, the young families in Park Slope, and Prospect Park. Who could forget Prospect Park?

Beacon reminds me of Brooklyn. A tiny cross-section of it, dropped right into the middle of the scenic Hudson Valley. Perhaps that's why I love it so much.

When Kate and Branden invited me and PJ to Brooklyn for a meal, we could not refuse. They recently relocated from Williamsburg to Greenpoint, and we were anxious to see their new neighborhood and apartment, and were even more anxious to share a meal with them there.

Just like the two of them, their apartment is warm, easygoing, and splashed all over with color and life. They make such a good team, and their home is a true reflection of that. While Branden worked on making the appetizers, Kate took us on a walking tour (a.k.a. quest for ingredeitns) of Greenpoint and parts of neighboring North Williamsburg. After stops at The Met grocery store, The Brooklyn Standard, The Brooklyn Kitchen /The Meat Hook, and Settepani, we arrived back to the apartment with a fresh loaf of filone (which we learned is half white/half wheat bread), a bunch of kale, a new cutting board (for us), aromatic sausage, kombucha (Kate's favorite), and a really strange bag of Asian cracker mix that tasted a bit too much like teriyaki chicken. We also walked through the gorgeous and historic McGolrick Park, which lies just around the corner from Kate's apartment. In the center of the park stands a majestic pavilion that was built in 1910 and looks as if it's barely been touched by the effects of time. Daffodils and crocuses were popping out everywhere and kids were skateboarding and playing spirited games of baseball on the concrete.

For dinner, we were joined by Jannine and Nathan, two lovely folks who enjoy good food as much as we do. We all dove (literally, almost) into Branden's homemade kale chips (which were perfection) and sweet pea dip (which was fresh and green and delicious). Then, we gorged ourselves on a healthy and hearty Spring vegetable soup over orzo. Coincidentally, the dip and soup recipes came from one of our favorite go-to local cookbooks, Hudson Valley Mediterranean. For dessert, we had Kate's vanilla-and-hot-pink cupcakes (which were delicious no matter what she says) and a box of just-baked cookies that Jannine and Nathan brought from Birdbath Neighborhood Green Bakery in the East Village.

Dinner (and the entire day) was refreshing, creative and easygoing. Just like Kate and Branden. Just like Brooklyn.

(Above photos l to r: Cow statue at The Meat Hook; Fresh filone from Settepani)

View more of our Brooklyn photos on Flickr.

grandmothers

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 22:56:00 +0000

Our grandmothers are very dear to both of us, and have played pivotal roles in our lives. When we decided to start this blog, we knew immediately that one of our first posts should honor those two very special women. We asked them what they loved to cook, and then we tried to recreate the magic.

(Above photos l to r: Kate's grandparents; Kristen's grandparents)

kate (brooklyn)

“So, what was your absolute favorite dish to make for your family?” I was sitting in the living room of my aunt’s house in February with my grandmother ready to learn a little bit about my family’s past and what kind of challenge I would be facing in the future. After a minute of thinking she responded with “A standing rib roast.”

Hmm... I was not surprised that my grandmother (who I will fondly refer to as “Nan” for the rest of my story) responded with a meat dish. But a standing rib roast? What exactly was that? It seemed like something quite large – along the scale of a Thanksgiving turkey. Would it fit in our tiny oven? Hmm... meat is always a staple at Nan’s house but I was expecting something like turkey tetrazzini or meatloaf.

“Now,” Nan said, “It was a little on the expensive side. Food wasn’t as outrageous back then (we’re talking late 1950s) as it is now. A standing rib roast would cost about $35.” “Maybe before we proceed I should call our butcher and see how much this costs now,” I said. And as it turned out the amount I would need (to feed 4-6 people) would cost over $150. Yikes.

“Okay,” I said, crossing out my notes. “So, what was your second favorite thing to cook? “A flank steak. Steak is a meal that people love and it is not labor intensive.” (I jotted that down in the back of my brain... I was not sure this would be true for me.) “It’s elegant and cost effective.” My grandmother did have seven children. However, a flank steak would be served at dinner parties, which were held quite often at my grandparents’ house in Oakland, Pittsburgh. The children would eat and then be sent to bed while the adults gathered around the dining room table.

I decided to do the same. We invited 4 good friends of ours. As it turned out, two of them were actually vegetarians. I already knew about one of them (he insisted that it would be okay because he loves the smell of steak), but I didn't find out about the other until 30 minutes before they were due to arrive.
I went out Saturday morning to a butcher shop that recently opened in Williamsburg called The Meat Hook. I asked the butcher for a flank steak and unfortunately he had sold the last one the day before. He asked me what it was for and I told him I was making my grandmother’s recipe. (How many times has he heard that?) After a moment of thinking, he told me to hang on and went back into the freezer and pulled out a huge piece of long, thin meat.
“This is what we call a faux hanger steak,” he said. What exactly was that? According to Tasting Table, this particular cut of meat is “also known as the sirloin and is a skinny steak that dangles off the loin. Seared hard on all sides to give it a nice crust, this cut's texture is similar to the one-per-cow hanger steak, a butcher's favorite.”
I watched as he gently pounded and trimmed some of the meat. I really didn’t want to spend the day wandering around the city in search of the perfect flank steak. This would do! It was a good deal: $12 per pound, and The Meat Hook’s products come from trusted farmers who raise animals in a sustainable way. I brought the meat back, as well as some fresh herbs, and manned the deck (or chopping block). Branden showed me how to sharpen our largest knife (which was pretty awkward to do…I guess I need to get more accustomed to doing this on a regular basis). But having a sharp knife sure does help. We also served twice-baked potatoes with basil and kale (as per Nan’s recommendation to serve potatoes and something green.)
There was a horrible thunderstorm that evening (the last couple arrived around 9:00 due to being stuck in the subway for over an hour). We were all starving and as soon as the meat came out of the oven we served it and for the first and only time in the evening there was dead silence. I think that was a good sign.
nan’s flank or “faux hanger" steak

2 pounds flank steak (easily feeds 4 people, you figure 1/2 pound per person)
Balsamic vinegar
Olive oil
Rosemary
Salt & pepper
Ziploc bag

The night before or a few hours before you’re about to cook, unroll the steak and diagonally slash both sides. Pour olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette over each side. Rub with salt, pepper and rosemary. Put the steak in a Ziploc bag and let it marinate.

When ready to cook, preheat the oven to 450-475 degrees. The meat needs to sit on a pan that has holes in it. You can use the pan in your broiler. Ours was missing, however, so I used a non-stick grill grid and placed a baking pan underneath it.

Broil 4-5 minutes on each side. The cut should be rare. As Nan told me, “Time will have to learn by doing.”

Once cooked, cut steak by slashing thin slices against the grain. Pour gravy that has collected in the pan underneath on top.
(Above photos l to r: Kate's grandfather and grandmother; Steak dinner with friends)

kristen (beacon)

“Now Kris, men don’t like things that dribble down their ties.”

This is one of many reasons my grandmother has been making her famous spicy cheese straws since 1955, after coaxing the recipe from her dear friend Betty Boswell. She told me that men love them, that they’re perfect with sweet tea or Coca-Cola and that they’re a big hit at just about any function. No matter what, they are meant to be shared.

My grandmother, Edwina (lovingly nicknamed “Bo”), is the picture of Southern hospitality. All of 5 feet 2 inches, she’s a bundle of hey-y’all’s and hugs. Born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, her warm smile, big heart, and cheery “yoo-hoo!” can charm just about anyone. Her cooking is no different: approachable, generous, steeped in Southern flavors. She swears by White Lily flour and would never dream of using anything other than real, honest-to-goodness butter. When I told her the idea for this post and asked for her favorite thing to make, her spicy cheese straws were her first choice.

Bo’s cheese straws, served with ice-cold Coca-Cola in glass bottles, are my most vivid taste memories of childhood visits to Birmingham. As reliable as a Summer afternoon rainstorm down South, the delightful little treats were always tucked neatly into a decorative tin and sitting on my grandmother’s counter, waiting to be devoured. And devoured, they were. Within minutes of arrival, my brother and I would be hovering over the tin, popping them one after another after another into our mouths.

Bo, still using the reliable metal cookie press the she bought sometime around 1958, makes her cheese straws a few times a year for special occasions (and when hungry and home-cooked-meal-deprived granddaughters would call from college to beg for a batch). Since I don’t own a cookie press, I was a little worried about recreating these at home, but she assured me that they could be made without using a press, and then she sweetly mailed hers to me for the occasion. I was so excited to open the package and see that gorgeous press that has been so lovingly used and cared for over the years. It felt like Bo was right there with me in Beacon.

White Lily flour is next to impossible to find north of the Mason-Dixon line, but I forged on with my beloved Yankee brand, King Arthur. I also decided to use white cheddar instead of yellow and I’m pretty sure I doubled the amount of cayenne pepper Bo recommended (you can’t ever have too much, right?). They were a cinch to make! Easy as 1-2-3, really. In less than an hour, I was packing up a batch for my friend Charlotte (who exclaimed “THESE ARE SO ADDICTIVE!” and noted that they’re excellent with beer) and a tin full for me and PJ, but not before enjoying a few myself with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. The cookie press requires a fair amount of elbow grease to maneuver, so the straws came out looking a bit like “eel bones” (according to PJ), but oh man, they were as delicious as I remember. Savory. Sharp. “Short” (as Bo calls them, referring to their flakiness akin to shortbread). And with just the right amount of peppery kick.

Heaven.

(Today is my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. Happy anniversary, you two! Here's to many more years of love and deliciousness!)

bo's spicy cheese straws

1/2 cup butter at room temperature
1 1/2 cups White Lily all-purpose flour (I used King Arthur, which also works beautifully)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups grated sharp yellow cheddar cheese (I used white)
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (I used a full teaspoon)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees and line a baking sheet with un-greased parchment paper (I used a Silpat baking mat).

Mix the flour, salt and cayenne pepper in a small bowl.

Cream the butter and cheese together with your hands (I used a stand mixer instead) for a few minutes until fluffy.

Slowly add the flour mixture to the butter and cheese mixture until well-blended (but not over-blended).

If you have a cookie press: Press dough into press in small batches, then press straws onto the baking sheet until each is about as long as your index finger. If you don't have a cookie press: Roll dough into a log and wrap tightly in plastic wrap. Refrigerate log for 30 minutes, then slice dough into thin rounds then arrange on baking sheet.

Bake for 10 minutes or so, until the straws (or rounds) are just slightly golden brown. Cool them for 5 minutes on the baking sheet, then transfer them to racks to cool completely.

Pack into tins with layers separated by parchment or wax paper, and share!

(Above photos l to r: Bo in the 1940s; Kristen's cheese straws and an ice-cold Coca-Cola)

View more of our grandmother photos on Flickr.

at the farmers market: winter

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 00:21:00 +0000

Welcome to the first post of our quarterly "At the Farmers Market" series. Once every season, we’ll explore our local farmers markets to see what we can find and what deliciousness we can make of it. Our Winter farmers market adventures begin below.

(Photos above l to r: Madura Farms mushrooms in Brooklyn; A basket full of treats in Beacon)

kate (brooklyn)

I love the idea of going to the grocery store and seeing what inspires me (without a recipe in mind.) So I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into by planning a meal around our local farmers market availability towards the end of February.

I headed over to the Greenpoint/McCarren Park Greenmarket and was surprised to see many things that I didn’t expect: apples, seafood, sausage, and mushrooms! I headed over to the Madura Farms (Goshen, NY) table and looked at all of the odd shapes and sizes of mushrooms – objects that looked like little ocean creatures. I decided to go with the portobellos and grabbed three. Keep it simple. I collected some challah rolls from the Baker’s Bounty, (Linden, New Jersey) and purple Peruvian potatoes (what a surprise to see such a beautiful color when they're sliced!) and an onion from Healthway Farms (Ulster County, NY). My menu was almost complete.

Later that evening, I stopped at Urban Rustic, a small grocery store (across from the farmers market) that sells mostly local and organic produce and has a great selection of local craft beer. The guy behind the counter let me have a taste of a new beer on tap from Brooklyn that I’d never heard of and it immediately warmed me up. I chose Kelso’s Recessionator beer and carried home my liter-sized growler, hungry and ready to get to work.

I made portobello mushroom sandwiches and purple potato fries. It was the perfect meal for a cold, windy night. There's also not a lot of prep involved and it doesn't take too long to cook.

portobello mushroom sandwiches

Portobello mushrooms (1 for each sandwich)
Buns or bread
Olive oil
Extras: (I added cheese, arugula, sauteed red peppers, and spicy mustard)

Rinse and dry portobello mushrooms.

Drizzle 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a frying pan (size depending on how many mushrooms you plan to make at once) and turn on medium heat.

Place mushrooms in pan and cover with a lid. Cook on each side for 3-4 minutes. You don't want the mushroom to get too mushy.

You can also toast the buns in the oven for a minute if you're making the fries at the same time.

Add toppings to the buns and place the mushrooms on last. Enjoy!

peruvian potato fries

Peruvian purple potatoes
Olive oil
Seat salt
Herbs or spice of your choosing (optional)

Preheat oven to 475 degrees.

Wash and thinly slice the potatoes (1/4 inch wide) and place on a cookie sheet. Drizzle some olive oil and sea salt on top.

Pop in the oven for about 10-15 minutes (depending on how crispy you like them). They are also delicious with curry or other another spice or herb of your choosing.

(Above photos l to r: Madura Farms table at the Greenpoint/McCarren Park Greenmarket; Portobello mushroom sandwiches, ready to eat)

kristen (beacon)

Whoever said you can’t eat fresh local food in the dead of Winter was very, very wrong.

I was one of those people, until I visited the Beacon Farmers Market in February. I didn’t go shopping with a plan, because I had no idea what I would find, if anything. What could possibly be fresh in the gloomiest part of Winter? Wasn’t the farmers market only awesome in Spring, Summer and Fall? I was skeptical. But amidst the happy, humming crowds on that clear Sunday afternoon inside the Beacon Sloop Club, gorgeous food awaited me.

As soon as I walked in, Petra from Honey Locust Farm House welcomed me with a smile. A jar of their sweet, thick unfiltered honey practically jumped into my basket, and I knew I had found my first ingredient for dinner. Fishkill Farms brought bushels of their beautiful Red Delicious apples and I couldn’t resist taking a few of those home with me, as well.

Have you ever heard of pea shoots? I certainly hadn’t, until Jim from Winter Sun Farms (a local Winter CSA) offered a bite of freshly-picked ones from Little Seed Gardens. They were crisp, earthy, slightly sweet, and tasted and looked just like Spring. Those pretty little shoots, I decided, would have to be part of dinner, too.

I also left with a wedge of velvety Ouray cheese from Sprout Creek Farm, a loaf of aromatic seeded rye bread from Rock & Roll Artisan Bakery, and a carton of sweet cream butter from Ronnybrook Farm Dairy. I also ran into about a half a dozen people I hadn’t seen in months and everyone seemed so happy to be out of their houses for a little respite from cabin fever. Seeing them all in one small room, laughing and chatting and supporting the local farmers and artisans reminded me how much I love this town.

Dinner was simple and fresh, perfect for an early Sunday evening: pea shoot salad with apple, honey and shallot vinaigrette; sliced rye bread with Ouray cheese, honey, and sweet cream butter; apple pudding from Christopher Kimball’s The Yellow Farmhouse Cookbook.

I am skeptical no more.

apple pudding
adapted from The Yellow Farmhouse Cookbook's Master Recipe for Fruit Pudding
Makes: 6 to 8 servings

3 cups mixed apples (washed, peeled, cored, and cut into bite-size pieces)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons lemon zest
2/3 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/2 cup sugar
1 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla zest

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a shallow casserole or oval baking dish (the sides should be short and the pan should be wide – an 8 X 12-inch pa is about the right size). Toss the fruit with the lemon juice and zest and pour into the baking dish.

Whisk together the flour, salt, nutmeg, and sugar. In a separate bowl, whisk together the milk, heavy cream, eggs, and vanilla. Add the flour to the milk mixture and stir very gently with a whisk just until smooth. Do no overbeat. Pour over fruit.

Bake 30 to 40 minutes or until custard sets. The center 2 inches should still be wet and custardy. It will finish baking out of the oven. Remove from oven and serve warm, not hot, but no longer than 1 hour after baking.

(Above photos l to r: Pea shoot salad; Apples and lemon zest)

View more of our farmers market photos on Flickr.

"do we need a blow torch for this?"

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 01:02:00 +0000

For our first official "challenge," we decided to make something new and, well, challenging. So why not a cheese soufflé? It’s French, and if Julie and Julia taught us anything, it’s that everything is harder in French. Mark Bittman provided the recipe. Read his recipe and and our interpretations of it below.

cheese soufflé
from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman
Makes: 4 to 6 servings
Time: About 1 hour

An easy but impressive and delicious dish. Make one large soufflé or or make 4 to 6 individual soufflés in 1 1/2- to 2-cup ramekins; the cooking time may be reduced by as much as half with the smaller dishes.

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups milk, warmed to the touch (about a minute in an average microwave)
6 eggs, separated
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Dash cayenne or 1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup grated or crumbled cheddar, Jack, Roquefort, Emmental, and/or other cheese

Use a bit of the butter to grease a 2-quart soufflé or other deep baking dish. (Hold off on this step if you're going to delay baking the soufflés until later.)

Put the remaining butter in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. When the foam subsides, stir in the flour and cook, stirring, until the mixture darkens, about 3 minutes. Turn the heat down to low and and whisk in the milk, a bit at a time, until the mixture is thick. Let cool for a few minutes, then beat in the egg yolks, salt, pepper, cayenne and cheeses. (You can prepare this base a few hours in advance of cooking; cover tightly and refrigerate; bring back to room temperature before continuing.)

About an hour before you're ready to cook, preheat the oven to 375°F. Use an electric or hand mixer or a whisk to beat the egg whites until fairly stiff. Stir about a third into the base to lighten it, then gently - and not overthoroughly - fold in the remaining whites, using a rubber spatula or your hand. Transfer to the prepared dish and bake until the top is brown, the sides are firm, and the center is still quite moist, about 30 minutes. Use a thin skewer to check the interior; if it is still quite wet, bake for another 5 minutes. If it is just a bit moist, the soufflé is done. Serve immediately.

(Above photos l to r: Kate's first soufflé; Kristen's first soufflé)

kate (brooklyn)

"Do you need a blowtorch for that?" Yes, those words were part of the phone conversation I had with Kristen last weekend in regards to this post.

A soufflé. Two things come to my mind when I hear that word: French and puffy. I don’t usually bake things that have anything to do with those words. Cooking French food intimates me and the last puffy thing I made was a microwave s'more in the teachers lounge at the school where I work. I put the chocolate and marshmallow on a graham cracker and watched the marshmallow expand to about ten times its normal size and then become as hard as a rock. I figured that was about as close to a soufflé as I’ve ever been.

So when Kristen suggested that we try a soufflé, I was all for it. It was something new and challenging. As far as the blowtorch comment, I saw one advertised online at Crate and Barrel in my search for a soufflé dish in that little "you might also like..." box at the bottom. Luckily, we didn’t need one – however I do have a little bit of welding experience and would’ve felt comfortable making a puffy cheese sculpture with one.

I had no problem finding a soufflé dish. There are two great kitchen stores in my neighborhood like The Brooklyn Kitchen and Whisk as well as many chain stores in the city like Crate and Barrel and Sur la Table. I ended up meeting my friend, Abby, in SoHo one night after work last week at C & B, where we found the soufflé dish and then, realizing how all this food talk was making us hungry, proceeded to get margaritas and dinner at Spring Street Natural.

Saturday rolled around. I had a few of the ingredients in the fridge, but needed a couple more things. We also did not have much else to eat in our place, so I talked my husband into going to Trader Joe’s in Union Square to do the rest of the shopping for the week. Trader Joe’s seems to have the best prices when it comes down to buying a lot of food at once. Unfortunately, I think most of New York City has also realized this by now, as well.

We arrived at Trader Joe’s around 11 am and already the line was stretched around the store (at least there wasn’t a line to get into the store – I’ve never gone in when that happens). Branden and I usually tag-team our shopping experience there: one of us will wait in line and grab things on the edge of the store while the other will go up and down the aisles. I think we were in line for at least 45 minutes, which is probably the longest I’ve ever waited there.

The store was also missing a lot of items – about 90 percent of the bread was gone. I got into a conversation with the couple behind me who wanted to know if the store was closing, as it looked like a clearance sale had happened on some of the shelves. I remarked that maybe everyone was stocking up for the big blizzard headed our way (which only left a dusting).

Anyway, we made it around the store, past the greens, the empty bread shelves, the meat, and finally the dairy. Even got a snack cup from the sample table filled with TJ’s trail mix about half-way – I thought it was pretty thoughtful of them to help keep our energy up while we waited. We paid and hauled 4 big, heavy bags out of the store, got on the L, and headed home. It takes us about 10-15 minutes to walk home from the train. I don’t mind the walk, except during times like this where I’m carrying (what feels like) close to my body-weight in groceries.

I prepped everything ahead of time and made sure the recipe was posted in a place where I could see. (I don’t have the cookbook we used for this recipe – Kristen was nice to scan it for me). I have to admit, though, I think if I ever write a cookbook I would make the font a lot bigger and have more visuals.

Everything seemed to go well (I did drop the butter on the floor and after trying to cut off the fuzz and gross-ness from the floor I gave up and just put out the other half) up to the part where the egg whites are beaten. I also (like Kristen) was worried about over-beating them and don’t think they were as stiff as they should have been.

I put the soufflé in the oven, poured myself a glass of wine, and waited for half and hour. It had definitely risen, but the center was still wet. Branden joined me in the kitchen and we waited together. After about 3 more 5-minute intervals, the soufflé was done in the center and had risen a little above the dish. I considered it a success for a first soufflé.

We carried it to the table and I took some photos, as it slowly sank. We cut and served and ate. It was really good and had the right balance of cheese and herbs (chives and thyme). Who knows how high a soufflé is actually supposed to rise; what matters most to me is the way it tastes.

(Kate's photos above l to r: Reading the recipe; Branden and thyme)

kristen (beacon)

The whole idea of the soufflé has forever intimidated me. I’m not exactly sure why: The shi shi French name? The very specific ceramic dish? The oh so important rise? Who knows? What I do know is that I have avoided them like the plague, but if I wanted to broaden my culinary horizons, I knew I had to try making one.

When Kate and I decided to start this blog, I knew immediately that the basic cheese soufflé should be our first challenge. A risky adventure like that was sure to bring some interesting results to compare. And what an adventure it was.

First thing I learned: Soufflé dishes are nearly impossible to find in the Hudson Valley. Considering that we are so close to the Culinary Institute of America, you’d think our kitchen stores would be better stocked. But half a dozen stores later, all I had found were a bunch of blank stares. (More than once I pointed to a ramekin and explained, “It’s like that, but bigger.”) Finally, PJ reminded me of a new gourmet kitchen store in Rhinebeck, Blue Cashew, which is about an hour north of Beacon. Sure enough, they were well stocked and happily claimed to “have a lot of things you can’t find anywhere else in the Valley.” Whew, thank goodness.

Soufflé dish in tow, I shopped for the rest of my ingredients at Adam’s Fairacre Farms in Newburgh. Adam’s is a mini-chain in the Hudson Valley that is chock full of local and hard-to-find ingredients. We still don’t have Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, but thanks to Adams we can almost always find what we need. I stocked up on Ronnybrook Farm Creamline Milk (Ronnybrook is located just north of Beacon in Ancramdale), Gruyere and Parmigiano Reggiano cheeses (ok, not exactly local), and thyme (not fresh, but heck, it’s the middle of February). Tim Heuer, the head farmer at our CSA (Common Ground Farm) had given us a dozen fresh eggs from his chickens earlier in the week, and I thought they would also be perfect.

I was so nervous about making the soufflé that I procrastinated as much as possible. I carefully laid out and rearranged my ingredients several times. I watched a video of Julia Child making a soufflé to see if I could pick up any last-minute tricks that Mark Bittman may have left out (like the “foil collar” and lining the buttered dish with leftover cheese for a crispy, savory crust). Finally, I took a deep breath and dove in.

The béchamel base turned out well enough, but I think my first misstep was with the egg whites. I was so terrified of overbeating that I think I may have actually underbeat them. Mark Bittman suggests using one hand to fold the whites into the béchamel, but I may have done this too vigorously. Finally, I think I may have adhered the foil collar too high on the dish.

The result? A soufflé that didn’t even rise over the top of the dish, and wasn’t the least bit pretty.

But then I remembered we still got to eat it! I kept my fingers crossed that it would be delicious. And it was. Gloriously, it was. Light and airy (for the most part), savory, and as PJ remarked, “It’s like eating a warm, cheesy cloud.” Oh la la.

I still don’t know exactly why the soufflé didn’t rise as much as it should have, but I look forward to making many more in the future to improve my technique. Besides, since I clearly own one of the only soufflé dishes in the Hudson Valley, I owe it to my hometown to crank out as many of these as possible. I’m sure that’s what Mark and Julia would have wanted.

(Kristen's photos above l to r: The ingredients; The first bite)

View more of our soufflé photos on Flickr.

beginnings

noreply@blogger.com (Kate and Kristen) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 21:24:00 +0000

kate (brooklyn)

Chocolate is my weakness, my first true love; a powerful force in my life. I always considered myself more of a baker than a cook, as the kitchen would usually end up in chaos and stickiness after I attempted to make something new. My mother or grandmother always saved me a spoon to lick or better yet, the bowl. To this day, it's one part of baking that I secretly look forward to. Whether it was in my little Easy Bake Oven or making a late-night treat in our apartment, I just couldn’t say no.

I also couldn’t imagine my life without pizza. Yes, I know it might sound silly. But I have so much love for a good pizza. Maybe it's also the memories that involve a good pie. Saturday night had always been our family pizza night growing up. I remember, as a young child, waiting for my dad to come back with a fresh pie from Little Nippers while I sat at my little miniature wooden table in our living room watching Solid Gold. My culinary (well, pizza-making) skills grew in high school after we moved from Pittsburgh to Columbia, South Carolina, and realized that there were no good pizza shops. One night, after a terrible pizza experience from a local place (we found a gigantic roach baked into the cheese), we decided to start making our own. We bought a pizza stone and went to the grocery store every Saturday morning to find fresh ingredients. We each got to make our own pies (as my sister has never liked cheese) and threw the dough high in the air (whether they landed across the room or not).

Over the next couple of years, as I left home and went to college and moved to and from various places, I met people who changed the way I will forever think about food. My cousin, Cindi, showed me the warmth that a good meal brings when it's enjoyed around family and friends and my then-to-be husband, Branden, showed me that healthy eating doesn't have to be boring and actually tastes and makes you feel good. I feel like I carry little bits of these people into the kitchen with me whenever I embark on a new recipe or setting up the table for a dinner with friends.

I know it’s not always easy or practical to sit down to a big meal or to find something healthy or good to eat. The other day I accidentally brought a foil-wrapped package of bacon with me to work (thinking it was a left-over slice of pizza). I had just returned from taking a group of 6 and 7 year olds on a field trip to MoMA and had only 5 minutes before my next class. Starving and annoyed, I microwaved two pieces and ate them so I wouldn’t pass out while I worked on papier-mâché samurai helmets with a group of 8-year-old boys.

However, when I do have time, it’s one of the ways I love to bring the people who are important to me together. Cooking is a way I show love. It’s also something special I do for myself. I love cranking up the music in the kitchen and singing along while I chop or stir. It’s like my own little choreography. I don’t always have the time to cook…it takes a lot of work: you have to plan and take the time to shop and clean up after you’re done. Things usually don't go as planned...but that makes the kitchen exciting and fun.

I hope to have more adventures in the kitchen and beyond while writing this blog with Kristen and dive into the experiences that food brings to me and the people I care about. After all, what is the point of a good meal if you can't share it with anyone?

(Kate's photos l to r: Tearing apart the kitchen with my dad; Getting ready to eat a lobster in Maine last summer)

kristen (beacon)

Mushrooms! I woke up with a start in the middle of the night recently and realized I am head over heels in love with these things I've wanted nothing to do with for as long as I can remember. Nothing about mushrooms was ever appealing to me. Then, I tasted fresh ones. Not from a can. Or a jar. Not slimy or flavorless. But earthy and nutty and rich. And everything changed.

Little breakthroughs like that are happening more and more often and are quickly becoming the theme of my evolution from picky and timid eater, to open-minded and eager culinary adventurer.

Food used to exist in my world solely as a means of sustenance. I didn’t give it much thought, and certainly didn’t think much about where it came from. For a few years in high school, I only ate carrots for lunch. During my first year in New York City when I worked in a restaurant and barely had enough money to even get to work, the dinner rolls I would swipe from the restaurant’s kitchen would often be the only food I would eat all day. I didn’t even know how to brew a pot of coffee, much less make a healthy, satisfying meal for myself.

And then I met PJ. On one of our first dates, he made an onion frittata for me. I had no idea what a frittata was; all I knew was that it tasted like a little bit of heaven. On another date, he made risotto with watercress and green grapes. Swoon! Then, honest-to-goodness biscuits, cut with a Mason jar and baked in a cast iron skillet. They tasted just like South Carolina. Those were just the first of many palate-changing meals PJ cooked for me. Finally, one snowy New York City night, I worked up the nerve to cook for him. I made the only dish I had a recipe for: my mom’s hearty vegetable soup. The simple act of cooking for myself, and him, was extraordinarily satisfying. For the first time, I felt like an adult, because that soup had not come from a can. I was hooked. He, and food, won my heart.

With this blog, I hope to continue that journey I began all those years ago with the vegetable soup. Perhaps Kate and I will finally learn how to use chopsticks and develop a taste for Brussels sprouts. If I can fall in love with mushrooms, anything is possible.

(Kristen's photos l to r: Feeding my baby brother, Ryan; Picking blackberries at Fishkill Farms near Beacon)