mostly foodstuffs

Roasted Strawberry Basil Muffins

2013-06-08T14:27:00.002-07:00

Oregon's beloved Hood strawberries are in, and they are lovely. But, as much as I'd love to get all puffy with regional pride, there are probably lovely strawberries coming in all over the country. Tinier than the supermarket behemoths, red and juicy throughout, begging to be eaten out of hand (or, if we must, with shortcake).

But even in the height of this ruby-red season, we get some not-so-great berries. Maybe they've gotten so waterlogged as to become flavorless (last week's rainstorms, I'm looking at you), or they're a bit dulled and shriveled after you, say, forgot that last pint in the back of the fridge (umm... no comment). But in times like these, we've always got roasted strawberries.

Roasting concentrates strawberries' juices, turning even lackluster berries into flavor punches. And it also dries them out a bit, so they don't sog up your baked goods. I gave a recent watery batch of berries a good turn in the oven, then decided to fold them into some muffins (and yes, I do still have leftover sour cream — this is what happens when things are on sale). A little sprinkle of fresh basil gave them a bright herbal edge, keeping them from one-dimensional sweetness (I imagine many other herbs — mint, tarragon — could do a similar job). It's like springtime, but intensified a bit. And served up for breakfast.

Roasted Strawberry Basil Muffins

1 1/2 pints strawberries
1 tablespoon sugar

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 stick butter, melted and slightly cooled (if you fancy, brown the butter in a small saucepan, melting it until it takes on a toasty color, for an even more delicious depth of flavor)
1/2 cup sugar, plus additional for topping
1 egg
3/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
a few sprigs fresh basil leaves, cut into strips

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit. Wash the strawberries, and halve any large ones (or quarter them if they're truly mammoth). Toss with the tablespoon of sugar, transfer to a rimmed baking sheet or casserole dish, and roast until the berries shrink and the juices come out and thicken, ~45 minutes (you can use a large sheet tray, or a smaller square baking dish, which will take a bit longer). Set aside and let cool slightly, but leave the oven on. Grease 10 muffin cups, and set aside.

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

In a separate bowl, mix together the melted butter, sugar, egg, sour cream, milk, and vanilla until well combined. Add the wet ingredients to the dries, give a turn or two, until just barely combined (better to under- than over-mix), then sprinkle in the strawberries and basil leaves, and give an additional turn or two until barely combined.

Quickly divide the mixture into muffin cups, coming just a bit below the lip of the cup. Sprinkle a dusting of sugar over the batter (you should need just a few spoonfuls for the whole tray). Bake until lightly golden and a tester comes out clean, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly, then pop out of the muffin tin, and enjoy.

Sour Cream Twists

2013-06-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

I have a fairly predictable response to stressful life events. I become insomniac (because 5 am is always a good time to mull over your worries), I forget to eat, and I become surly and short-tempered with those who are only trying to help. I am well aware that these strategies could use a little work. But, on the somewhat more productive side of things, I do try to make some time to exercise and clear my head. And I bake.

Baking is perfect stress relief. It's mindless yet productive, helping pass the time while you wait for events outside of your control to unfold. It's comforting. It's delicious. And, as a bonus, you end up with a batch of cookies to, say, gratefully share with the surgical team who fit your dog in for a last-minute Saturday appointment. And really, how can things be bad in the world when there are cookies as perfectly delicious as these?

I've been baking batches of rugelach lately, inspired by some time I spent at a local Jewish retirement home recording a recent audio project. And so, looking for a change of pace (yet still in possession of leftover sour cream), I came upon this recipe.

As best as I can tell, these cookies come from a long-ago Pilsbury bake-off (though some sources say the recipe was printed on a yeast package). Like rugelach, it starts by cutting butter into flour, then binding everything together with a plop of sour cream. But it's also got an egg, for a bit of cookie-like structure, and yeast for a surprising bit of loft. After rising, the unsweetened dough is rolled out with vanilla sugar, folding in flaky, flavorful layers (which, as with rugelach, leaves sugar that caramelizes deliciously around the edges).

The resulting cookies are ridiculously addictive. They've got a bit of the feel of a sugar cookie, but with a softer lightness from the yeast and layers, a caramelized crispness around the edges, and a slight tang from the sour cream. They're rich yet airy, perfect for enjoying with a cup of tea or coffee, or setting out with a dish of those juicy little strawberries that have just come to market. If you're looking for a delicious way to process your anxiety (or just looking for a delicious treat to accompany your coffee break), these cookies are highly recommended.

Sour Cream Twists

adapted from what, if the internet is to be believed, are the Starlight Sugar Crisps from a long-ago Pilsbury Bake Off
yields 32 cookies

Dough:
1/4 cup room temperature water
1 package (2 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
3 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into pats
2 large eggs
1/2 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Sugar topping:
1 1/2 cups sugar (I tried both regular and coarse sugar, and they each worked nicely)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Pour the water in a medium bowl, and sprinkle in the yeast. Set aside for a few minutes to allow the yeast to soften and bloom.

In a large bowl or food processor, whisk or pulse together the flour and salt. Cut or pulse in the butter until particles are the size of peas (don't overwork!). If using the food processor, dump into a bowl at this point.

Whisk the eggs, sour cream, and 1 teaspoon vanilla into the yeast mixture until well combined. Pour this liquid into the flour mixture, and using your hands or a wooden spoon (and then your hands) mix until the flour has been moistened and the mixture forms a cohesive dough (you still want to see smears of butter — the mixture will be rolled out many times, so no need to overwork). Form the mixture into two equal portions, and cover the bowl (or transfer to a bag), and chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours (and up to four days).

When you're ready to bake, preheat the oven to 375º Fahrenheit. Remove the dough from the refrigerator, and line two cookie sheets with parchment. In a small bowl, combine sugar and 2 teaspoons vanilla, stirring well to combine.

On a clean counter top, sprinkle 1/2 of the vanilla sugar mixture. Take half the dough, place it on the vanilla sugar, and press it down. Flip the dough over, then roll out to a 16-inch x 8-inch rectangle (if needed, flip it again, or sprinkle sugar from the counter onto the top to keep the dough from sticking. Fold the sides into the center, like an envelope. Rotate 90º, and roll and fold again. Fold and rotate a third time, and roll out a final time into the 16-inch x 8-inch rectangle. All of the sugar should have been worked into the dough during this process.

Trim the edges of the rectangle, to neaten off the ends (and reveal the layers in the folds). Cut the rectangle through the middle, to form two 4-inch high rectangles, and then cut each one into 4-inch x 1-inch strips. Take each strip, twist twice, and place on the parchment-lined baking sheet, with a bit of space between them. You may need to press the ends of the cookies down to the sheet a bit to keep the fold (I found it easiest to shape the cookies, place them on the sheet, then then flip them all after I finished shaping the last one — maybe this is unnecessary, but it seemed to help them keep their shape).

Bake 15-20 minutes, until the cookies are light golden brown. Remove from the oven, and transfer immediately to a rack (before the caramelized sugar solders them to the sheet, or they darken too much. Repeat the entire process with the remaining dough.

These cookies are best within a day or so — they're nice and crisp on the edges as soon as they cool from the oven, then soften a bit but are still delicious. If you want to keep them more than a few days, I'd recommend freezing them.

Rhubarb Tartlets

2013-05-19T08:48:00.000-07:00

I know, again with the sweets. But when the rhubarb finally arrives, it's hard to resist. Last week a friend gave me a few fresh stalks from her in-laws' garden (which, along with a carton of their fresh eggs, made a more-than-generous payment for some last-minute babysitting). And I wanted to turn it into something sweet yet delicate, suited for these delicate spring days.

This isn't some late-summer pie, piled ridiculously high with the season's out-of-control harvest and dripping its ruby juices all over. It's just a whisper of thinly-sliced rhubarb and a hint of a creamy base on a shatteringly flaky crust, all butter and air and sweet and sour. Once you've got your dough on hand (I made mine the night before), the whole thing comes together in no time at all. The crust puffs, the rhubarb softens, and your own little spring dessert package is served.

Rhubarb Tartlets

yields 4 tartlets
with a bit of inspiration from The BBC

1 single crust recipe of nice flaky pie dough or puff pastry (I still am in love with this recipe/method, which is sort of like a rough puff pastry — you'll only need half a batch for this)
1 egg, beaten with a splash of milk or water (aka the egg wash)
1 1/2 tablespoons sour cream or creme fraiche (or, heck, even Greek yogurt)
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar (ideally coarse sugar), plus additional for sanding
~4 stalks rhubarb, thinly sliced on an angle

whipped cream for serving, if desired

Preheat the oven to 425° Fahrenheit. Line a baking sheet with parchment, or grease it well.

Let your dough come to room temperature. Roll out on a lightly floured countertop into a 12-inch by 16-inch rectangle. Trim off any ragged edges, and cut through the midpoints to divide into four smaller rectangles.

Brush the rectangles with the egg wash, right to the edges. Prick all over with a fork, leaving a 1/2-inch unpricked rim on the edges. Mix together the sour cream and sugar, then spread a thin layer on each rectangle, leaving the same 1/2-inch rim on the edges.

Lay down the rhubarb in overlapping slices (if you're so inspired, you could even spiral them in a floral formation, and if you are not feeling it at all you can just scatter them haphazardly). Fold the edges of the crust over, pressing down (especially at the corners) to seal. Brush the crust with another round of the egg wash, then generously sprinkle each tartlet (both crust and rhubarb) with a spoonful of the coarse sugar (I also like to sprinkle the crust part with a small amount of coarse salt too, if you have it, but that part's optional).

Transfer each tartlet to your prepared baking sheet, and bake until the crust is puffed and beginning to brown, ~20 minutes or so. Remove, let cool slightly, then serve with whipped cream.

Teff Brownies

2013-05-13T17:30:00.001-07:00

When my friends left town a few months ago for a year of world travel, I was sad to see them go. But happy to inherit a good chunk of their pantry. Since Ken went gluten-free, he'd stocked up on all sorts of flours and starches. I turned the almond meal into Passover macarons, thickened pastry cream with cornstarch, and have been eying the tapioca flour in anticipation of setting summer fruit pies. But after spending the better part of a morning transferring each starch from a plastic bag to its own repurposed-and-relabeled glass jar, I had an unpleasant realization: while I have done my share of gluten-free baking (both on these pages and non-blog-worthy failures), it's mostly been to eat with my friend Ken. Swept up in our shared love of good food and foolhardy kitchen experimentation, I somehow missed that fact that Ken is one of my only gluten-free friend in baked-good-sharing distance. So now I've got fetching little containers of amaranth flour and guar gum, but no real need to use them.

But luckily I've found a way out of my O. Henry-ish moment. Because it turns out that gluten-free baking isn't just about allergies and intolerance and substitution. Sometimes, it's just about baking. Good baking.

I recently heard a gluten-free baker maintain that in a decade all of our cakes will be gluten-free, because it just produces a better product. It struck me as a kind of wishful sour grapes, but there are some grains of truth to it. Because wheat flour, see, is a wonder in the kitchen. But alternative flours have their own alternative charms. And sometimes they hold their own, giving you a different flavor profile and result that can be totally delicious in its own right. As Portland's own (yay!) Kim Boyce detailed in Good to the Grain, there's a whole world of flours out there. And, as I discovered the other night, some of them make delicious brownies.

If there's ever a recipe to try gluten-free, it's brownies. They are, at heart, a study in chocolate and butter and eggs, with just a bit of flour tossed in to liaise those primary elements together. After wondering what the heck I was going to do with a little jar of nutty brown teff flour, I came upon this recipe from Gluten-Free Girl. She notes that teff has chocolatey, nutty undertones, making it perfect for brownies. Plus its a whole grain flour, allowing you to have pretensions of health. Amaranth flour, you're up next.

And if you're looking for another story of something unexpected inside a dairy-filled comfort food, I recently produced a radio story on an FDA standoff over Mimolette cheese. French culture! Tradition! Drama! Cheese mites! You can listen to the whole story over at NPR.

Teff Brownies

adapted from Kitchen Sense: More than 600 Recipes to Make You a Great Home Cook, with gluten-free tweaking via Gluten-Free Girl

4 ounces (aka 1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pats
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
100 grams teff flour (a generous 3/4 cup)
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
2 handfuls chopped hazelnuts or walnuts
2 handfuls chopped semisweet chocolate, or chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Line an 8-inch baking pan with greased foil or parchment paper, or grease and flour. Set aside.

In a double-boiler (or in bursts in the microwave), melt the butter and chocolate. Stir to combine, and let cool until it's no longer too hot. Add the sugar, stir, and then add the eggs, stirring in between (mix until the eggs are incorporated, but no need to whip the bejesus out of it — you're not looking to incorporate air). Add the vanilla, stir, then add the teff flour and salt, and stir until combined. Fold in the nuts and chopped chocolate.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and spread it out evenly. Bake until the center is just starting to set and the edges pull away from the sides, ~20-25 minutes (I consider over-baked brownies to be one of the sadder kitchen outcomes, so I make sure to check it regularly as it approaches this stage). Remove from the oven, and let cool on a rack. Slice and enjoy.

Salad Niçoise

2013-05-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

There's something about a warm, summery evening (even if that summery evening happens the first week of May) that calls out for Salad Niçoise. And lest you think I am making Baseless Sweeping Culinary Pronouncements, I present empirical proof: a few days ago I ran out to the grocery store to get some last-minute Salad Niçoise ingredients, and ran into a friend shopping for the exact same thing. There you have it. It's Salad Niçoise season.

As I've mentioned several times before, I'm fond of salads that push the definition of the genre. Why settle for lettuce and cucumber and a crumble of cheese? The world is your salad bar! Salad Niçoise is another entry into the composed salad genre, an assemblage of substantial cooked (potatoes, eggs), raw (lettuce, radishes) and blanched (asparagus) elements, presented together with some piquant additions (olives, anchovies). As none other than Julia Child poetically attested, "A bountiful arrangement in bowl or platter is so handsome to behold that I think it a cruel shame to toss everything together into a big mess." I heartily agree.

Most Salad Niçoise variations feature tuna, either seared and sliced or simply flaked from the can. I chickened out at the last minute from cracking open a friend's jar of home-canned tuna, due to my own botulism phobia, but the salad was hearty enough without it. As you can see, Salad Niçoise is quite forgiving. I blanched a handful of yay-they're-finally-in-season asparagus, but you can easily substitute green beans, and capers add a piquant note if you don't fancy anchovies. You can even slice up some not-so-French-but-oh-so-delicious buttery chunks of avocado, or scatter some punchy little tomatoes if they're in season. Because a Salad Niçoise, — like a warm, sunny evening — is going to be fairly lovely, no matter what you make of it.

Salad Niçoise

serves 2-3

3 good-sized waxy potatoes, or several handfuls small new potatoes
3 eggs
~12 spears asparagus, tough ends snapped off
several handfuls butter lettuce, washed and dried
handful olives
~6 anchovies
a few radishes, thinly sliced

Dressing:
1 minced shallot, or 1 clove garlic, pressed
1 tablespoon vinegar, preferably a mild one, like sherry
juice of 1/2 lemon (optional — you can add another splash vinegar instead)
~3 tablespoons olive oil
hefty dollop mustard
pinch sugar
pinch salt
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh herbs — tarragon is especially nice

crusty bread and cheese, to round out the meal

Place the potatoes in a large saucepan, cover with salted water, and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer, and cook until the potatoes are tender but not mushy (~10-20 minutes, depending upon the size of your potatoes). Remove the potatoes with a slotted spoon (leaving the water in the pot), and let cool slightly.

While the potatoes are cooking, hard-boil the eggs: Place in a small saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then cover with a lid and turn off the heat. Let sit in the hot water for 10 minutes, then drain and cover with cold water too cool off.

When the potatoes are done, bring the pot of water back to a boil, and add the asparagus. Let cook just a minute or two, until bright green, then remove, drain, and shock with cold water.

To make the dressing: place the shallot or garlic, vinegar, and lemon juice in a small jar with a tight-fitting lid (canning jars work wonderfully). Let sit for a minute or two to mellow, then add the remaining ingredients. Shake until emulsified, then taste and adjust as needed.

To assemble the salad: Cut the potatoes into thick slices (or just halve them if they're new potatoes), and peel and halve the eggs. Lay the lettuce down on a serving platter, then top with all of the elements, each given its own neat little section of the platter. Give the dressing another good shake, then pour over the salad (the warm potatoes will do an especially good job of drinking it in), and season with salt and pepper as needed. Serve, ideally on a warm summer evening, with some crusty bread and cheese.

Baked Eggs with Olives and Cream

2013-04-23T08:10:00.000-07:00

I have something of a soft spot for adorable dishware. Over the years of thrift-store-shopping and yard-sale-trolling, I've amassed several shelves of precariously-stacked darling-yet-mismatched bowls and saucers. There's something about a fetching little plate that makes anything on it — heck, even a mid-day snack of carrot sticks — seem like an elegant treat. And so when my friend Leela packed her epic collection of kitchen gear up for her *sniff* relocation to California, I was happy to seize upon the spoils.

Tucked within the embarrassingly large stack of textured plates, wooden spoons, and eggshell-blue bowls that I hauled off were three delicate little white ramekins, like miniature shallow casserole dishes. Leela noted that she'd bought them intending to make baked eggs, so I figured I'd help them realize their destiny.

I've long been eying this recipe from Jenn Louis, a local Portland chef with a national reputation. And it's so simple. Crack two eggs, top with a few torn-up olives and a little pour of heavy cream, then bake until the whites are set but the yolks are still runny (or, if you're like me, just a minute past that). Then top all that creamy, briny, richness with a sprinkling of crisp bread crumbs and fresh thyme leaves, and serve with a fork and toast.

I'm usually one to throw a handful of greens into my eggs, or nestle them in a puddle of salsa or tomato sauce. But this simplicity is surprisingly perfect, especially with delicious orange-yolked farm eggs. The cream thickens and cloaks the olive-studded eggs, keeping them nice and tender, and the crunchy breadcrumbs and fragrant thyme leaves add a just enough subtle contrast. It's one of those dishes that's indescribably better than the sum of its parts. Especially when one of those parts is an adorable little dish that reminds you of your friend.

Baked Eggs with Olives and Cream

adapted from Jenn Louis, via Culinate
serves 1 (multiply as needed)

2 large eggs
3 tablespoons cream, divided
2 olives (Louis recommends the meaty green Castelvetranos), thwacked with a knife to loosen from the pit, and torn into 2-3 pieces
coarse salt and pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons bread crumbs
1 sprig thyme leaves
toasted crusty bread, for serving (optional)

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit, and butter an adorable little ramekin (or similar oven-proof dish).

Crack the two eggs into your ramekin, then pour the cream over them and scatter the olive pieces. Season with a bit of salt, and then place in the oven. Bake until whites are set but the yolks are runny, ~7-9 minutes.

When the eggs are done to your liking, remove and top with an even sprinkle of the bread crumbs, scattering of thyme leaves, and additional salt and pepper if needed. Serve at once, with bread if desired.

Quinoa Kale Salad with Carrot Coriander Vinaigrette

2013-04-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

Portland, like much of the country, is totally abloom with spring. There are pale pink cherry blossoms scattering their little hole-punch petals everywhere, and rosy fat camellias dropping onto the front steps until I literally have to sweep them away with a broom. Everywhere you look, the colors just about knock you out (especially offset, as they seem to be this time of year, by the alternating dark rainclouds and shafts of sunlight). And I find myself wanting a splash of color on the plate as well.

This salad feels just like spring — the winter-long bunch of kale with its new blossoms (though standard non-flowering kale also works quite well), the bouncy bits of quinoa, overly-symbolic egg, and a sweet carrot coriander vinaigrette tying it together like a splash of sunshine.

And beyond its springtime-on-a-plate beauty, this salad is just plain good. The sunny sweetness of the dressing is a perfect match for the slightly bitter greens and grassy quinoa, and the egg and nuts move it into full-on complete-meal status. And, as the spring rains dump on Portland (and knock down more camellia flowers), it's nice to have a little sunshine for lunch.

Quinoa Kale Salad with Carrot Coriander Vinaigrette

adapted from Gluten-Free Girl
serves 4-5

This dressing is a bit of a fuss, with reducing the carrot juice, but it's so crazy good. The post I pulled it from also mentioned serving it on rice, chicken — even quesadillas. Next time I'm making a double batch.

Dressing:
2 teaspoons whole coriander seeds
2 cups carrot juice
1 shallot, peeled and sliced
1/4 cup mild vinegar, such as sherry or champaigne
3/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
salt & pepper

Salad:
1 1/2 cups quinoa
a bunch kale (flowering kale, also sold is kale raab, is nice if you can find it), chopped into bite-sized pieces
4-5 eggs
1 large handful toasted pine nuts or almonds

To make the dressing: Heat a medium pot over a medium heat. Add the coriander seeds, and dry-toast, shaking the pot occasionally, until they become fragrant, ~3 minutes. Pour in the carrot juice and the shallot, raise the heat until it boils, then reduce to a simmer. Cook, scraping the sides once or twice so they don't scorch, until the carrot juice reduces to just 1/4 cup, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly.

Pour the mixture into a blender, along with the vinegar and olive oil, and blitz until the shallot is pureed and the mixture is emulsified. Add the cilantro, whir to combine, then season to taste with salt and pepper. Set aside.

To make the rest of the salad: Bring 3 cups of salted water to a boil. Add the quinoa, and reduce heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cover, and simmer for 10 minutes, then add the kale and recover. Cook together for another 5 minutes, then turn off the heat and let sit for 5 minutes. If you prefer, you can also cook the kale separately (which requires a bit more fussing, but does a better job of preserving its bright green color and gives you more control over the cooking process): bring a large pot of water to a boil, then add the kale and cook for a minute or two, until it turns bright green and crisp-tender. Drain the pot, and shock the kale in cold water to shock the cooking. Drain and set aside.

While the quinoa is cooking, place the eggs in a small pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then turn off the heat, cover, and let sit for 10 minutes. After 10 minutes, cool off the eggs with cold water, then peel and set aside.

To serve, mound the quinoa and kale in individual bowls or a serving bowl. Break the eggs into rough pieces with your hands, and scatter them over the top, along with the nuts. Dress generously, and dig in.

Black Sesame and Pear Tea Cake

2013-04-09T17:34:00.001-07:00

Like many people, I tend to go for the classics when it comes to sweets. Especially this time of year. I like chocolate. I like vanilla. I like ice cream sundaes and creamy puddings and my neighbor's chocolate chip walnut cookies. But, as I recently discovered, I also like black sesame and pear tea cake. Actually, I love it.

I know, it sounds strange. And looks a bit greyish and unappetizing. But it's so good! There's the nutty richness of the sesame seeds, the basic buttery sweet-but-not-too-sweet background, and the juicy bits of pear throughout it all. Although the recipe called for fresh fruit, I used some canned pears from last fall, and they worked beautifully (and the sesame seeds were left in the freezer from these why-haven't-I-made-them-since-July bagel bombs, making this a surprisingly thrifty pantry project). I'd be the first to admit that this doesn't seem like it would make anyone's short list of favorite desserts. But paired with a cup of tea, or a glass of wine (in the interests of science, I sampled it both ways), it'll definitely surprise you with just how perfect it is.

Black Sesame and Pear Tea Cake

adapted from Bon Appetit

Despite the fact that all of the pictures of this cake were somewhat sunken, even those baked up by master bloggers, I was convinced that with my room-temperature butter and eggs, masterful aerating technique, and light-as-a-feather folding, I would prevail with a perfectly domed cake. But I didn't. Ah well — perhaps that's just how this recipe rolls. It's still amazing, no matter how it bakes up.

1 1/2 cups flour

1 cup almond flour or almond meal

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon coarse salt

2 tablespoons plus 1/2 cup black sesame seeds, divided

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1 1/3 cups sugar, plus additional for topping the cake

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

3/4 cup buttermilk

1 large ripe-yet-firm pear (fresh or canned), peeled, cored, cut into 1/4-inch cubes, and tossed with a few spoonfuls flour right before using

Preheat oven to 325° Fahrenheit, and butter and flour a loaf pan.

Sift together the flour, almond meal, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, and stir in 2 tablespoons of sesame seeds. Set aside.

Take the remaining 1/2 cup black sesame seeds, and grind them until they form a thick paste (this is easiest in a spice grinder, but with enough patience and scraping, you can use a blender). Set aside.

Cream the butter and sugar together until fluffy and well combined, scraping down the sides occasionally. Add the sesame paste, and beat another minute, then add the egg and yolk, and beat until pale and fluffy (3-4 minutes).

Fold in 1/3 of the flour mixture until just barely combined, then 1/2 the buttermilk. Repeat, ending with the flour, then fold in the pear. Pour into the loaf pan, smooth the top, and sprinkle with a few spoonfuls of sugar. Bake until a tester comes out clean, 50 minutes to 1 1/2 hours (yeah, I know that's a crazy big range, but the reports seem to back it up — mine definitely took the full hour and a half). Let cool in the pan, then turn out, slice, and enjoy.

Matzo Crunch with Candied Kumquats

2013-04-02T07:52:00.000-07:00

When Passover is finished, we're left with some fond memories, chairs to be returned, and a pile of wine-stained tablecloths and napkins that need bleaching. And a whole lot of matzo.

This year is no exception. Most of us slowly work our way through matzo overload, swapping it out for crackers in our daily snacking (my current variation involves a swipe of butter, sprinkle of birthday-gift truffle salt (thanks, Katie!), and dusting of nutritional yeast). But I also strongly urge you to turn at least some of the leftover haul into this candied kumquat matzo crunch.

This year's early holiday means that kumquats are still in the stores, at the tail end of their season. And once you slice them up and simmer them in a sugar syrup, they turn into little jewel-like, sour-sweet rounds, perfect for topping your matzo crunch. The original recipe that inspired me just spread some bittersweet chocolate on a plain slice of matzo, and while that's perfectly fine, I opted to make things even more ridiculous (though not as ridiculous as this) and lay down a layer of caramel first. Because Passover only comes but once a year. Although the matzo seems to last a whole lot longer...

Matzo Crunch with Candied Kumquats

inspired by Dani Fisher, with caramel via Marcy Goldman's recipe
yields ~5 sheets matzo, enough for many dessert servings

If you want to skip the caramel for a less candy-like (and equally delicious) treat, just melt that amount of chocolate gently in a double boiler or microwave, spread it on the matzo, and proceed with the recipe.

Candied Kumquats:

1 1/2 cups kumquats
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups water

Matzo:
5 sheets matzo
1 cup unsalted butter
1 packed cup brown sugar
hefty pinch salt (plus additional coarse salt for topping, optional)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 heaping cup chocolate chips or finely chopped chocolate

To candy the kumquats: Slice the kumquats quite thin, flicking out any seeds (they'll fall out in the process too, and are also edible, so don't worry too much). Bring the sugar and water to a simmer in a pot, then add the kumquats, reducing the heat until it's just enough to maintain a simmer. Cook, stirring once or twice, until the kumquats have become translucent, ~20 minutes. Remove with a slotted spoon, and place on a rack to drain.

While the kumquats are drying off a bit, prepare the matzoh crunch. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil, and lay out the matzoh (break as needed to fit). Preheat your oven to 350 Fahrenheit.

In a large saucepan, melt the butter and sugar together over a medium-high heat. Bring to a simmer, and let simmer for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, and add the salt and vanilla. Pour the hot mixture over the matzo, spreading with a heat-proof spatula to cover evenly.

Transfer the matzo to the oven, and bake for 15 minutes (it'll bubble up a bit during the baking). After 15 minutes, remove from the oven, and scatter the chocolate evenly over the top. Let sit 5 minutes, then spread the chocolate evenly with an offset spatula. Top with a paving of the kumquat slices, pressing into the warm chocolate slightly. Sprinkle with a bit of coarse salt if desired.

Let cool fully (you can speed this up in the refrigerator if you're impatient), then break or cut into chunks.

Perfectly Seared Fish with Fennel Arugula Salad

2013-03-29T17:47:00.001-07:00

There's always a thrill of pride when you figure out how to coax some restaurant-only type dish out of your own humble kitchen. And find out how it's been within reach all along. Blistered loaves of bread, say, or an airy souffle. Or perfectly seared fish.

I have come a bit of a ways from my always-overcooked-all-the-time method of fish preparation (the secret: pull it from the heat just before you think it's done, a method I long heard but only recently followed). But even though my technique improved, I could never get that perfect treatment I found in restaurants, where the fish is butter-soft and just barely flaking, yet the skin is a beautifully crisped omega-filled chip. What sort of kitchen wizardry are they using?

Turns out it's surprisingly user-friendly. All you have to do is get a good piece of fish, glug of oil, and use a ridiculously high heat. I picked up a fillet of steelhead from a local shop, followed the instructions carefully laid out on this blog, paired it with a tangle of salad made from a fennel bulb and dollar bag of arugula, and turned out a meal worthy of any restaurant (and if the blog and my own home's case study are any indication, this restaurant-worthy assessment will be a universal reaction). Who knew that simply turning up the flame (and conquering my fear of fire/oil burns) would yield such an amazing result? It's the sort of kitchen magic that should be trotted out at dinner parties (except for the whole smell-of-hot-oil-and-fish part), but it's also the sort of kitchen magic that you should bust out any time you get a good piece of fish. It's the sort of magic that's going into the regular kitchen rotation.

Perfectly Seared Fish with Fennel Arugula Salad

serves 2
inspired by Kenji Lopez-Alt, as prepared by The Amateur Gourmet

Dressing:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon meyer lemon juice, or mild vinegar
dollop honey
salt and pepper
Salad:
2 handfuls arugula
1 small bulb fennel, or 1/2 large bulb fennel, shaved into thin slivers
1 orange, supremed into sections
1 handful olives, pulled into pieces

Fish:
3/4 pound skin-on fish fillets, all pin bones removed, cut into two pieces
2-3 tablespoons high heat oil, such as grapeseed or canola
salt and pepper
olive oil

Take the fish out of the refrigerator, and let sit at room temperature for a few minutes to take the chill off. Mix together the dressing ingredients until combined. Toss the salad with the dressing, and divide onto two plates.

Blot the fish dry with paper towels or brown paper bags, and season each side with salt. Heat a large skillet or two small ones over a high heat. Add the oil, and let get really hot, almost to the point of smoking (handy tip: when the oil's hot, if you stick a wooden spoon in it should bubble vigorously around the edges). Add the fish, skin side down, and turn down the heat just slightly. Cook until the skin detaches from the skillet, and the fillet slides around a bit when you shake the pan (~2 minutes). If it's a thick fillet, wait another minute past this point, then flip the fillets with a spatula (in order to avoid dramatic fires that can result from hot oil splashes, I pull the pan away from the burner for the few seconds it takes to execute this maneuver). Cook on the other side until the fillets are cooked through, another two minutes or so, depending upon thickness (Lopez-Alt recommends cooking to 120 degree internal temperature, but I just went by sight and then tested them).

Use a spatula to remove from the pan, let the fry oil drain a bit, then plate with the salad. Season with salt and pepper, and drizzle with additional olive oil.

Passover 2013: Russian Gefilte Fish, Gluten-Free Matzo

2013-03-19T11:28:00.001-07:00

The downside of writing about food is that you have to start thinking months in advance. In order to make publication deadlines, you're pitching springtime stories in the midst of blizzards, talking about Thanksgiving food while you're still on summer break. Which is all to say I've been thinking about Passover foods for some months now. But I am not remotely sick of it. In fact, I'm all the more excited for the celebration.

This year I looked into restaurant Seders around the country, for those not interested in hosting their own (and for those who are, there are some good ideas on those menus). I taste-tested gluten-free matzo, and found a traditional way of making gefilte fish (along with a beautiful story of growing up in the Soviet Union).

For my own meal, I'm planning on making this delicate and lightly smoky gefilte fish, and the vegetarian dishes from this Sephardic-inspired Passover dinner. There will be appetizers, Manischewitz spritzers, and a little bit of metaphorical rebirth. Because even though it's something I've been thinking about for months, I could always use a bit more.

*photo from my gefilte fish post in Bon Appetit, taken by Kirk Jones

Beet Salad with Oranges and Olives

2013-03-08T09:34:00.001-08:00

Beets can sometimes seem more like a job than a vegetable. They have to be peeled, they leave their inky stain all over everything, and they need to cook for a good long while. But in payoff, they're fairly delicious. Especially in a salad like this.

As mountains of recipes attest, beets pair beautifully with goat cheese. But I would argue that combing them with oranges and olives may even be better. The juicy citrus punch and oily brine are lovely complements for the dense sweetness of the roots, taking them out of the earth and into the well-balanced world of salad.

And also: so pretty! As someone who can barely coordinate a passable professional outfit, I'm entranced by this study in purple and orange and green (which a sprinkling of chopped pistachios and red onions only serve to highlight). For taste as well as aesthetics, a handful of chopped chives, parsley, mint, or other green herb would make things all the better (these were sadly lacking from my refrigerator, and I was too lazy to walk down the street and pluck a few of the neighbor's mint leaves). But even without, the resulting salad feels like a special occasion, all bright and festive, and manages to be spectacularly healthy to boot.

And if you have a smarter/easier/neater/quicker preferred way of cooking beets (as doubtless many of you do), feel free to substitute that method instead. Any way you slice em (or roast em, or boil em, or steam em), they'll be lovely when paired with friends like these.

Beet Salad with Oranges and Olives

serves 2-3 (I recommend doubling it if you're going to make it, as it's really nice)

1 bunch beets (3-4 large)
dollop of honey
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon vinegar (a mild one, such as sherry, is nice)
salt and pepper to taste
2 tablespoon finely diced red onion 1 orange, supremed (handy tutorial here if you've never done this)
1 handful green olives, pitted and broken in half
1 handful chopped pistachios

Preheat your oven to 450° Fahrenheit.

While the oven is preheating, peel the beets, and cut into wedges (either quarters or sixths, depending upon their size). Place in a pot of water and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook until they're soft but not quite done, ~10 minutes. Drain, place in a small casserole dish, and toss with a drizzle of oil. Place in the oven and roast until they're fully cooked and just beginning to get some sweetness around the edges, ~10 more minutes.

While the beets are cooking, In a small bowl, pour any accumulated orange juice, the honey, olive oil, vinegar, and salt and pepper. Whisk to combine, and taste to adjust seasoning. Place the onions in the dressing to allow them to mellow.

When the beets have cooked, let them cool slightly, then scatter them on a serving dish or individual salad plates. Add the oranges, then scatter the olives and pistachios on top. Give the dressing a stir, pour over the salad, and serve.

Spiced Chocolate Whiskey Cake

2013-03-03T12:49:00.001-08:00

When I make chocolate cake, I almost always make the same one. My go-to recipe is moist, rich, and delicate, pretty much all that a chocolate cake should be. But recently I had a chocolate cake that made me realize that sure, tender delicacy is great — but there's something to be said for a cake of some heft. A cake with a crumb that is moist but a bit sturdier, all the better to support the chunks of chocolate within. And the booze. Did I mention the booze? It's a thing of beauty, though you may not be able to tell from these last-minute cellphone pics (again: the booze).

I first had this cake at a birthday party for my friend Leela (who, of course, made it herself). It's a rich, solid chocolate cake, with the unmistakable-but-not-overpowering whiff of whiskey, studded with chocolate chunks and generously filled and topped with a bittersweet mascarpone frosting. The original recipe was served with a simple dusting of powdered sugar, but it makes for a surprisingly good layer cake. And so when I had the opportunity to bake a cake for a joint birthday party for two lovely ladies, I knew the two-for-one bang of chocolate and booze would be the perfect choice for a double festivity.

I'll probably return to my beloved standard chocolate cake for the next party, with its more traditional sweet and glossy buttercream frosting. But sometimes it's nice to mix it up a bit. Especially on birthdays. Because if there's anything we learn as time marches on, it's that things do change. Often deliciously.

Spiced Chocolate Whiskey Cake

cake adapted from Bottega Restaurant, as told to The New York Times, frosting adapted from Leela Cyd
yields one birthday cake

1 1/2 sticks butter (12 tablespoons), cut into pats
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (85 grams), plus additional for dusting cake pans
1 1/2 cups brewed strong coffee
1/2 cup whiskey
1 cup granulated sugar (200 grams)
1 cup light brown sugar (156 grams)
2 cups flour (240 grams)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1/4 cup sour cream (optional)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup chopped chocolate

Frosting:
8 ounces mascarpone
1 cup sifted powdered sugar
1/2 cup sifted cocoa powder
1 teaspoon vanilla
hefty pinch salt
squirt corn syrup (optional, to keep it glossy)
1/2 cup cream
1/4—1/2 cup milk, as needed

Preheat your oven to 350° Fahrenheit. Grease to 9-inch cake pans, and dust them with cocoa powder.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter. Turn off the heat, and add the cocoa powder, coffee, and whiskey, and stir until dissolved. Add the sugars, and cool completely (seriously make sure it's cool, lest you later cook your eggs/melt your chocolate).

In a large bowl, sift or whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, pepper and cloves. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, sour cream (if using), and vanilla. Add the chocolate mixture, whisking to combine. Add the dry ingredients, whisk until just combined, then fold in the chocolate chunks.

Quickly pour the batter into your prepared pans, then bake until a tester comes out clean, ~20-25 minutes. Let cool.

To make the frosting, simply mix all of the frosting ingredients together until smooth, adding more milk or cocoa powder as needed for consistency. Turn out the cooled cake and frost, then serve with candles and sprinkles and all sorts of festivities.

Orange Pistachio Muffins

2013-02-26T06:58:00.000-08:00

I am something of a teacher-pleaser. I am also somewhat lazy, which means I was never consistently A+ material. But that desire to meet expectations, to be thought of as a pleasure (and not, as those of us with questionable parenting occasionally fear, a burden) runs deep. And this compulsion extends to surprising places. Such as, on a recent Tuesday, doggie daycare.

Now, I am wholly convinced of the virtues of my dog, and the appeal of his gentle nature and all-around positive attitude (not a family trait). But I figure it doesn't hurt to stack the deck. And so, when I drop him off to spend a few hours at doggie daycare, I'm not above throwing in a little sugar to help make him the teachers' pet. Like these orange pistachio muffins.

I am normally a hard sell on the sweet breakfast, preferring the protein hit of the humble egg. But these muffins are perfect — a light and lovely mix of rich green pistachios and punchy orange zest, tender and sweet without veering into cupcake territory. While I do love to start the day with an apple (I've been obsessed with the Pink Lady recently), I'd argue that these make an even better gift for the teacher. Gold star!

Orange Pistachio Muffins

yields 10 muffins (you can portion the batter to make an even dozen, but I favor a nearly-overflowing muffin, as what's the fun of a muffin without a nice muffintop?)

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 stick butter, melted and slightly cooled (if you fancy, brown the butter in a small saucepan, melting it until it takes on a toasty color, for an even more delicious depth of flavor)
2/3 cup sugar, plus additional for topping
1 egg
3/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup orange juice
zest from 1 orange
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon orange blossom or rosewater (optional)
1/2 heaping cup chopped pistachios, plus additional for topping

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit. Grease 10 muffin cups, and set aside.

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

In a separate bowl, mix together the melted butter, sugar, egg, sour cream, orange juice and zest, and extract(s) until well combined. Add the wet ingredients to the dries, give a turn or two, then sprinkle in the pistachios. Mix until just barely combined (better to under- than over-mix).

Quickly divide the mixture into muffin cups, coming just a bit below the lip of the cup. Sprinkle a dusting of sugar over the batter (you should need just a few spoonfuls for the whole tray), and then top with a sprinkling of pistachios. Bake until lightly golden and a tester comes out clean, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly, then pop out of the muffin tin, wrap in a clean tea towel, and present to your teacher (or anyone else you desire).

Savory Hamantaschen

2013-02-21T10:11:00.002-08:00

I have spoken before about the beauty of hamantaschen, the tri-cornored cookies baked on the holiday of Purim to represent Haman's hat (or depending on the tradition, his ears). But this year I got to thinking — why should these delicious pastries be the only triangular food I eat on this holiday? Why not take this idea to its logical (or, you know, not-so-logical) conclusion?

And so, I present the wide world of savory hamantaschen. All sorts of 'taschen. They've been ably photographed by the amazing Leela Cyd, and can found over at Bon Appetit. Happy Purim!

Porridge!

2013-02-13T06:40:00.000-08:00

My college was located in the same town as a Malt-O-Meal processing plant, churning out boxes of hot cereal. On clear, crisp days — especially in the fall — there would be this lovely toasty smell in the air. Like bread, but slightly sweeter. Reassuring, comforting, and somehow a bit encouraging. Like hot cereal itself. There's something about the toasty smell that still reminds me of that time, of clear fall afternoons and being young and the terrifying sense of possibility of it all.

I haven't had a bowl of Malt-O-Meal in years — perhaps not since college. But I'm a big fan of the surprisingly wide world of porridge. And if you think beyond the box, and beyond oatmeal, you can find all sorts of delicious porridgey inspiration. Even if you don't have the same adolescent associations, it's still enough to warm your belly and soul. I give a rundown of the wide world of porridge (including the amaranth porridge with mango, coconut, lime and ginger pictured above) over at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Egg-Lemon Soup with Crab, Orzo and Arugula

2013-02-07T18:20:00.001-08:00

There seem to be these strange unspoken rules about what makes for a Valentine's Day meal. It's got to be chocolate, or steak, or some gooey-with-cheese risotto or such. But I argue that's limited thinking. Special occasion dishes (be they for your special someone or a party of one) need not (and, arguably, best not) be dripping with heavy flavors. They can be light and lovely, yet still totally befitting of a special evening. Like this soup.

I adapted this recipe from the amazing Silvena Rowe, who tends to give an interesting Ottoman spin to anything she touches. The end result is a riff on the avgolemono soup common throughout Mediterranean. It's tart yet rich, studded with slippery orzo, a luxurious bite of sweet and briny crabmeat, and a handful of arugula to brighten things up. It's a refreshing different entry into the Fancy Soup category (a category that seems populated exclusively with sherry-spiked cream bisques). It might even be my new Valentine.

Egg-Lemon Soup with Crab, Orzo and Arugula

adapted from Silvena Rowe's Purple Citrus and Sweet Perfume (her original version is much heavier on the egg yolks, so feel free to play around if you fancy a richer, thicker soup)

yields 4 small first-course servings, or 2-3 main course servings

1 quart chicken broth or stock
1/4 cup orzo
2 egg yolks
juice of 1 large lemon (or more, to taste)
1/4 — 1/2 pound picked crab meat
several handfuls arugula
several pinches crushed sumac (optional, available at Middle Eastern grocery stores)

In a large saucepan or small pot, bring the broth to a boil over a medium-high heat. Add the orzo, and reduce the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cook until the orzo is quite tender, ~20 minutes.

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and lemon zest. Ladle in a half cup of the hot stock, whisk to temper, then pour the mixture back into the pot. Whisk to combine, then taste and adjust seasonings as needed. Let simmer for a minute to heat, then add the crab meat and arugula. Let cook for a minute or two, until the arugula is just wilted and the crab is heated through. Ladle into bowls, top with a pinch of sumac, and serve.

Shaved Brussels Sprouts with Kumquats and Scallop

2013-01-29T16:05:00.003-08:00

Every now and then you make a dish so show-stoppingly delicious, so interesting and elegant and just plain perfect that your friends will ask why it is that you don't just open a restaurant. This salad is such a dish.

To be fair, I actually did steal the inspiration for this salad from a lovely local restaurant, where my friend and I were lucky enough to enjoy it just about a year ago. And, like the best of these no-home-chef-could-have-thought-of-that dishes, it's actually surprisingly simple. Brussels sprouts are shaved into thin slivers, dressed with a basic vinaigrette, then tossed with skin-and-all slices of of the season's tiniest, punchiest citrus (my local natural market happened to have both kumquats and mandarinquats for a fun bit of variety, but just one type would be fine). And then the whole affair is topped with a perfectly seared scallop (and yes, these tend to be expensive, but you only need one or two per person to create the magic).

The end result is ridiculous, just miles from your standard dinner salad. Crunchy sprouts, juicy sour citrus, and the sweet, briny scallop. It's perfect as a jaw-dropping first course for a dinner party, or a date night in (hello, Valentine's Day!). We served ours with a crusty baguette, a rich and creamy soup, and a cold bottle of Trader Joe's cheapest white wine. We joked about the restaurant I could open (named, for reasons too ridiculous to discuss, Cloen), and the price this meal could command ($50 per was suggested). But really, who wants to worry about restaurant rents and staffing and overhead (and other things we know next to nothing about) when we can just light some candles, call our next door neighbors to come over, and enjoy a dish like this on a Monday night?

Shaved Brussels Sprouts with Kumquats and Scallops

inspired by a dish at Evoe
serves 4

8 good-sized scallops (if they're ridiculously large, you can just use 4)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons mellow vinegar, such as sherry, or fresh lemon juice
small dollop of honey or pinch sugar
salt and pepper
~1 1/2 cups Brussels sprouts, washed and peeled of any bad outer leaves
~8 kumquats, or 4 kumquats and 2-4 mandarinquats
high-heat oil, such as grapeseed, for frying the scallops

Place the scallops on a paper towel-lined plate, and refrigerate, uncovered, for 30 minutes to dry out and enable a good sear (in the name of posterity, I would like to state that I got a crazy good sear on mine, but we ate too late for pictures so I shot this with leftovers — do not judge me by my morning-after softened scallop).

To make the dressing, whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, and hone/sugar in a small dish, and season to taste with salt and pepper (the citrus will contribute acidity, so your dressing can be a bit on the oily side). Set aside.

With a mandoline or knife (if you, like me, don't have a mandoline), slice the Brussels sprouts as thinly as possible. Place in a bowl, and toss with the dressing, to separate the shreds and coat with dressing. Divide among your serving dishes. Slice your kumquats (and/or mandarinquats) relatively thinly as well, flicking out any seeds, and divide among the plates.

Take the scallops out of the refrigerator, and season with a sprinkling of salt. Heat a large pan (not non-stick) over a medium high heat. Add a slick of oil, and when it just begins to smoke, add the scallops. Cook until they develop a nice crust and release from the pan, then turn and sear on the second side. Top each salad with two scallops (or one, if they're large and you're using half the amount), and serve.

Sunday Roast (Salmon)

2013-01-23T07:03:00.003-08:00

I am a firm believer that, with the right attitude, just about anything can be a celebration. Especially dinner. I have long been a fan of baking whole salmon, both for the ridiculously good deal that can often be had on a whole fish, as well as all those leftovers it yields for your soup or kedgeree (or, more often than not, tacos). But there's also the grandeur of it, the occasion of pulling a spectacular groaning tray out of the oven. And, while you're heating it up anyway, why not roast some vegetables? And make a puckery-bright salsa verde to slather over everything? You can find the recipes for all of this deliciousness (and a pudding to boot) over at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Gluten-Free Sesame Crackers

2013-01-18T10:53:00.001-08:00

Years ago, my friend Emily was freaking out over an international trip she and her husband were planning, and the stress it would put on their tight finances. She mentioned these gnawing fears to an older neighbor, who gave her these words of wisdom: money is for travel and education. And she's so right.

As much as I am reduced to obsessive researching and wavering over any purchase totaling more than about $25 (beyond food), I know that those are the two categories where you must unequivocally open your purse strings. It's what the purse is for. There's no way around it — travel and education pretty much always come with a hefty price tag. But paying the price tag opens up the world to you, and makes your life so much richer for it.

A few months ago, my dear friend (and former housemate) was faced with a likely downsize at work. So he decided to opt for the most awesome of responses: he's packing up his belongings, renting out his house, and spending a full year traveling the world with his love. Morocco, Ghana, Italy, Croatia, Russia, China, India, Vietnam, New Zealand. And more. They got it right, and I'm so happy for them. And just a tiny bit fiercely jealous.

But the downside to this great idea is that some people I like a lot are going to be pretty far away. So when my friend mentioned a brief window in his packing/working/appointment-making/task-checking life yesterday, I jumped at the chance to come over. But I couldn't come empty handed. Since he offered to provide the fire and cocktail, I figured I could bring the cheese and crackers.

But how could I bring store-bought crackers for such an occasion? And especially, how could I bring store-bought crackers when my friend is gluten-free? GF crackers are often off-the-charts expensive, and/or of an entirely different species. They'll be rice-based, or just a small paving of seeds — good in their own right, but not the traditional cocktail hour cheese accompaniment. Also, who can bear spending $6 for a box of what is, essentially, flour and water? Well, also butter.

I was first converted to the cracker-making gospel by my friend Ivy, who kindly gave me some feedback on going gluten-free (namely too much cornstarch renders a cracker "thirsty," and butter gives a nicer flaky texture than olive oil). I also threw in some sesame seeds, because I love them, baked them up, and grabbed an assortment of cheeses and a nice crisp apple. And we sat down in front of the wood stove while my dog chewed some kindling, and ate our cheese and flaky, savory, delicious crackers, and drank a toast to the world. I hear it's lovely.

Gluten-Free Sesame Crackers

yield will vary depending upon cracker size, but should be ~3 dozen

4 1/2 ounces (a heaping cup) brown rice flour
2 ounces (~1/2 cup) sorghum flour
2 ounces (~1/3 cup) cornstarch
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt (plus additional for sprinkling)
1/2 teaspoon xanthan gum
6 tablespoons cold butter, cut into pats (you can substitute shortening for a vegan version)
3 tablespoons sesame seeds (or a bit more, if you like it extra seedy)
~1/2 cup cold water

Preheat your oven to 400° Fahrenheit. Take out two cookie sheets, a rolling pin, and a few sheets of parchment paper.

In a food processor or large bowl, mix together the rice flour, sorghum flour, cornstarch, baking powder, salt, and xanthan gum. Add the butter, and pulse (if using a food processor) or cut with a pastry cutter or two knives until it's reduced to little oatmeal-sized bits (don't over-process, as you want your crackers to be flaky). Turn the mixture into a large bowl, and mix in the sesame seeds. Add the water, starting with a scant half cup at first and adding more as necessary, until the mixture comes together in a nice ball of dough.

Divide the dough in half. Leave half in the bowl (covered, so it doesn't dry out), and place the other dough ball between two sheets of parchment paper. Roll out with a rolling pin until it's quite thin, ~1/16th-inch. Cut into cracker shapes of your choosing (you can use a pizza wheel to cut squares or rectangles, or make things more difficult for yourself and cut out rounds and re-roll the scraps). Place the crackers on a parchment-lined sheet (you don't need too much space between), dock them a few times with a fork so that they don't puff up, and sprinkle with bit of additional salt. Bake until browned, ~15 minutes. Let cool slightly, then serve with cheese to celebrate world travel.

Butterscotch Budino with Caramel Sauce

2013-01-08T08:31:00.001-08:00

Butterscotch, I owe you an apology. I thought you were a one-dimensional flavor. I mistook those hard yellow candies and waxy little chips for you. But now I know the true butterscotch. It has dark-cooked sugar and butter and vanilla and salt, and is sweet and bitter and burnt and round and buttery and creamy and delicious. And when you top it with a sludgy-thick caramel sauce, unsweetened whipped cream and a sprinkling of coarse salt, it's amazing.

I am in love with this little Italian pudding. It's comforting and elegant, with a perfect texture and spot-on combination of flavors. It's the sort of dessert that reminds you that pastry chefs are professionals. And artists.

Yes, it's a bit of work (which might be a good thing, as otherwise I'd be on my third round in as many days). Sugar (brown, then white) must twice be cooked to caramelization, with multiple pots and whisks and strainers and containers involved. This is definitely a Special Occasion Dessert. And it totally makes the occasion. This is one of the best things I've eaten in a good long while. Oh, butterscotch. At last.

Butterscotch Budino with Caramel Sauce

Adapted from Dahlia Narvaez of Pizzeria Mozza, via the New York Times
yields 10 small servings (recipe is easily halved)

The pudding needs to chill for a few hours, so start this recipe in advance (or the night before). On the bright side, prepping all the elements in advance means that after dinner you can whip out a crazy fancy dessert like it ain't no thing.

Budino:
3 cups heavy cream (I ended up using slightly less cream and more milk, due to availability, and it was also fine)
1 1/2 cups milk
1 large egg
3 large egg yolks
5 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/8 cups dark brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into chunks
1 1/2 tablespoons dark rum (or brandy or whiskey)

Caramel Sauce:
1/2 cup heavy cream
Scrapings from 1-inch piece of vanilla bean, or 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons light corn syrup
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons fleur de sel or other flaky salt, for topping

Whipped Cream:
1/4 cup cream
3/4 cup crème fraîche or sour cream (I just used straight whipped cream, and it was totally delicious)

To make the budino: Measure out your milk and cream into a bowl/pitcher/measuring cup, and set aside. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the egg, egg yolks, and cornstarch, and set aside. Have ten little pudding dishes and a strainer at the ready.

Place the brown sugar, coarse salt, and 1/2 cup water in a pot. Heat over medium-high, tipping the pot to swirl occasionally, until the mixture foams and thickens and caramelizes to a dark, nutty brown, ~10 minutes (since it's brown sugar, it's harder to tell the color change than with ordinary sugar, but you want it to darken significantly).

When the mixture darkens, you need to stop it before it burns, so immediately dump in the cream and milk. Stand back — it'll sputter and seize! Cook the mixture until the hardened sugar melts, and can be smoothly whisked together with the milk, and the entire pot is steaming on the edge of a simmer.

Gradually pour the hot caramel and milk mixture into your egg mixture. Pour in slowly, whisking, until it is incorporated into a smooth mixture (you'll need to go bit by bit at first, then you can add larger amounts). Pour back into your pot, then return to a medium heat and whisk constantly until the mixture becomes very thick, ~2 minutes. Add the butter and rum, let sit for a few moments to heat and soften, then whisk to combine. Pour the mixture through the strainer into your pudding cups, and refrigerate to chill and set, ~3 hours or longer.

To make the caramel sauce: Place the cream and vanilla seeds in a medium saucepan (you can toss in the pod to infuse as well), and heat to simmer. Add the butter, then remove from heat and set aside.

In a large, heavy saucepan, combine the corn syrup, sugar, and enough water (3-4 tablespoons) to make a wet, slightly sandy mixture. Cook over medium-high heat, swirling the pan occasionally so that it mixes evenly, until the mixture is a deep amber, ~10 minutes (I tend to aim for just this side of burnt, but since you're adding a warm rather than cold mixture to this one, it won't cool off quite as immediately so be vigilant). When it's gotten to the desired darkness, remove from heat and carefully whisk in the cream mixture. Set aside to cool. If making in advance, you can just refrigerate, then rewarm before serving.

To make the whipped cream: Whip the cream to soft peaks (under-mixing is better than over-mixing!), and whisk in the crème fraîche or sour cream (or just use a scant cup of cream instead). No sugar, no vanilla. Just whipped dairy.

To assemble: If your caramel sauce has been made in advance, heat gently in a saucepan or microwave until it's warm and pourable. Pour a tablespoon or so of warm caramel over each budino, then sprinkle with a pinch of flaky salt. Add a dollop of your whipped cream, and serve.

Noodle Soup with Salmon and Udon

2013-01-02T17:03:00.004-08:00

It seems that the New Year often starts with a cold. We've been traveling and celebrating, and somewhere between the late nights and airplane germs, it catches up. I wisely decided to get my illness out of the way earlier in December, but many of those around me are snuffling through this first week of January. Which means soup.

I've already simmered and delivered a big pot of matzo ball soup this week, so I decided to try something a little different. We had a package of deliciously thick and chewy udon noodles in the fridge, after I stopped by an Asian market on the way home from the DMV (In related news, who steals people's registration stickers off their license plates?). There was some leftover baked salmon from a delicious Sunday Roast (more on that soon), and a few lonely scallions in the planter box outside. I briefly flirted with cooking up a proper Japanese dashi broth (there may be some kelp and bonito flakes knocking around the cupboard somewhere), but decided instead to go with a simple sunny vegetable broth, bolstered with a bit of garlic and ginger for some seasoning and magical healing properties. Add in a handful of fresh spinach, and it's perfect.

Although I am still a fan of the long-simmered soup, this clean, simple, and near-instant option is nice to have in the arsenal. I aim to share some with a recovering friend, and slurp up the rest to fend off whatever else is going around (as well as fortify me against tomorrow's terrifying forecast of "ice pellets"). Here's hoping 2013 is a healthy and delicious one for all of us.

Noodle Soup with Salmon and Udon

serves 4

This is a fairly basic brothy template, easily adapted to whatever you may have on hand. I almost feel silly writing it up.

6 cups vegetable broth
1 inch ginger, scrubbed or peeled and cut into coins
4 cloves garlic, sliced
1/2 pound udon noodles (these can be found in the refrigerated section of Asian markets)
several handfuls fresh spinach, washed and trimmed of tough stems
1 cup cooked and flaked salmon
1 scallion, thinly sliced
1 handful cilantro leaves
sesame oil and/or hot sauce, to garnish

Place the broth, ginger, and garlic in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer ~20 minutes, to cook the garlic and infuse the broth with the ginger.

While the broth simmers, heat a large pot of water, and cook the udon noodles according to package directions (or, if your package has no directions, until done). Dump into a colander, and rinse to keep them from clumping.

Ladle out a tangle of noodles into each bowl, and top with a handful of spinach and salmon. Pour some of the hot broth and garlic (but not the inedible ginger) over the top, heating and wilting everything deliciously. Garnish with scallion and cilantro, and top with a few drops sesame oil and/or hot sauce, if desired. Slurp.

Portuguese Sweet Lemon and Olive Cookies

2012-12-22T16:30:00.002-08:00

It's cookie season! Despite my best intentions, I've found myself lingering at the dessert table at for multiple tastes of chocolate chips and powdered sugar, or tearing at packages, hoping that someone has sent me a box of ninjabread men. I guess it's just not December without a cookie tray. But here's the thing: all those cookie trays? They're kinda sweet. And buttery. And after a few social occasions, it can all be a Bit Too Much.

So what to do in this season of cookie overload (beyond saying no to the cookie tray, which we all know is just crazytalk)? Turn to a cookie that's not quite so sweet. Or so buttery. Something a bit salty — briny, even. With a hefty helping of lemon zest. Like this Portuguese sweet lemon and olive cookie.

When I first spied this recipe from the amazing David Leite, I thought that these were just a sort of savory biscuit, some European too-sophisticated-for-sugar affair. But they are decidedly cookies. Just a more complex, salty-sweet version. They're studded with rich, briny, oil-cured olives, and punched up with lemon zest, sugar and olive oil (making them, to the delight of the lactose-intolerant, dairy-free). The sparkly dusting of sugar makes them sweet and festive enough to let you know you're firmly in the celebratory cookie season, but their rustic rough edges and briny notes are different enough to give a bit of a relief from it all. And they go beautifully with a glass of wine, cup of eggnog, solstice ale, or mug of tea — whatever it is you're using to toast the season. Happy holidays!

Portuguese Sweet Lemon and Olive Cookies
adapted from David Leite
yields ~18 cookies

1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup oil-cured olives, rinsed if excessively salty, then pitted and coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest
pinch coarse salt
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large egg

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit. Cut three sheets of parchment paper to fit your cookie sheet, and set aside.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar, baking powder, chopped olives, lemon zest, and salt. In a separate bowl (I used the measuring cup with the oil), beat together the olive oil and egg until well combined. Pour this mixture into your dry ingredients, and mix well, until the dough comes together when you squeeze it (it won't come together into a cohesive ball, but it'll come together as you shape each cookie).

Lay out one of your sheets of parchment on a clean counter, and set out a small dish of additional sugar (start with maybe 1/4 cup). Pull off generous tablespoons of dough, and squeeze and then roll them to shape into balls. Shape 5 balls, roll them in the dish of sugar until well coated, and place on the parchment paper with ample space between them. Place one of the other sheets of parchment on top, and smush each cookie with your hand to flatten. Take a rolling pin and roll out further, until the cookies are about 4 inches across, and a scant 1/16th inch thick (don't worry about the rustic ragged edges — that's how these cookies should look). Transfer the parchment to a cookie tray, and bake until just browned on the edges and sort of pebbled on top, ~10 minutes. While the cookies are baking, shape the remaining dough for the next round. When done, let cool on a rack (Leite recommends fresh parchment for each batch, but given the short cooking time, I was easily able to cycle through mine). Store in an airtight container for several days, or bring to your holiday party that very night.

Apple Cider Doughnuts

2012-12-09T14:48:00.002-08:00

The best doughnut is a fresh doughnut. I know, I don't have to tell you that. But this might be news: the best hour-or-so-old doughnut? That's a cake doughnut.

So doughnuts come in two main forms: yeasted and cake doughnuts. Even if you don't think you know the difference, you probably do. Yeasted doughnuts are airy and fluffy (from, you guessed it, yeast), the fried pillows that you find filled with custard or jelly. And cake doughnuts are, well, a bit cakier, a bit firmer. The kind you find at the apple orchard.

As a rule, I love the fluffy pillow of a yeasted doughnut best of all. But here's the thing: yeasted doughnuts do not age well. At all. After they cool down, they're just sad pillows of air and grease. But cake doughnuts? They hold up great. Sure, they're best hot from the oil. But even the next morning, their sturdier crumb (sturdier-yet-still-somewhat-delicate, mind you) still makes for a fine accompaniment to your morning coffee — especially if you've rolled them in some cinnamon sugar to sop up the grease. And so, when I wanted to bring some doughnuts to a Hanukkah party, and that party was being held more than half an hour from my kitchen, I decided to make up a batch of cake doughnuts.

These are dangerously delicious. The liquid in the dough comes from boiled-down cider and buttermilk, which are both baking perfection. The apple flavor comes through (thanks to the concentration), but subtle enough to play nicely with the other spices. There is some fussing involved — the dough must be par-frozen and then chilled — but the delicate handling of a soft dough yields doughnuts that are toothsome-yet-light. They're amazing straight from the pan. But even a few hours later at a party? They're pretty amazing as well.

And if you're looking for another greasy treat to enjoy this holiday season, I can direct you toward a recent story about spinach and cheese boyos. They come with their own rich tradition (and their own lashings of oil), over at NPR. Happy Hanukkah!

Apple Cider Doughnuts

adapted from Lauren Dawson at Hearth Restaurant, via the Washington Post
yields 18 doughnuts (and doughnut holes)

1 cup apple cider
3 1/2 cups flour, plus additional for the work surface
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
4 tablespoons butter, warmed to room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk (if you don't have, you can substitute an equivalent amount of milk with a hefty splash of cider vinegar, or, if you're frying for dairy-free folks, cider vinegar plus coconut milk is a crazy good substitute)

oil for frying
1 cup sugar tossed with 1 heaping spoonful cinnamon to finish

Start by reducing the cider: Pour into a saucepan, and bring to a boil over a medium-high heat. Reduce until it's just high enough to maintain a rolling simmer, and let cook off until reduced to 1/4 cup, ~20 minutes. Set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. Set aside.

Fit a mixer with a paddle attachment, and beat together the softened butter and sugar for a few minutes, until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, stopping to scrape down the sides. Add the boiled-down cider and buttermilk, mix until well combined, then add the flour mixture and stir on low until the mixture just comes together — do not overmix!

Line two sheet trays with parchment or waxed paper, and sprinkle generously with flour. Turn the dough out onto one of the sheets, sprinkle with a bit more flour, and pat/roll until it's 1/2-inch thick. Transfer the tray to the freezer until it firms up slightly, ~20 minutes.

Remove from the freezer, and round up some dough cutters (Dawson recommends 3-inch rounds, but I used my 2-1/4-inch round cutter for the doughnuts, and a well-cleaned cap from a bottle of Campari for the holes). Cut out the shapes, and transfer to the other tray. Mush the scraps together, re-roll, and cut out the remainder. Move the tray to the refrigerator, and let relax there for 20-30 minutes.

When the dough is nearing the end of its relaxing time, heat a few inches of high-heat oil in a large pan (I used my cast iron Dutch oven) over a medium-high heat to 350 degrees. Prepare a rack for the cooked doughnuts, or a plate lined with paper towels or brown paper (I ripped up a few grocery bags). Mix together the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl.

When the oil is hot, add a test doughnut. It should become brown on the first side in about 60 seconds, and on the second side in a little less. If it passes this test, add a round of doughnuts. Cook until brown, flip, and fry until brown on the second side. Transfer to your prepared tray/rack, let drain/cool for a moment, then transfer to the sugar-cinnamon mixture. Coat with the mixture on each side. Enjoy hot, or not.

Scallion Latkes with Rice Vinegar Sour Cream

2012-12-02T12:40:00.002-08:00

It's a long-standing, well-documented tradition that American Jews go out for Chinese food on Christmas. In fact, a Borscht Belt-worthy joke about the practice even made it into the record of the Senate Judiciary Committee. There are many theories as to why, but they all generally acknowledge this basic fact: Chinese restaurants tend to be open on Christmas. And so, for many American Jews, memories of December are scented with egg rolls as much as pine boughs. So why not bring Chinese flavors into the classic Hanukkah potato pancake as well?

For the record, I still love me a classic latke — the ones that taste of nothing but potatoes, onions, and salt (and, you know, oil). But I also love me a good scallion pancake. And so, for this Hanukkah (which, to my utter surprise, begins in a week), I've combined the two. Behold the scallion latke. With rice vinegar sour cream.

These latkes still have that deliciously fun French-Fries-for-dinner oily air of a standard potato pancake. But then it gets a bit more interesting. There are a few bunches of fresh scallions, both whites and greens, and some fresh garlic and ginger (not found in the traditional scallion pancake, but common in Chinese cuisine and brilliant at cutting through the oil). The fried pancakes are served with sour cream that's been further soured with the tang of rice wine vinegar, and topped with a drizzle of toasted sesame oil and soy sauce (and a garnish of scallions because, well, why not). It's a delicious way to combine the best of these culinary traditions.

And in other news of cozy winter traditions, here's a recent story on the history of weaving with dog fur. Yes, you heard me. You can listen over at the Northwest News Network.

Scallion Latkes with Rice Vinegar Sour Cream

yields ~3 1/2 dozen small latkes

I'm always a favor of frying latkes in advance, so that you can actually sit down and enjoy them with your dining companions (and, if you're entertaining, you don't greet your guests with a house that smells of fry oil). I also think that the rest and reheat lets them cook a bit more evenly, and some of the oil comes out in the oven. Just make the latkes in advance as directed, let cool, and transfer to a sealed container in the freezer (you can layer with paper, or else par-freeze and then toss in freezer bags). Bake on a rimmed sheet, straight from the freezer, at 375° Fahrenheit until sizzling and starting to color a bit more.

Latkes:

5 pounds russet potatoes, scrubbed but not peeled
2 large bunches scallions, finely minced (set a few spoonfuls aside to garnish the finished latkes)
8 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
2—3-inch knob fresh ginger, grated
1 tablespoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
2 eggs
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1/4 cup matzo meal

1-2 cups high-heat oil for frying

For Serving:
1 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
soy sauce
toasted sesame oil
sliced scallions

Line a strainer with a large piece of cheesecloth or a loose-weave dish towel, and place in the sink or over a bowl. Shred half of the potatoes on the coarse holes of a box grater, and place the shreds in the lined strainer (if you have a food processor with a shredding disk, use that instead, then place about 1/4 of the shreds back in the bowl with a chopping blade, and pulse a few times to yield smaller bits that will help bind).

Pick up the ends of the dish towel or cheesecloth and gather it around the load. Twist and squeeze to wring as much liquid as possible from the mixture, twisting further as more liquid is released. When it's as dry as possible, place the wrung-out mixture in a large mixing bowl. Repeat with the remaining potatoes.

Add the scallions, garlic, ginger, salt, pepper, eggs, sesame oil and matzo meal to the potatoes, and stir well to combine. Pour the oil into frying pans to a depth of 1/2 inch, and heat over a medium-high heat until a shred of potato sizzles when dropped in. Shape three tablespoons of the latke mixture into a round shape (I like to pack a 1/4 cup measure three-quarters full) and place in the oil. Flatten slightly to form a small pancake. Repeat as many times as your pan space allows. Cook the latkes until they're well-browned, 5 to 7 minutes, then flip and brown the other side (play with the heat if it's taking much more/less time). When the second side has cooked, place on a plate lined with brown paper or paper towels, stacking with additional paper or paper towels as needed.

To serve, stir the rice wine vinegar into the sour cream (taste, and add more if you favor a bit more tang). Top each latke with a dollop of the tangy sour cream, a small drizzle of soy sauce and/or sesame oil, and a sprinkling of the reserved scallions. Serve.