Not Derby Pie

What I’ve Been Cooking: February 2012

rivka — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 14:28:36 +0000

A different sort of post today, because while I’ve been too busy this week to cook anything noteworthy, there are many little things I keep meaning to mention. So here they are, in one fell swoop.

It’s slim pickins’ at the farmers’ market these days, but carrots are in abundance. I bought a few pounds from a guy who’s known for his carrots, and I put some of them to work in this simple soup from Deb. I loved the clean, pure carrot flavor, and the miso added just the right punch of umami. One change: I found the sesame oil overpowering, and I didn’t love the texture of raw scallions in such a smooth soup. Still, I didn’t want to lose that scallion flavor. So I took a page from Francis Lam’s playbook, and drizzled the soup with some of his genius ginger-scallion sauce. The combination was such a winner, I couldn’t resist sharing it.

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Broccolini and Snow Peas with Sesame Sauce

rivka — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 14:29:00 +0000

This weekend, D and I flew up to Boston to see good friends and their newish babies. We saw Rachel, David, and baby Gabriel; Jess, Eli, and baby Mia. We spent the time gurgling, giggling, tickling, and jowl-pinching. And we ate, of course. Boy did we eat. Rachel made blackberry meatloaf and Jess and Eli made Melissa Clark’s wonderful Whole Wheat Cinnamon Snacking Cake (try saying that 5 times fast). But much – maybe most – of what we ate last weekend was from Plenty.

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Buckwheat Kumquat Muffins or Loaf

rivka — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 17:08:04 +0000

Every so often, I take a trip to New York for no reason whatsoever. Without a wedding or baby naming or conference to attend, I’m free to roam the streets of my former home off the clock, and with no particular destination in mind. I wake up early, lace up the sneaks, and head downtown in search of the cravable. I’ve got Sam Sifton’s app loaded on my iPhone, a couple Chowhound threads open in safari, and an appetite. On days like these, I’ve discovered Joe the Art of Coffee, Doughnut Plant, Thelewala, Ippudo, and more.

It happens less and less, as schedules have grown busier and there’s nary a day with nothing to do. But the last time it did, which was over a year ago, I ate my way through the Bowery. Only this time, I was so single-minded about a particular destination that I basically skipped the exploring and made a B-line for Peels, the beautiful bakery where Shuna Fish Lydon works her magic. And I mean magic.

I’ve been following Shuna’s blog, Eggbeater, for a long time. Many of her recipes are beloved in my kitchen – especially her leeks (aren’t they beautiful?). She’s doing amazing work at Peels; if you haven’t been, go. And when you do go, get the house muffin: a combination of buckwheat, lemon marmalade, and rosemary, it’s the inspiration for the recipe I’m sharing with you today, and it’s unforgettable.

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Adobo Black Bean Soup

rivka — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 18:45:44 +0000

Counter to what you may believe about this quasi-southern city, DC has some bitter winter weather up its sleeve. This is shaping up to be the first really cold week here in Washington, and like clockwork, I’ve got swollen glands, a stuffy nose, and a feeling I still haven’t seen the worst of this bug. Thankfully, I also have my slow cooker on the counter, a big jar of black beans, my trusty slow-cooker, and a hankering for something thick, hot, and comforting. Black bean soup is on the menu.

Apparently, I’m on a southwestern kick. Last week, we made Texas chili so good, I went to twitter asking why none of you had told me about it earlier. This week, we’re recovering from the beef-fest with a fully vegetarian black bean soup that’s no less flavorful, enlisting chipotle chilies, adobo sauce, cocoa, and molasses. It’s easy to make – very easy – and quite delicious.

Ok, but let’s be honest. What really puts this soup over the top is the chipotles in adobo sauce, which in my case was homemade by my friend Cathy, aka Mrs. Wheelbarrow. She smoked her own chipotles; she made her own adobo sauce; and to a very lucky few, she bequeathed a jar of the results. I tell you, the stuff is delicious. Fancy homemade version aside, the canned ones are delicious, too. They’re what make this soup sing.

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Raisin Walnut Rolls

rivka — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:17:16 +0000

We’ve been in our new place for over 2 months; it really is time I share at least one picture, eh?

There. That feels much better.

As you can see, our new home is….well, it’s magical for us. We wake up every morning totally tickled at how fortunate we’ve been to find, acquire, and inhabit such a warm, open, beautiful space. The kitchen is totally open, allowing me to prepare food while hanging out with our company. The couch is big and brown and leather and cozy – just what D wanted. The lounging chair is structured and linen-colored and funky and whimsical – just what I wanted. Our ketubah is up, our bar is stocked, and the fridge is embarrassingly full. We’re lucky ladies, the two of us.

As beautiful as our new kitchen is, cooking for the first time in a new home is challenging. At the very least, the appliances are unfamiliar, your cutting board is in a new spot, and everything feels somewhat off-kilter. At most, you’re simply overcome by the spotlessness of it all, and you can’t imagine spilling on the new counter anymore than you’re looking forward to the first dent in your new car. It’s all a little touch-and-go.

Having lived in 4 different apartments in two countries over the past 6 years, I’ve developed a bit of a routine for breaking in a new kitchen. You won’t find me butchering whole ducks during week 1 in a new place; instead, I start with the basics. A simple pasta dinner, with good tomato sauce. Pure, undoctored, totally unrivaled chocolate chip cookies. And last but not least, a good loaf of bread. Why bread? Think about it: get out that bread recipe, and you’ll find yourself measuring, mixing, kneading, preheating, baking, cutting, and eating – all essential firsts for a new kitchen. Back in November, I made a whole lot of no-knead bread as a sort of personal housewarming for our new apartment. Then, when the workbench was sufficiently familiar with my somewhat erratic movements and my fridge had more than a few shmears on the door handle, I got around to making these no-knead dinner rolls.

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Getaways: New Orleans

rivka — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 18:57:31 +0000

As I mentioned in my last post, I was lucky enough to be swept away on not one but two vacations over the holidays. We went first to Aspen, then to New Orleans, each with different parts of D’s family. It was my first time in Aspen; I’m not a skier, but I had a blast snow-shoeing with my brother-in-law Sam up a mountain so steep, and at such a high altitude, that every ten or fifteen steps, we had to catch our breath.

And it was my first time in New Orleans, too. Both of our first time. We were there with purpose – to cover ourselves in Maize and Blue, sing Hail to the Victors, and make sure U of M won that Sugar Bowl (oh thank goodness they did: made for a much happier vacation). But to say we fell in love with the city, well…it wouldn’t be an overstatement. I’m already itching to go back.

We only had three days to explore New Orleans. Before we left, everyone told us that was all we’d need. But now that we’ve been, I feel like we’ve barely scratched the surface of what NOLA has to offer. Everyone also told us that we’d probably have a hard time finding what to eat, since most of us keep kosher and thus wouldn’t be eating meat or shellfish on the trip. But we managed to find restaurants with plenty of options for vegetarians and pescatarians alike. Here, then, are just a few of the many highlights of our trip – what’ll be just a small fraction of your own trip’s highlights, if you go.

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Mushroom Pea Curry

rivka — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 20:30:53 +0000

It’s a week after New Years, and I’m talking about vegetables. Could I be more predictable?

Yes, it’s that time of year when everyone you know has committed to hit the gym 3 days a week, quit cursing, and eat less meat. Personal experience tells me that while everyone clamors to steal my spot at spin class for a few weeks after the holidays, by mid-February, I’ve got my bike back (even if I have to call before 6 to reserve it – and yes, it’s that worth the early wake-up: Dave is my overenthusiastic spinning instructor who hasn’t bought a record since “Walking on Sunshine,” and I love him for it.)

I’ve made resolutions before. A couple Augusts ago, I spent an inspiring day with my friend Cathy (known to the interwebs as Mrs. Wheelbarrow), and felt so fired up by all the things we’d made that I spontaneously made a list of Kitchen Resolutions. You know what? I’ve done all but two – I’m pretty proud of that.

Still, when it comes to traditional New Years resolutions, I’m more of a tweaker, preferring incremental changes to whole-hog lifestyle makeovers. While eating minimal meat was how I was raised, it’s also a lifestyle choice I’ve consciously adopted. I try to avoid meat and poultry from animals not raised sustainably, which means most of the meat served at large functions and in typical restaurants is off-limits. I also keep a kosher home, and there’s no way around the fact that kosher sustainable meat is incredibly expensive; I buy it only a few times each year. As such, I’m always on the lookout for interesting vegetarian dishes. This time of year, with all those Meatless Monday resolution-makers, I’ve got plenty of company.

A few weeks back, before climbing onboard for two family vacations (more about those later), a slew of holiday parties, and really more cookies than I feel comfortable counting, we made Indian food for dinner. I steamed basmati rice with saffron. I grilled up some impossibly smooth, silky avocado chapatis. We made Jen’s Curryflouwer Surprise. And then there was this: mushroom and pea curry from the queen of Indian cooking, Madhur Jaffrey. It’s the best curry I’ve made to date.

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Butterscotch Pudding

rivka — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 00:34:46 +0000

2011, over already? Jeez.

It was a big year, 2011. Perhaps not as epic as 2010 (marriage!), but 2011 saw our first anniversary (with drinks at the W and dinner at Palena – lucky us!) and, in the same month, the purchase of our first home (an awesome condo with plenty of open space, a dream kitchen, and a deck…have I really not shown you pictures yet? Wristslap! We’ll solve that soon.)

D started a new job this year, and I’ve been busier than ever at mine. More direct reports, more travel, and generally more responsibiity have all thrown something of a wrench in my grand plan to post more in 2011. You see, I’ve got so much to share with you; all sorts of little tips and tricks, entertaining ideas, and tasty morsels I ate in restaurants and tried to recreate at home. I want to share them all with you. But time was scarce in 2011, so some of those tips, tricks, ideas, and recipes – well, they’re still lodged in a far corn of my brain, waiting patiently for 2012.

Some of our cooking, eating, drinking, and food-coma-ranting did actually make it to this space, though. There were bourbon pecan bars and ginger brownies that will make you swoon, I guarantee it; Easy green beans with pesto vinaigrette that I’ve made, oh, 20 times since first posting about them; and of course, my favorite fish dish ever, which took me only 5 years to finally share with you – Veracruz-style snapper. With a new year on the horizon, I’m ready as ever to find more memorable food – and to share it with all of you.

So let’s get the new year off to an auspicious start, shall we?

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Michael Symon’s Tomato Soup

rivka — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 17:30:49 +0000

Can soup be controversial? I think maybe it can.

I’ve served this soup at probably ten dinner parties over the past couple years. D sets the first bowl down on the table and announces, “tomato soup.” Guests slurp their first spoonfuls, and the crows start coming. “This is amazing.” “Best tomato soup ever.” “I need the recipe.” Music to any cook’s ears; it’s no winder I keep making this soup.

It wasn’t always this way, though. I blame the blue cheese.

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Leek Latkes with Herbed Yogurt

rivka — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 14:50:14 +0000

By now you know that my mom was the primary cook in our house. She made us dinner almost every night. Still, my dad does have a few signature dishes that he’d make occasionally, which I really loved as a kid. One was apple pan dowdy. Another was matzah brei. And the third — the marvelous third — was latkes.

My father’s latkes are the best. They’re lacy and delicate, well-seasoned, and unshyly fried to a (sometimes deliciously burnt) crisp, just the way I like them. I’ve made them his way several times over the years. I’ve also tried my hand at my mom’s equally good sweet potato latkes, and have — as she sometimes does — mixed some zucchini into my pancakes. All varieties are worth making, now aren’t they?

Hanukkah provides an annual excuse to blithely and guiltlessly fry things. Never one to squander such an opportunity, this year I decided to experiment in the fried-root-vegetable-pancake department. No potato latkes for us this time around; the wringing and sieving and squeezing what appears to be an endless stream of liquid from those tubers simply got the best of me. Instead, I turned to the book that now sits front and center on my new cookbook shelf: that’d be Plenty, the newish book from Tel Avivi/Brit Yotam Ottolenghi. It’s like this book was written just for me: eggplant, pomegranates, tomatoes, feta, and yogurt are just about everywhere. And everything I’ve read about this book suggests that it’s ideal when used as a starting point, a resource for improvisational cooking. That’s just my speed.

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Hazelnut Molasses Crisps

rivka — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 15:31:52 +0000

Some cookies are made to be shipped. They’re crunchy, sturdy, and can weather any postal worker’s worst mood.

If you can imagine those cookies’ polar opposite, you’d have in your mind the cookies I’m sharing with you today. They are not for shipping, unless your friends will be particularly excited to receive a tin full of hazelnut-flecked, molasses-flavored cookie crumbs. (Incidentally, the crumbs, which you inevitably will have after making and packing a batch of these cookies, are just superb sprinkled on vanilla ice cream. But I digress.) They are, however, the perfect finale to a meal, a day, a 30-minute TV show. They’re a cookie to bring your next door neighbor or to set out at a housewarming/open house/holiday party. where people don’t have to fuss with them all that much. Yes, they’re delicate beings, these cookies. But boy are they good.

I found them in a book by the great Alice Medrich that I checked out of the library some weeks ago. I happened upon the recipe, thought of the bag of hazelnuts in my freezer (I keep all my nuts in the freezer – they stay fresh much longer that way), and copied the recipe. I knew I wouldn’t have the time to make them before the book was due back at the library; I also knew that once I made them, I’d want the recipe on hand to make them again and again. On both counts, I was right.

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Maple-Roasted Pears

rivka — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 19:30:55 +0000

‘Tis the season for cookies, and lately I’ve felt so bombarded by different shapes, sizes, flavors, and varieties, it’s hard to focus on much else. Ok, obviously I’ve still found time for applesauce cake and gingersnap pear cranberry crisp. But what I’m trying to say is, there have also been cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. An embarrassing number, some of you would think (if I were willing to estimate my personal intake, which I am not).

I find it difficult to forgo cakes and cookies for lower-key desserts year-round, and this time of year, it’s especially hard. But last week, after fiddling with the “surprise me” function on Deb’s blog, I stumbled on a recipe for roasted pears that caught this cookie-loving lady’s attention. The pears looked like they were melting into the baking dish, coated with a syrup of vanilla beans, sugar, and lemon. I wanted to scoop them right out of the screen.

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Gift Guide, 2011 Edition

rivka — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 16:04:08 +0000

The holidays are upon us. If roasting a perfect turkey and baking a perfect pie aren’t your stressors of choice, well hey! There’s always gifting the perfect gift.

It’s tough, isn’t it? Your roommate has been aching for that beautiful red sweater, but doesn’t have the heart to steer you in the right direction, so she just holds her breath and hopes you magically figure it out. Your brother likes nothing, nothing at all. There is literally nothing he wants. And your partner? Well, either a) everything you buy is perfect, and oh, the pressure of finding that perfect gift yet again! or b) you’ve never succeeded in getting a gift he/she wants, so why should this year be different, except you really want this year to be different.

Friends, I’m here to help.

Below is a completely random assortment of stuff I think is swell. Of course, it all relates to food. Hopefully you can find gifts for all the folks in your life somewhere in the list below.

WALL ART

1. The periodic table of waterbath preserving is going up on a wall in my kitchen as soon as it arrives. Your canning-crazy friends would appreciate it too. Trust me, I know canning-crazy. I am canning crazy.

2. I debated keeping this print from NYT artist Wendy McNaugton on the DL, but it’s glorious and deserves to be shared.

COOKS’ (AND BAKERS’) GIFTS

3. For the baker in your life, bakers’ labels are a thoughtful, practical gift. Felix Doolittle makes some beautiful ones (as well as canning labels, if your granny’s jam is the bees’ knees and just needs to be shared). If your baker buddy wants labels to match his/her brand, Moo allows you to customize labels using your own design. I bought some mini business cards on Moo this year, and I’m quite happy with the way they turned out.

4. Is there a classier jar than Weck? Nope.

5. I bake bread regularly in the winter, and as I get back into my rhythm, I start to play around with different designs for the top of the dough. One really beautiful option is to let the dough rise in one of these elegant rising baskets; they make spiral-shaped ridges in the top of the dough and give the finished loaf a distinctive look.

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Perfect Chai

rivka — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 16:22:38 +0000

The leaves are falling, yellow and burnt orange, into oddly balmy air. It’s not nearly as cold as “late November” suggests it should be. No scarf or hat for me – not even a real winter coat yet. Just a blazer, some low boots, and a hankering for the real chill to set in.

We spent thanksgiving in Michigan, where I was certain we’d have some seasonally appropriate weather. But folks, even Detroit was definitively mild. Aside from plenty of rain, the Michigan air barely even could be called brisk.

So yes, I’m impatient for real, honest fall. I’m sure I’ll laugh bitterly if I chance to reread this post in February, but for now, I’m ready for real fall. In the meantime, I’m cheating the seasons a bit: well ahead of the weather’s lazy schedule, I’ve busted out the tea leaves. Folks, I’m making chai.

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Twice-Baked Sweet Potatoes

rivka — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 16:59:53 +0000

I’m back, in the nick of time, with one last side dish to grace your Thanksgiving table (because really, can you ever have enough sides?) By now, you’re probably squared away with your stuffing, your Turkey, and those pies. So here’s an idea for what to do with all those sweet potatoes. I wouldn’t call it a traditional dish, but it’s certainly a play on tradition.

I’ve always loved twice-baked potatoes, with their crisp skin and just enough potato inside to cushion the cheesy filling. So why not twice-bake sweet potatoes? Yes, their flesh is less starchy, and their skins are harder to crisp up. But when you succeed — and you will succeed – you will reap the rewards of hot, sweet, crunchy, soft, sweet ‘taters like you’ve never had’em before.

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Mushroom Shallot Quiche

rivka — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 15:12:32 +0000

A couple weekends ago, our friends Meryl and Benjy came to town. We slept in for the first time in years, and then we hosted a late morning brunch. There’s nothing like nursing a cup of strong, steaming coffee, stirring eggs and cream, and soaking in a perfect fall day.

First to the table was my new cold-weather staple, citrus salad: peeled sliced grapefruit and oranges, a little honey, some mint, presto. Rebecca made French toast casserole, dripping maple syrup and topped with fresh blueberries. To round things out, I made this quiche.

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Brussels Sprouts with Caraway Seeds

rivka — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 15:58:36 +0000

Ohh, brussels sprouts. The unsung hero of the Thanksgiving table. Have your turkey, eat as many sweet potatoes as you’d like; when the maple syrup is dripping down your chin, the marshmallows bursting from your jowls, and the cranberry sauce shmeared bright red across your plate, you will have a moment – everyone has a moment – when the sweetness of it all, the sheer quantity of sugar, exhausts you. At that moment, you’ll reach for the bowl of brussels sprouts, grateful that something on the table that’s purely savory. Thank goodness for brussels sprouts.

here’s the thing about sprouts recipes, though. Lots involve that very maple syrup that coats your yams. Or apples. Or pears (guilty as charged). Those are delicious – I’m not criticizing! – but if you take your turkey in a sweet direction (here’s one recipe I’m particularly excited about that looks pretty sweet), you’ll want a foil for all that sugar. So if I were making Tday dinner this year, I’d go as simple as it gets. Just some olive oil, salt and pepper – and the secret star ingredient: caraway seeds.

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Bourbon Pecan Bars

rivka — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 16:20:44 +0000

People, it’s Thanksgiving time. Turkey and mashed potatoes and yams galore, brussels sprouts and cranberry sauce, and of course, you can never have enough pie.

Except you know what? I’ll beg to differ. I’m a pie lover like the best of ‘em, but at a certain point, I need a break. I want a crumble, a crisp, perhaps some bars. Thanksgiving may be about tradition, but it needn’t resist a change of pace, right?

Look, we can split the difference. These pecan bars are basically pecan pie, in rectangle form. They have crust, they have gooey chewy topping. Did I mention they have bourbon? You will like them. Your guests will love them. And if you want to push things over the top, dunk’em in chocolate. That’ll bring the swoons. No one will miss pecan pie. And if they do? Well, there’s always apple, and pumpkin, pumpkin-caramel, and apple-cranberry, and…

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Kale Salad with Avocado Dressing

rivka — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 15:47:43 +0000

This is the latest in NDP’s Weekday Lunch series, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of my tupperware. For earlier Weekday Lunch posts, check this out.

I’m a big fan of kale salads. They’re a pop of green in a season where not much is; they basically never wilt; and given how healthy they are, it’s hard not to feel righteous eating one.

My usual kale salad combines lacinato kale – the long, bumpy leaves that are almost glamorous in texture, also known as dinosaur kale – with pine nuts, raisins or currants, and shards of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. It’s the sort of salad that’s good now, better later. My friend (and author of various guest posts on NDP) Jeremy pointed out that over time, as the kale wilts, it takes on a texture almost like seaweed, which is quite pleasant.

Last week, in the mood for kale salad, I opened the fridge to find I was fresh out of lacinato. I did have a bunch of regular curly-leaf kale, but I knew it would take a thicker, more serious dressing to tame those wiry leaves. Where did I turn? The humble avocado.

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Ginger Brownies

rivka — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 14:15:41 +0000

Brownie perfection is in the eye of the beholder. Some like a moist, chewy brownie. (Others inexplicably prefer the cakey kind, but I’m not judging.) Katherine Hepburn liked brownies so chocolatey, they were black – but I’ve also met strange folks who don’t want to be hit over the head by the chocolate. (Again, not judging. Kinda.)

The brownie debate extends quite far: even Duncan Hines lists two options on their packaged brownie mix – one egg for chewy brownies, two for cake-like brownies.

Me, I like a brownie that’s moist and chewy – but it’s important to me that they hold to hold their shape when sliced. Mushy brownies have a time and a place – midnight or later, straight out of the pan, eaten alone or with someone I like a whole lot. For the more civilized occasions, give me a brownie that slices up nicely.

In the past, I’ve looked to Alice Medrich and Dorie Greenspan, who have developed recipes for truly bittersweet, moist brownies. Neither of my standby favorites have any additions, which can disrupt the otherwise smooth texture of good brownies.

But I’m not a total purist. I’ve always been a fan of peppermint brownies, and just as curious about the supporting role other flavors might be able to play. So yesterday, I pulled a stack of cookbooks off the shelf and began looking for inspiration: I wanted to make ginger brownies.

That expedition ended with a thud. I couldn’t find anything I was excited to make. So I turned to the interwebs, and quickly found myself a Martha recipe that looked mighty promising. Spiced with ground ginger, nutmeg, and cloves, they suggested prominent fall flavor but didn’t look too overpowering.

And here I am, blogging abut the recipe, so yes, friends. They were every bit as good as I’d hoped. The texture of these brownies comes pretty close to perfect, for me at least. Chewy and moist, but firm enough to stand up to a knife. I topped them with some of the lovely ginger salt I received from Marx Foods a while back for some sort of contest (I forget the context, but I’m pretty sure it was open to everyone, and they’re certainly not paying me to discuss it here). I was enamored enough of the topping that I’m encouraging you to do something similar below. It’s simple, really: combine ground ginger with coarse salt. Alternatively, snag the ginger salt from Marx Foods. It’s – er – worth its salt.

Ginger Brownies
adapted from Martha Stewart
makes 9 large brownies or 12 smaller brownies (1 8×8 pan)

Note: The ginger salt is out of stock, but equally wonderful is the espresso salt. Try it! If you don’t have fancy flavored salt, just take 1/2 teaspoon of flaky salt in a bowl, add a pinch of ground ginger, and stir until combined. Sprinkle sparingly over the brownies. If you’re not keen on that fuss, just use regular flaky salt.

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus more for baking dish
3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup sugar
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt, plus 1/2 teaspoon for sprinkling
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish. Line bottom with parchment paper, allowing 2 inches to hang over 2 sides. Butter parchment.

Melt butter and chocolate together in a small saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients and spices. Stir to combine fully. Add eggs, vanilla, and cooled chocolate mixture, and stir to fully combine.

Pour batter into prepared dish and smooth top with a rubber spatula. Sprinkle sparingly with either ginger salt or regular flaky salt. Bake until a cake tester inserted into center comes out with moist crumbs, 30 to 35 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack 15 minutes. Lift out, and let cool completely on rack. Cut into 8 squares or 12 rectangles. Brownies can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature up to 4 days.

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Beef Stew with Vadouvan

rivka — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 15:54:49 +0000

I didn’t believe it was possible to make a flavorful beef stew without beef stock, but this recipe proved me wrong. An unassuming combination of cheap stew meat, green beans, tomatoes, and spices come together on the stove and cook low and slow, turning into something distinctly more than the sum of its parts. The green beans melt into lusciousness while, miraculously, maintaining their texture through hours of cooking. And the tomatoes become a complex, silky sauce that coats the beef and does wonders for a bowl of hot rice.

I adapted this stew from a Food52 recipe that, quite frankly, needed no adapting. It calls for coriander and cumin, which I used in moderation, and which are quite lovely. However, I also added plenty of vadouvan, an intriguing blend combining many of the spices in curry – cumin, tumeric, mustard seeds – with more French spices like shallots and nutmeg. It’s positively seductive, and it works magic on this stew.

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Curried Cauliflower Chickpea Salad

rivka — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 15:52:23 +0000

You might — as I did — assume that any recipe written by the likes of Thomas Keller is completely out of reach for us mere mortals. Yes, he of the Best Restaurant in New York publishes books, with recipes in them. I have one of these books, and it isn’t even the crazy-complicated one. It’s Ad Hoc, the most approachable of his books, which documents the food from his family-style restaurant in Yountville. I’ve read it through several times; it’s a beautiful volume. It’s found a permanent home on our coffee table. Unfortunately, I’ve been too flat-out intimidated to actually make his food. The recipes look simple enough – farro with butternut squash, summer vegetable gratin, etc – but when you dig deeper, every recipe subtly calls for like eight other recipes. I was a bit put off.

You probably think I’m being lazy, or weak, or something. After all, better women have cooked every recipe from his high-end cookbook without breaking a sweat. (Okay, maybe a little sweat.) But I am not so bold. I confess, I tire at the site of long, involved recipes, especially when they’re ultimately meant to be eaten as a weeknight dinner. I believe there’s plenty of time to cook good food at home, even on weeknights, but multi-step recipes require either lots of time, or lots of foresight. These days, I have neither. But after this weekend, I do have a newfound enthusiasm and can-do spirit: I’m cooking (slightly adapted) Keller, and you can too.

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Pesto Frittata Bites

rivka — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 14:58:35 +0000

We spent this morning at a birthday brunch for our friend Matt. I’ve dubbed his wife “the hostess with the mostess plus,” because she’s simply the best hostess around. She welcoms friends and strangers alike into their home, and makes everyone feel like family. She and Matt even open their home to the community, year after year. But at the heart of the matter, “the hostess with the mostess plus” knows how to throw a party. When she received her doctorate, she threw a soiree that involved a live jazz ensemble, a chocolate fountain, and crepes to order, made by her late father, whom we all miss very much.

I was asked to bring an egg dish, which usually means a frittata. But when you go to brunch at the home of the hostess with the mostess plus, you best bring something real nice. So I went all fancy on you: I tucked my frittata recipe into mini-muffin cups. Whoa! Stop the presses.

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Easy Eggplant Curry

rivka — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 15:20:04 +0000

Somehow, D and I were hosted for all of our Rosh Hashana meals. Five times, we found ourselves in good friends’ homes, ripping off pieces of round, honey-dunked challah, and savoring slices of apples picked as nearby as Maryland, and as far as a friend’s hometown of Omaha. Five times, we ate way more than we needed to, fought to stop ourselves from taking one more piece of mushroom tart, one more spoonful of ethereal fennel soup, one more scoop of squash gratin, one more slice of my mom’s famous carrot kugel, one more bite of toasted coconut ice cream. Needless to say, we’re pretty stuffed.

(Another highlight, while we’re on the topic: my mom made a sweet-savory noodle kugel with feta. Talk about creative! I’m going to need that recipe.)

Alas, the languid pace and gluttonous eating of the past three days can’t go on indefinitely. There’s work – a new job, for one of us – right around the corner. And while, after weeks of working too hard and having little time for myself, it was great to not have to cook for this holiday, it also means that the fridge is strangely free of leftovers. Needless to say, I had to rectify that situation.

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Honey Cake and High Holiday Menu Ideas

rivka — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 18:16:33 +0000

Yep, it’s that time of year again. The High Holidays are upon us! For those celebrating, it’s a time to cook up a storm, get those pomegranates on the table, slice up the apples, and of course, pull out the stops with an awesome brisket. For the rest of y’all, it’s a chance to read all you ever wanted to know – and more – about honey cake. Here, then, are my menu ideas for this time of year. They’re great for Rosh Hashana, but they’re also pretty delicious for any old day.

photo courtesy of Gourmet Live

First things first: I teased my Twitter followers with the promise of an awesome honey cake in the pipeline. Now, I deliver. I made the Gourmet Live honey cake this week, and let me tell you, it is the best honey cake ever. I have to save the cake for a meal later this week, so I haven’t yet glazed it (hence the stolen photo from Gourmet and none of my own, yet), but i made a miniature to taste test, and it passes muster and then some. It’s an interesting take on a honey spice cake, made with plenty of honey, ginger, cloves, orange zest… and coffee. You won’t be able to put your finger on any one flavor in the cake, but its beguiling flavor will keep you coming back for another bite, then another. Gourmet says your guests will ask you for the recipe; I’ll let you know if my hosts ask me.

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Grape Rosemary Focaccia

rivka — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 14:30:11 +0000

This past week, we had the first day of what actually felt like fall in DC. Went for a run through Rock Creek Park with a friend, and barely broke a sweat, the air was so crisp. Walked out of the house in a sweater, and boots, and a scarf. All three! At once! We’ll pretend this week wasn’t 80 degrees and humid: Fall has fallen.

Apples have exploded at the farmers’ markets, and everyone’s talking about pie. But I still haven’t finished the last of my peach and nectarine store, and admittedly, I’m savoring them. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye. But I’ll split the difference: I’m ready, very very ready, for concord grapes.

In years past, puzzlingly enough, I’ve watched the two fleeting weeks of grape season pass me by. The fruit seemed prohibitively expensive, and I’ve worried that if I forked over the cash and bought them, I wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to use them that’d rationalize the expense in my mind. It’s all very psychological (and kind of ridiculous), but this year, I’ve come to my senses. Grapes were $5/quart at my local market, so I bought them, ate a bunch on the way home from the market, and baked the rest into this fantastic focaccia.

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My Israeli Salad

rivka — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 17:07:20 +0000

If you ask D about my eating habits, she’ll not hesitate a moment before telling you that they’re strange. Among what she deems my more odd tendencies is my affinity for salad in the morning. She – and most everyone else – like starting the day with oatmeal, yogurt, pancakes. (I do, too. Not sure how else to explain this, this, this, and, you know, this whole category.) But I’m also quite content to make breakfast from chopped vegetables, some avocado, a squeeze of lemon, and a hunk of feta cheese.

That’s what I did while living in Israel. If I wasn’t running out the door with a bottle of drinkable goat’s milk yogurt in hand, I was frequently making this salad in the mornings. Frankly, I was making a version of this salad nearly three times a day.

Classic Israeli salad doesn’t have feta or avocado. It’s just tomatoes, cucumber, parsley, lemon, and salt. That’s good, too – but this is better. It’s more luxurious, and more filling. Serve it with pita and some hummus or labneh, and you’ve got a complete meal. For years, this has been my Israeli salad. I’ll happily stuff it into a falafel sandwich, just like real Israeli salad, but I’ll also pile it on wheat toast, taking things in a slightly different (but still delicious) direction.

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How to Use (Up) Zucchini

rivka — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 14:55:47 +0000

Friends, the zucchini glut is nearly over. Those plants have practically exhausted themselves these past few months. Before you know it, we’ll be talking apple pie. But we’ve still got a week or two more of zucchini overflow, and I thought I’d share a couple delicious ways to put zucchini excess to good use.

These are recipes I’ve been making all summer, and you should certainly take the opportunity to make them while zucchini plants are still producing. Lest you think we’re only talking about stir fry or gratin, I’ve got you covered for brunch and snacktime, too.

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Mediterranean Lentil Salad

rivka — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 14:55:08 +0000

With the plentiful tomato salads and the peach cobblers of a good East Coast summer, lentils are often forgotten, relegated to the soups, stews, and curries of colder months. Such has been the case in our home. We’ve plowed through pint after pint of beautiful blackberries (making just a couple of these). We’ve eaten our weight in red, orange, yellow, even purple cherry tomatoes (and fried our fair share of green ones; if you’re clicking over, check out those vintage NDP photos! My, how far we’ve come…). But the lentils, they linger in the pantry, waiting for the air to grow colder.

The lentils were hiding, for sure. But last week, I peered deep into my pantry, looking for items begging to be used – the neglected cans or bags of whatever legume I felt inspired to buy, however many months ago. Blame it on the new home purchase: I’m already twitching at the thought of migrating my whole kitchen worth of stuff, so the leaner, the better. Also: last week, I was reading about Slow Food USA’s $5 Challenge, a call to food lovers to “take back the value meal” by gathering friends and family and eating a meal that costs $5 a head. Lentils give some of the best bang-for-buck of any food item out there. They’re inexpensive, full of protein, and easy to make. Also, easy to make taste delicious.

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Green Beans with Pesto Vinaigrette

rivka — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 14:59:40 +0000

The humble green bean doesn’t get enough love, I’ve decided. We’re all so focused on bursting tomatoes and perfect peaches, sweet sweet corn and favas that take five times as long to peel as to eat (and are still totally worth it) and we totally ignore green beans. Unlike peaches, they don’t get super juicy. Unlike tomatoes, they don’t look any prettier at the farmers’ market than they do at Safeway. And I don’t know about you, but I’m so used to seeing grocery-store green beans all year round that somehow, the site of them at the market doesn’t trigger that must-have-now feeling that, say, perfect baby okras inspire. (Incidentally, I got those okras. Thrice. I started this thread on Foodpickle, the only place on the web where you can ask a question and get a bunch of really smart answers, really quickly. Then I went and made this recipe. And this one. I also floured and fried a handful as an appetizer one evening. And then, with my last batch, I tried to follow my colleague’s instructions for Bindi Masala but, let’s face it, ended up with some strange not-quite-Indian okra curry. Still pretty good. I love okra.)

Back to the green beans, which may not have had me up at 8am as I do for tomatoes — freaked out they’ll disappear before I get some — but did spark my attention enough that last week, I bagged a couple pounds from one of the farmers at the Dupont market. I wasn’t quite sure how I’d use them, but I can tell you this: once those beans were tucked under my arm, I had no trouble at all getting excited brainstorming ways to use them.

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Kohlrabi, Fennel, and Blueberry Salad

rivka — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 14:46:16 +0000

I’m at the point with my summer bounty where peaches go in my salads about as often as tomatoes do. Peaches have a different kind of lusciousness than tomatoes, the juice dribbling out of every bite rather than bursting out all at once as soon as you bite in. I like how the slices of ripe peach coat my lettuces, taking some of the burden off vinaigrette. Truth be told, I don’t use much dressing in the summer.

As much as I’m a sucker for juicy bowls of salad, I swooned when I saw this unconventional, more subdued number in last month’s Food and Wine. It’s from Stephanie Izard, of Top Chef fame, who’s got what I hear is a top-notch restaurant in Chicago called Girl and the Goat. I’ve been jonesing to eat there on my last few trips, but haven’t yet had the chance. For now, there’s this salad to tide me over.

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Best Blackberry Pie

rivka — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 16:22:49 +0000

I do my best to keep up with the kids, to stay in the know about what’s new. I caught wind of the microbrew trend a couple years back, and I even went so far as to buy a beer-of-the-month club subscription for D. (She loved it so much, she told me to never think again about birthday presents: it’s beer club from here on out.) But every so often, a new tidbit of knowledge seems to sweep the food world by storm while skipping me completely, Passover-style. This time, it was tapioca flour, which has quickly supplanted corn starch as the best thickener, ever. Unlike corn starch, tapioca is undetectable in every way. It thickens up pies without any of that milky, gloopy, corn starch texture. It also doesn’t threaten to leave a raw-flour taste if it doesn’t cook completely. In short, it’s basically foolproof. Cook a pie with tapioca, and you’ll think there’s no thickener in it at all – until you cut the first slice and see that there is no puddle of murky fruit liquid swamping your pie. It’s an amazing feat. Your guests will ooh and ahh.

So how did I miss the trend? I don’t know. But I blame being late to the tapioca party for not sharing this amazing pie recipe until now. This, my friends, is the best blackberry pie. Ever.

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Roasted Corn and Tomatillo Soup

rivka — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 14:34:58 +0000

A couple weeks ago, D and I went to my parents’ house to celebrate my mom’s birthday. I’ve talked about my mom a bunch on this site, and I know I’ve said before that she’s responsible for any and all of my good cooking instincts (and none of the bad ones). She’s an experimenter in the kitchen, always tinkering with recipes until they’re just perfect. And she’s got an uncanny ability to pick out ingredients by smell and taste. Just last night, over dinner at the wonderful Rasika (a belated birthday present from us kids), we tasted the baingan bartha (our favorite type of curry: slow-roasted eggplant with tomato and plenty of smoke), and when I asked if she thought she could replicate it at home, she said maybe not, because her garam masala has less nutmeg than Rasika’s. Understand, for a moment, that garam masala is a blend of several spices, and that it’s only one ingredient of the many in baingan bartha – and yet, she was able to pull nutmeg out of the stack. I don’t know how she does it.

But I digress. You see, never have my mother’s tinkering and testing talents been put to better use than in the roasted corn and tomatillo soup she made for her birthday dinner. It was the first course of way too many, but I couldn’t stop myself: I had three bowls of soup. It was deeply smokey but also sweet from summer corn, rounded out with pungent ginger and bright lime juice. She served it with a tomato swirl-in that is both entirely optional and entirely delicious. It was the best bowl of soup I’ve had in a long, long time.

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Peach Tomato Salad

rivka — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 15:54:32 +0000

I get as excited as the next girl about making zucchini gratin, corn soup, peach cobbler, etc. Never was there a better time for produce than smack in the middle of summer. The downside, of course, is that some days, I’m too pooped to patchke. I’d rather just stand over the sink, peach in hand, and let the juice dribble down my chin as I indulge in an effortless, delicious, afternoon snack.

This salad is for those days. It’s for the other days, too; but when the heat has gotten the best of you, you’ll be thankful for something this good, this seasonal, that requires so little actual movement on your part (the better to sit near the fan and let the sweat evaporate. You know what I’m talking about.)

When the peaches and tomatoes are as good as they are right now (this very moment! Get thee to the market, pronto!), they need nothing. They do benefit, however, from a drizzle of fine olive oil, a sprinkling of sea salt, and a couple drops of reduced balsamic vinegar or saba (my favorite ingredient ever: reduced grape must. You can get it at Italian grocery stores and on Amazon). That’s all, folks.

Peach Tomato Salad
serves 2

2 juicy peaches, peeled (probably need to use a paring knife if they’re as juicy as they should be)
1 pint good cherry or grape tomatoes
a few tiny basil or mint leaves
3 tablespoons fine olive oil, preferably a fruity one
flaky sea salt
2 teaspoons reduced balsamic vinegar or saba; pomegranate syrup would also be good

Peel peaches and slice each peach into 6 wedges. Halve tomatoes. Arrange on platter, and top with mint or basil leaves.

Drizzle oil over salad, and sprinkle lightly with flaky salt. Drizzle the vinegar or saba with a very light hand.

Either serve immediately (fine), or allow salad to sit for 10 minutes. Tomatoes and peaches will exude their liquid and seem, impossibly, juicier. Eat up.

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Mushroom Turnovers

rivka — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 14:22:48 +0000

Most of you regulars probably know that in the summer months, D and I operate under a cold-oven policy. Our apartment, see, it loves the heat. It clings to every last morsel of July humidity like there’s some shortage (which, having spent the past week in town clinging to my vent, I can say with certainty there is not). Living in this hot, sticky mess, I’m so tired I can barely cook. We’ve been eating lots of salads these past few weeks, and in our near future, there’s no shortage of those, either.

On the rare occasions that I do turn on the oven (for, say, this peach blackberry wonder), I try to maximize its utility. That’s what had me making these mushroom turnovers a couple weeks back. The oven was already on, so I figured I should get as much stuff inside as I possibly could. The beauty of these triangles is that you can cook the whole batch at once, freeze them, and then pop a couple into a container any which day and call ‘em lunch.

I’ve been making spanikopita for years, both with puff pastry and with phyllo dough, and apple turnovers are a beloved winter brunch staple. But mushroom turnovers are the newest addition to my turnover repertoire. They’re easy, delicious, and appropriate for all seasons. Also, they’re pretty easy to make.

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Corned Beef

rivka — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 15:41:37 +0000

Corned beef is one of those foods I always assumed I couldn’t make. Even by the looks of it – mysteriously pink inside, despite the brining process, perfectly I’m happy to try my hands at kimchi, sour cherry preserves, even babka, but deli sandwiches are best made by the pros. Or so I thought.

But Mrs. Wheelbarrow knows better than to let nice, well-meaning home cooks like me get intimidated by something as easy (yes, you heard me, easy!) as corned beef. In fact, she’s created a yearlong project devoted to dispelling just such a notion. And while these days, the Charcutepaloozans are conquering fancy things like homemade bratwurst and chicken liver terrine, corned beef is so very easy to make, that it was their very first challenge. If corned beef is just a warm-up for Cathy, I knew it wouldn’t be too hard for me to make, either. And I was right.

I can see the eye-rolls through the interwebs. Let’s back up. Corned beef is nothing more than pickled, boiled brisket. That’s why it’s so easy to make: first you pickle it, then you boil it. The key, of course, is to use the best pickling spice there is, which, at least in this case, is a homemade concoction. I used the pickling spice recipe from Ruhlman, the king of charcuterie (no really, he’s the author of the book Charcuterie and the godfather of Charcutepalooza). I’m really excited that his recipe made extra spice, because I’ll be using it for green beans and cabbage later this week.

So that’s the rub with corned beef. Marinate in salt water with spices, rinse, boil with more spices. Poof. The real question is what to do once you’ve got a beautiful piece of corned beef. The possibilities! We’ve eaten quite a few sandwiches so far, and I’m planning for some very traditional corned beef and cabbage, with some egg noodles to wash it all down. I only wish I’d made more. Stuff’s delish.

Corned Beef
adapted from Ruhlman

A note about pink salt: if you’ve got it, use it, and your brisket will stay pink. If you don’t have it, don’t sweat it.

for the brisket:

1 (2.5-lb) first-cut brisket
3/4 cup kosher salt
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons pink salt (sodium nitrite), optional
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons pickling spice

for the pickling spice:

1 tablespoon black peppercorns
1 tablespoon mustard seeds
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 tablespoon hot red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon allspice berries
1/2 tablespoon ground mace
1 small cinnamon stick, crushed or broken into pieces
2 bay leaves, crumbled
1 tablespoon whole cloves
1/2 tablespoon ground ginger

First, make the pickling spice: combine pepper, mustard, and coriander seeds in a dry saute pan and toast over medium heat, being careful not to burn. Let your nose guide you; I found everything fragrant and adequately toasted by the time the mustard seeds had just started to pop. When seeds are toasted, transfer to a heatsafe bowl. Combine with other spices. Let cool completely, then transfer to sealable jar.

Now, brine the brisket: in a pot large enough to hold the brisket, combine half a gallon of water, salt, sugar, pink salt (if using), garlic, and 1 tablespoon of the pickling spice mix. Bring to a simmer, letting salt and sugar dissolve. Cool liquid completely, then transfer to a storage container. Add brisket, weighing meat down with a plate if necessary to keep it submerged, and brine for 5 days.

After 5 days, remove brisket from brine and rinse thoroughly. Transfer to a large pot, add the remaining tablespoon of spices and enough water to cover the brisket, and bring to a slow simmer. Partially cover the pot, and cook brisket in the spiced water for about 2 1/2 hours. If water boils down to the point where the brisket is no longer covered, add enough water to cover the meat.

When brisket is fork-tender, remove it from the cooking water. If you’re planning to serve the corned beef with vegetables reserve the cooking water and use it to cook the vegetables.

Once corned beef has cooled for about 10 minutes, use a sharp knife to slice against the grain into slices. Either serve immediately, or wrap tightly and store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

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Brown-Bag Salad with Crunchies

rivka — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 14:01:32 +0000

The newest in my Weekday Lunch series, where I tell the tale of eating one meal a day on the job, and actually enjoying it. For all you weekday lunch enthusiasts, the wonderful ladies at BGSK have launched Brown Bag Week on their Small Kitchen College site. You can learn about great bag lunch ideas, and win some pretty awesome stuff from BuiltNY. Go check it out!

See that photo up there? I shot that with my iphone, at work. It’s a picture of yesterday’s lunch, but it easily could have been a picture from any day this week. For the past little while, I’ve been bringing some version of this very easy salad for work every day, and it’s pretty much made my summer.

I think people assume that a brown bag lunch must be either a one-pot dish like pasta salad, or a wrap/sandwich. I’m of the opinion that almost anything can be brought to work for lunch (need proof? Check out my Weekday Lunch series), and salads are no exception. The key is to pack them smartly. Let’s discuss.

But first, what’s in the dixie bowl? Well, we’ve got some of my favorite salad greens – a mix of spinach, arugula, and sorrel that I get at the market on Sundays – chopped; raw, bi-color corn kernels; halved cherry tomatoes; chopped cucumbers; and finally, the crowning ingredient, the thing that really makes this salad sing: crunchies.

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Sour Cherry Hand Pies, and the Perfect Pie Crust

rivka — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 23:02:34 +0000

I hope by now you’ve become as hooked on sour cherries as I am. I’ve been preaching some gospel about the fleeting summer fruit, pushing you all to make this sour cherry compote (and some of you have made it! and liked it! phew.). But this here, this is a recipe you absolutely need right this very moment, before sour cherries exit stage left for another year.

Reader, make some sour cherry hand pies. Not just any hand pies, but these – for these may be the most perfect hand pies I’ve ever made or eaten. And while I know in light of my raving about the whole sour cherry-ness of these pies what I’m about to say will seem strange, it all starts with the crust. That’s right: after years of making pie, using my old-faithful all-butter pie recipe (which I think I originally got from the lovely Deb), I’m changing my tune on the perfect crust.

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The Negroni

rivka — Sat, 02 Jul 2011 14:30:10 +0000

I rarely post about drinks in this space. Truth is, until recently I hadn’t a clue how to mix a good drink. My bar was “stocked” with two bottles of Kahlua, a half-empty jug of Bailey’s, and the brandy and sherry I use in cooking. For a nice, hard drink, I went around the corner and plopped my derriere at a bar. So it was.

I’m pretty sure it was Jen, from Last Night’s Dinner, who, in a sort of roundabout way, kickstarted my newfound intrigue in liquor and the cool things you can do with it. (I sound a little bit like I just had my 21st birthday, I know.) It’s ironic, since Jen’s husband, Mike, is the real drink expert. He blogs at A Dash of Bitters and writes a drink column for Serious Eats Drinks. But it was Jen who got me started. Earlier this year, Jen posted a recipe on Food52 for linguine with sardines, tomato, and fennel. That dish became one of my addictions this past winter, and I made it probably once a week. It’s a beautiful recipe, in which long pasta meets melted fennel, bright tomato, briny sardines, toasted bread crumbs, and…dry vermouth.

Vermouth, I came to learn, is a fortified wine. There’s sweet vermouth and dry vermouth. I’ve come to think that in cooking, dry vermouth is to white wine what shallots are to onions: more complex, more buttery, more exciting. I still cook with plenty of white wine, but especially in savory dishes, I turn more and more to dry vermouth.

Then there’s sweet vermouth, which has about half as sweet as port and, again, fortified with various herbs and spices. I’ve used it in chicken dishes to impart a gentle sweetness with plenty of flavor. The stuff is really, really good.

In my urban kitchen, where we’re perpetually in negotiations about the necessity of every utensil or appliance, the vermouth functioned as a new toy. It was great in food, but I wondered about its potential in, of all places, the glass.

I started playing with vermouth-based cocktails, this and this. But I have both a terrible memory and a penchant for not following recipes so well, and when those two things combine, you’ve got yourself a terrible mixologist. So at the end of the day, I’ve come to favor a cocktail that’s as easy to memorize as it is to quaff: the Negroni.

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Zucchini and Snap Peas with Sesame Oil

rivka — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 18:21:07 +0000

In some sense, it’s hard to come up with anything insightful to say about a dish containing four ingredients, one of which is salt and the other three of which are in this post’s title. On the other hand, one taste had me going on and on about how simple, how delicious, it all was. It’s a dish of contradictions: complex flavor from very few ingredients, a celebration of the bounty of summer with none of the fuss involved in, say, sour cherry pie.

We’re talking about zucchini and snap peas, two of summer’s greatest-hit vegetables. If you’ve seen those very small zucchini at the market and wondered what to do with them, this is the perfect recipe for showing off their shape. (If you can’t find baby zucchini, regular zucchini sliced into thick coins will work just fine.) I’ve spent many summers sauteing zucchini coins in butter; never once did I consider ditching the butter in favor of water. (Ditching butter? Would I ever? No.) But this is an exception: when you’re dealing with summer’s freshest vegetables, at the peak of the season, a little salted water is all you need.

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Sour Cherry Compote

rivka — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 14:13:34 +0000

It seems my latest attempt to test the temper of this bearable summertime weather has, gleefully, been ignored. DC persists in being comfortable. In June! No, I’m not complaining.

Instead, I’m reveling in the joy of walking down to the farmers’ market on Sunday mornings after a workout, all hot and prepared to stay that way, only to encounter 80-degree breezes and precious little humidity. Sacks full of produce, I can walk home without needing the day to recover. Call it the tyranny of low expectations, but it’s quite a thrill.

The nice (for summer) weather makes the bounty of East Coast produce an even greater bonus. To wit: I turned on my oven this week to make sour cherry hand pies, and guess what? No one fainted. Success. I’ll have a recipe for that soon.

For now, there’s this lovely compote, which you should make not next week, not tomorrow, but right now, before sour cherries vanish. It all happens so quickly, and I don’t want you to miss out. The beauty of this compote is that it’s a cinch to make, and it’ll keep in your fridge for weeks, extending the fleeting season of my favorite summer fruit.

You might wonder when you’ll have occasion to use a compote, but trust me: if it’s in your fridge, you’ll suddenly find ample uses. Over scones or pancakes; alongside grilled meats; swirled into yogurt; spooned over vanilla ice cream. If those possibilities aren’t sufficient, you could eat it straight from the jar. Or use it in these wonderfully sloppy sour cherry pies. Think of fruit compote as a headstart to all other desserts. Crumbles, pies, muffins, ice creams — all of these would benefit from some compote mixed in.

Sour Cherry Compote
adapted from Karen DeMasco’s The Craft of Baking

4 cups (1 lb.) stemmed, pitted sour cherries (fresh or frozen)
3/4 cup sugar
juice of 1 lime (or lemon)

Set a strainer over a metal bowl.

Combine cherries, sugar, and lime juice in a small saucepan and set over medium high heat. Cook — watching carefully, because it will inevitably bubble over the minute you turn away — until mixture bubbles and starts to foam, and cherries are soft, about 7 minutes. Pour mixture into strainer set over bowl; cherries will separate from syrup. Pour syrup back into sauce pan, and transfer cherries to the metal bowl.

Cook syrup over medium-low heat (you’re looking for a simmer here) until reduced by half, about 10 minutes. Remove from heat and cool about 10 minutes more.

Put cherries into a glass jar, and pour syrup over cherries. Refrigerate. Compote will keep in the fridge for a few weeks, if it lasts that long.

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Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

rivka — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 23:04:06 +0000

DC’s pulled some fast ones this summer. I keep expecting those terrible Washington heat waves, and not that we haven’t had a couple — remember the day when I ate my way through a chili cook-off in 105-degree weather? dumby — but on balance, this city is seeming suspiciously temperate.

Still, I’m not one to press my luck. It wants to be 77 degrees out? Fine by me. And if Murphy’s Law is worth anything at all, I’m crossing my fingers that making ice cream might keep the summer demons away just a little bit longer.

Not just any ice cream, mind you. In this house, mint chocolate chip ranks right up there with mango, strawberry, and cucumber-basil as one of the most refreshing ice cream flavors there is. It’s an old favorite of D’s: she tends to alternate between it, oreo, and chocolate chip cookie dough. It’s probably obvious if you read this blog that I’m not big on either of those other two, but D surprised me with a trip to Portland over Memorial Day weekend, and I can’t let the wife-of-the-year award go to her completely uncontested. Enter homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream.

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Pescado a la Veracruzana (Fish, Veracruz Style)

rivka — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 13:33:45 +0000

I grew up in a dairy household. This fact always elicits some “huh”s, lotsa “really?”s and even a few “ugh!”s but that’s the way it was, and I actually didn’t mind it, mostly. About two times a year, I’d really crave meat – but the only real option was takeout from Royal Dragon, the local kosher Chinese joint. It was always eaten on paper, always lukewarm. I taught myself pretty quickly to be satisfied without it.

At Friday night dinner, most of our crowd served chicken, meatballs, brisket. We usually had fish. Salmon teriyaki, tuna with mango salsa, flounder with lemon herb vinaigrette. (Gosh, can you tell I grew up in the nineties?)

If these fish dishes made occasional appearances on our Shabbat table, there was one that was so regular in its appearances, and so beloved, it was practically a part of the family. That dish is Huachinango a la Veracruzana. My mom’s version originated in an unassuming little cookbook called “Latin American Cooking.” It’s a scrawny little volume, doesn’t look like much. The recipes in it are simple and straightforward, and in my totally-not-expert opinion, they seem authentic.

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Fluffy Oat-Almond Pancakes

rivka — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 13:30:21 +0000

I seem to have become infatuated with almonds in every form. I’ve been nibbling tamari almonds, a fantastic recipe from Mrs. Wheelbarrow, in between meals at work. I’ve put the lovely Mandelin almond paste I received from chefshop.com to use in some seriously good almond cakes. My latest experiment: pancakes, with almond flour. And you know what? they aren’t even a little bit heavy.

Last weekend, the wife requested pancakes, and people, I’d have to be crazy to deny my lady pancakes even once. Usually, I make the best buttermilk pancakes, but lacking buttermilk, I used this as an opportunity to branch out.

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In the Small Kitchen: Noodles with Peanut Sauce

rivka — Tue, 31 May 2011 14:36:29 +0000

When a package arrived at my office earlier this week, I could hardly wait to tear it open. Inside was this gem:

Cara Eisenpress and Phoebe Lapine, the lovely ladies behind Big Girls, Small Kitchen, recently came out with a cookbook, and people? It is beautiful. The book charts Phoebe and Cara’s first year of cooking “in the real world,” offering recipes, tips, hosting ideas, and more for the just-out-of-college crowd. I can’t think of a better gift for new grads.

Naturally, the night it arrived, I read In the Small Kitchen cover to cover. The book is organized by occasion, rather than by type of recipe, which is surprisingly utilitarian: finger-food and drinks are grouped together in the cocktail parties section, while grainy salads and sandwiches can be found in the very comprehensive section on potlucking. Thinking back to my years as a recent college grad, I’m pretty sure the ladies cover basically everything I wanted to know at that time: how to host a good party, get drunk, and eat enough good food to keep down the liquor.

But this book isn’t just for the post-college crowd. Over the past couple years, I’ve cooked many of Phoebe and Cara’s recipes — mostly from Food52, where we met, but also several from their blog. From secret ingredient beef stew tochicken tagine and more, these ladies know how to cook. They write thoughtful, funny recipes, and their book puts that talent on display.

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Gujarati Mango Soup

rivka — Fri, 27 May 2011 14:49:56 +0000

Initially posted on The Jew and the Carrot: www.jcarrot.org.

Walk into any Jewish household on a Friday night, and you’ll have an instant window into that family’s food legacy. The Syrian table is piled high with ka’aks, zucchinis and eggplants stuffed with lamb and beef, beautiful molded rice with blanched almonds, and my favorite, lahmacun, those wonderful flatbreads topped with tamarind-and-tomato drenched ground meat. The Eastern Europeans have lokshen and cabbage, noodle kugel, gefilte fish, and of course, cholent. But come over to my house, and you might be confused: we’ll start with, say, a Moroccan soup called harira. The pièce de résistance, if I’m lucky, is huachinango a la Veracruzana, my favorite preparation of red snapper in a Mexican tomato sauce with onions, olives, currants, hot peppers, and cinnamon. A side of the Indian eggplant curry baingan bartha might round out the meal, and for dessert, my mother’s homemade chocolate croissants. If you’re following along, that makes one American Jew, born and raised in Washington, DC, with relatives from across Eastern Europe, who, along with her mother, is building a cooking legacy on Indian curry, Mexican fish, Moroccan soup, and French pastry.

I don’t come from a strong cooking tradition. It’s possible my great grandmothers slaved over some top-notch borscht, or — in the case of the piece of my family that’s been in the US for seven generations — some excellent apple pie. But I wouldn’t know. My grandmother, who grew up in Chicago, didn’t cook much at all. My Bubby, who grew up in New York and has spent most of her life in Richmond, VA, used to make an excellent Thanksgiving dinner, but her cooking didn’t have a particular perspective or core list of key ingredients.

Color me jealous: I’ve always wanted to come from one of those families with a strong culinary tradition. I’ve longed for native staples – the sorts of ingredients you always have on hand in multiple forms and in massive quantities, that find their way into everything: the Italians’ olive oil and tomatoes; the Indians’ garlic, ginger, and chilies; and so on.

So we weren’t bequeathed a strong culinary heritage by our relatives or our culture; that hasn’t stopped us from building our own. My mother has spent years accruing knowledge of different cultures’ cuisines, acquiring a taste for spice, learning to achieve that balance of spicy, sour, salty, and sweet that makes food — of any origin — great. And ever since I learned to cook, I’ve been trying to follow in her footsteps. Yes, we’re creating our own culinary legacy. Our legacy uses lemon in copious quantities; it doesn’t skimp on the chile; it favors things with pools of zesty tomato-based sauces to be sopped up with good bread; and it always includes something sweet to finish things off.

But there’s more. We love olives, capers, and anchovies, individually or all together in a tapenade that’d make a cook in Provence swoon. And we love Indian flavors; we’ve spent many a meal tasting curries two, three, four times in a row, to decipher their ingredients one by one. As I served an Indian-spiced chilled mango soup to my guests on Friday night — its pale orange surface flecked with black mustard seeds and buoying a dollop of spicy green chutney — I felt connected to a cooking heritage. The people may not be my own people, but the legacy of Indian cooking — the boldness with flavors, the embrace of real, sweat-inducing spice, the mixing of hot and cold together in the same dish — is one I have come to love, and to take as my own. Not being born into a strong cooking tradition may be a blessing in disguise, after all.

Gujarati Mango Soup with Green Chutney
Adapted from a recipe in Amanda Hesser’s The New York Times Essential Cookbook

After initially making this soup, I was concerned it would be cloying, even in small doses. I’d added some lime juice, but it still tasted quite sweet. On a whim, I made this green chutney (below), and its fresh, green heat complements the soup perfectly.

2 tablespoons chickpea flour
1/8 teaspoon ground turmeric
3/4 teaspoon ground cumin
3/4 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 cup plain whole milk yogurt (Greek is best)
3 cups canned mango pulp or mashed fresh mango pulp (1 mango yields between 3/4 and 1 cup of pulp)
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar (may need more if using fresh mangos)
1 jalapeno pepper, chopped (I used all the seeds. If you prefer less spice, omit seeds and membrane)
2 tablespoons peanut or corn oil
Generous pinch ground asafoetida
1/2 teaspoon whole brown mustard seeds
1/2 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
2 whole hot dried red chilies
1/8 teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds
10 fresh curry leaves (optional)
Juice of 1 lime

Put the chickpea flour, turmeric, and ground cumin in a bowl. Fill a measuring cup with 1/2 cup of water, and add a couple tablespoons to the flour mixture, stirring carefully until the flour is a smooth paste with no clumps.

Add more water very slowly, ensuring an even consistency as you stir.

Once enough water has been added that the chickpea flour has been fully incorporated into the liquid with no lumps, add the rest of the water and stir to combine. Whisk in yogurt, mango, and 2 more cups water. Add salt, sugar, and fresh chilies. Mix well.

Put oil in a heavy-bottomed medium pot over medium heat. When oil is very hot, add the asafoetida, and then — in quick succession — the mustard seeds, cumin seeds, dried chilies, fenugreek seeds, and curry leaves (if using). Have a splatter screen on hand: the mustard seeds will pop almost immediately after being added.

As soon as you have added the above ingredients, remove from heat and add mango mixture. Stir to combine, return to medium heat, and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring. Then remove from heat, cover, and allow to steep for 30 minutes.

At this point, you can either reheat the soup to serve warm, or do as I did, and refrigerate it to be served cold. Either way, strain the soup through a coarse sieve, then spoon some of the smaller seeds from the strainer back into the soup. Immediately before serving, stir the lime juice into the soup.

Serve soup in small bowls, with a spoonful of the chutney in each.

Spicy Green Chutney
Adapted from a recipe by Madhur Jaffrey

2 tablespoons lemon or lime juice (lime is preferable)
1 small tomato, diced
3/4 teaspoon salt
3 fresh hot green chilies, such as bird’s eye or jalapeno (can start with 2 and add to taste)
2/3 cup fresh chopped cilantro
1/3 cup fresh chopped mint
1/2 cup grated coconut, fresh or frozen and defrosted

This chutney can be made rustic in a mortar and pestle, or smooth in a blender.

Combine 3 tablespoons water, lime juice, tomatoes, salt, and chilies. Mash or blend until combined or smooth.

Add cilantro and mint; mash together or blend until smooth.

Finally, add coconut and blend or mix more, until chutney is fully mixed or completely smooth. Serve cold.

Chutney will keep in the refrigerator for a few days, but will keep for months in the freezer.

Many of the ingredients in each of these recipes are available online at Kalustyans.com.

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Rhubarb Almond Coffee Cake

rivka — Sun, 22 May 2011 18:03:59 +0000

(I’ll just get this out of the way right now. Yes, those are pecans atop my rhubarb almond coffee cake. I really like the crunch of pecans. Could I have used almonds, for consistency? Sure. But I didn’t, and no one in this house complained. If you’re wanting to double down on almond flavor, go for it.)

Now then.

This is the coffee cake I’ve been craving for months. Did I know I was craving it? Perhaps I had an inkling. I think by now I’ve blown my cover as a lover of sweet, breakfasty things. A quick swim through my archives, and my, I do seem to like coffee cake quite a bit! But you can never have enough coffee cake recipes. And at the risk of wrist-slapping my shortsightedness the next time a find a recipe that can be called THE coffee cake, I’m telling you with as straight a face as I’ve got: this is THE coffee cake. The one coffee cake you really, truly will need.

Now tell me you like almond and we’ll be all set.

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Bulgur with Asparagus and Preserved Lemon Dressing

rivka — Thu, 12 May 2011 15:42:09 +0000

This is the latest my Weekday Lunch series, where I share recipes suited to home or office.

[Sheepishly:] Remember me?

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted something fresh. I’ve been too busy at work to cook, and unless y’all wanted to read about the take-out pad thai I ate for dinner all of last week, I didn’t have much to share.

But now work has calmed down, and my new-found freedom coincides nicely with some of the most awesomely beautiful days DC’s had in a while. Sun-plus-breeze is something DC gets only about 4 days a year, and I’m determined to be outside for all of them.

Last Sunday got me to my first farmers’ market in a long while. I picked up some beautiful asparagus – bunches and bunches; people, I can’t control myself – as well as some ramps, green garlic, and heavy cream, which my favorite dairy stand just started carrying. It’d be a great food week even if you didn’t compare to the last couple, but in light of those dim days full of takeout, I’m high on fresh produce.

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Simplest Asparagus with Fresh Peas

rivka — Wed, 04 May 2011 13:10:45 +0000

From the archives, just in time for my favorite vegetable to hit the market. Enjoy!

The markets are back open, the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and I can almost forgive the swarms of tourists and the row of port-o-potties that totally block the view along the tidal basin, because spring has sprung! Thrills.

After a long winter of stews and soups, rice dishes and noodle bowls, I crave the fresh simplicity of spring produce. When a Sunday at the market sends me home with asparagus, fresh shelling peas, rhubarb, and (cross your fingers!) ramps, I try to prepare meals in a no-frills manner, letting the vegetables speak for themselves. Why kill fresh peas with a gloppy sauce? Why bury asparagus in soup or risotto? Leave those more involved, less spare recipes for another time. These first spring vegetables should be celebrated, I tell you.

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Amaretti

rivka — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 05:58:13 +0000

As I’ve said many times on this site, my philosophy of Passover eating is to steer clear of matza meal and potato starch, and keep things as normal as possible. Meringues, mousses, fruit curd of any flavor: these are the ideal Passover desserts. But cookie cravings call, and can’t be ignored, even on Passover. So I’m making good on my promise to share one more Passover cookie recipe before the holiday. Those chocolate cookies sort of can’t be beat — unless you use margarine in place of butter, which I hear can cause problems! — but these amaretti are chewy, flavorful, and pretty addictive in their own rite. They’ve got the golden touch of Passover cookies, which is to say, they weren’t designed with Passover in mind.

The recipe is very lightly adapted from Garrett McCord, who writes his own blog, Vanilla Garlic, and guest posts occasionally for Elise at Simply Recipes. They can be made chewy or crunchy just by fiddling with the baking time. They’re redolent with almond flavor and some vanilla, too. They’re highly scarfable, which on Passover isn’t something to scoff at.

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Best Chocolate Passover Cookies

rivka — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:10:22 +0000

Friends, listen up. This weekend, I went undercover. For you. In search of a perfect Passover cookie that could fool even the most discerning dessert connoisseur, I brought a batch of Passover cookies to the pre-wedding festivities of one of my oldest friends. Now surely you’re wondering why I’d subject some of my favorite people to those little bricks that taste like chalky potatoes and twice-cooked crackers. The answer, of course, is that I’d never do that. Friends don’t make friends eat Passover cookies. Nope. What I did do was treat my near-and-dear to a big tupperware container full of soft, chewy, chocolatey cookies. Also on the menu: muffins, bagels, croissants, and all sorts of other leavened things. And you know what? My chocolate cookies went first.

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Party Wings

rivka — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 00:08:34 +0000

I may seem delicate, with my ginger-infused biscuits and meyer lemon streusel muffins, and you know what? Maybe I am. But boy, do I love a good chicken wing. Whether battered and fried or sauced and crisped, great wings have become something of an interest. The crunchy skin and juicy meat, the sheer mess of it all, allures me.

I make wings on the rarest of occasions, so I get quite picky about which recipes to try. Last time, I made David Chang’s Momofuku wings. They might have been the best chicken wings I’ve ever made. But they also were the most work-intensive wings I’ve ever made, requiring all manner of pots and pans and way too much time. Frankly, they were too complex to post.

Back to the drawing board I went, in search of savory, juicy, flavorful wings without so much effort. I found one from none other than Cathy Barrow, aka Mrs. Wheelbarrow, a core member and anchor of the DC Food52 crowd and one of my favorite new friends. Cathy has a fantastic blog, and is also at the helm of Charcutepalooza, a yearlong charcuterie-making project. Needless to say, she’s a force.

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Triple Ginger Biscuits

rivka — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 13:08:22 +0000

Sunday brunch used to be my favorite meal. I loved standing over the stove in robe and slippers, flipping pancakes and stirring eggs over barely-there heat with Avishai Cohen serenading me in the background. Friday night was a time for big dinner parties that required hours of advance prep (sometimes even days). But Sunday was a time to mosey into the kitchen, cook something delicious, and feed people. Plain and simple.

These days, Sunday means errands. It means returning things at Bed Bath and Beyond, finding a framer to frame our brit (Jewish marital contract), and visiting my grandmother, who recently moved to town from Chicago. My Sunday breakfasts are even more harried than what I eat on weekdays. We’re talking oatmeal, toast with ricotta and avocado, yogurt and granola, the usual. I haven’t had a pancake in eons.

But then I read Molly’s post about biscuits, and it woke me up. Molly is a wonderful writer. Read her posts, and you’ll want to sneak into her world, be her friend. In this case, boy will you want to eat her biscuits.

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Hamentaschen

rivka — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 13:48:04 +0000

from the archive, just in time for the holiday.

Among the many traditions associated with the quickly-approaching Jewish holiday of Purim, perhaps the most widely-kept one is the consuming of copious amounts of ~~alcohol~~ hamentaschen. Are you surprised that it’s my favorite holiday in the calendar?

Fashioned after Haman’s pocket, hamentaschen are cookies filled with anything from poppyseed to raspberry jam to Nutella, and folded up to resemble a triangle. They’re not too sweet, flavored with vanilla and lemon zest, and perfectly crunchy outside while soft within. Everyone has a favorite filling, and mine — poppyseed — is, unfortunately, hated by many folks. I appeased the masses this year by making a large batch of raspberry-chocolate filled ones. I’ll save the poppyseed for myself. I also scored a tub of halvah (sweet sesame paste), so that should make for some interesting cookies as well.

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World’s Best Almond Cake

rivka — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 22:51:14 +0000

For years, I shied away from making this cake. Almond-flavored desserts tend to be quite polarizing. Most folks are at least satisfied with vanilla ice cream or sugar cookies (even as we maniacal addicts wish we were eating chocolate), but plenty of people, when presented with almond cake, would rather go to bed with no sweets at all, “you-didn’t-eat-your-peas” style.

And yet, the more I read about this cake, the more enticed I was. Adam Roberts, the estimable-if-amateur Amateur Gourmet, called it “the almond cake to save your soul.” In her new and wonderful cookbook, Amanda Hesser says it’s the cake she gifts most often. And countless others have made, and subsequently raved about, this cake. I had to try it.

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Strozzapreti with Broccoli Rabe

rivka — Sat, 26 Feb 2011 23:27:42 +0000

I’ve already revealed my affinity for curly pasta shapes. With strozzapreti, I’ve found the apex of my obsession. Strozzapreti literally means “priest choker.” Not the type I generally keep in my company, but for these wiry hand-made noodles, I’ll make an exception. They’re thin at the ends, thick in the middle, and tightly curled. Even when fully cooked, they keep a deliciously chewy texture.

I like strozzapreti with tomatoes. (I like everything with tomatoes.) My usual approach to these slurpy little noodles is a take on this dish, an old-school NYT recipe. But sometimes, especially when tomatoes aren’t in season, I opt for something more winter-friendly.

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Getaways: Seattle

rivka — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 22:24:07 +0000

Back in August, D and I went on vacation. The trip was a celebration of D’s taking the bar, so the destination was her choice. Thankfully, she gave up early aspirations to spend hours in a dinky rental car driving through farmland (read:roadtrip) and set her sites on two luxurious weeks of eating and drinking in Northern California. We ate our way through San Francisco, from taquerias to pizza in the Mission to the amazing Coi; and we roamed the grapevines of winemakers in Napa, Sonoma, and Healdsburg. Before we left, D admitted her fear that once we went, I might never return. When the two weeks were up, I reluctantly boarded the plane back to DC, but I’ve been scheming ever since to return to those parts. PNW and I, we’re quite a match. (My excessively enthused write-up of that trip, in 3 parts: 1,2,3.)

It won’t surprise you, then, that when an opportunity arose to travel to Seattle on business, I jumped at the chance. I booked a flight that would plop me down Saturday night, leaving me a full day to explore the city before work kicked in. Then I hit the books.

Here’s the thing about my travel style. I may not be the best when it comes to printing boarding passes way in advance or crossing the Ts of our hotel reservations, museum appointments, etc, but people, I know how to pick a good restaurant. I realized this on my last night in Seattle, perched at the bar of a truly great restaurant – the kind of place where chefs hang out after work, apparently, but I’m getting ahead of myself – as I considered how many other possible eateries I’d entertained for that evening. (The answer, no joke, is approximately 30.) I haven’t always had amazing restaurant karma, but this Seattle trip presented one excellent meal after another. So, shall I tell you all about them?

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Meyer Lemon Streusel Muffins

rivka — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 15:44:23 +0000

I know, I know. It’s one sweet baked good after another around here. You’d think I’d go easy on the sugar — what with Valentines’ Day around the corner — but we’re busy as ever, and precious little time passes between when food is made and food is gobbled up. I thought to blog about a fantastic tortilla espanola I made for brunch this weekend – filled with oven-roasted tomatoes, yukon golds, and feta cheese, served with salsa-inspired tomato sauce – but honest, I didn’t get a single picture of the thing. Meanwhile, I snapped a whole series of these muffins, sturdy breakfast treats perked up with meyer lemon zest and sour cream. Hopefully you’ll survive Week-o-Sweets; next time, I’ll tell you about tortilla or something else savory, scouts’ honor.

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Laura Goodenough’s Apple Coffee Cake

rivka — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 14:23:04 +0000

There comes a time each winter when I open the fruit drawer in search of a snack, and find an endless supply of just apples. First I’m surprised. I get that dead of winter on the east coast means berries and stone fruit are, at best, in the freezer, but where are my shipped-from-California meyer lemons? Aren’t there any pears? Then, sad: apples are boring. If I have to eat another bowl of apple butter, I may move to Florida.

When the whining subsides, I drag my derriere out of apple fatigue and get cooking. Sometimes I make this apple crisp, which is totally worth getting out of bed for. Other times, it’s pancakes I’m after. Last weekend, what called my name was this tall, crusty apple cake.

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Arugula Fennel Salad with Pears, Pecans, and Pecorino

rivka — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 22:44:46 +0000

I think it was last Sunday that our heat first stopped working. We’d just gotten back from out of town, and we had house guests. D had made their bed, I was making dinner, and as I passed through the hallway to check on the mujaddara, I noticed that our vents were pumping bitter cold air. No problem; I cranked the target temperature up to 77, hoping the heat would kick in. Two hours later, no dice. I was standing over the oven warming my hands, our guests were asking for extra layers, and the needle on the thermostat was slowly sinking below 60.

Faced with a cold apartment and a dearth of natural insulation, I did what any sane person does, the only logical thing to do, if you ask me. I made a salad.

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Za’atar Flatbread

rivka — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 14:40:56 +0000

Behold the strangeness of za’atar.

Za’atar is an herb. Sorry – it’s not a specific herb, but one of any number of herbs in the hyssop family. Scratch that: it’s a combination of herbs. But wait, sometimes there are sesame seeds. Actually, it’s a paste made with some type or type of herbs, sesame seeds, and lots of olive oil.

Confused? Join the club.

In reality, za’atar is all of these things. There is a bush that grows in the deserts of Israel known as za’atar. The bush is most likely a member of the hyssop family, though some call it savory or wild oregano. Za’atar leaves are small and somewhat rough, and their flavor is a fusion of wild oregano and thyme.

The za’atar you buy in the supermarket is most likely a blend of different herbs. According to Lior Lev Sercarz, owner and spice blender behind the New York-based spice shop La Boîte à Epice, the most traditional elements of a za’atar blend are za’atar leaves, sumac, sesame seeds, and thyme. The color of these blends varies
from forest green to dark, deep red-brown, and the flavor ranges from woodsy and deep to tangy and a bit nutty. It all depends on the balance of herbs in the blend, and every country — nay, every spice blender — makes it a bit differently.

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Cook a Duck, Part 2: How to Make Confit

rivka — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 14:00:37 +0000

So you’ve rendered all the fat one duck can pack. You’ve got a few cups of the stuff in the fridge, and you made yourself a mighty nice salad with some cracklings on top. The breasts, legs, and thighs (not to mention the wings and the carcass!) await their delicious fates. Why yes: it’s cook-a-duck week here on NDP. Today’s lesson: making duck confit.

Among the many things about duck confit that thrill me are a) that making it was, no joke, a cinch; b) that my house smelled like an honest French bistro as I made it; and c) that the process makes duck taste like someone rubbed its body with butter each day and sang it to sleep every night. There simply is no better treatment for duck legs than a slow, gentle cooking bath of its own fat. If that sounds gross to you, I don’t know what to say. If you’re salivating right now, step into my office.

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Cook a Duck, Part 1: How to Render Duck Fat

rivka — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 21:15:39 +0000

Among my mildest marital disputes is a debate over poultry of choice. She likes chicken; I like duck. I suppose that’s not surprising, since m’lady loves straightforward food that doesn’t keep me in the kitchen for long hours, and I…well, I love long hours in the kitchen. For months, I’ve been all talk about making duck. Not least because it’s on my kitchen resolutions list, I thought it’d finally be nice to learn how to make duck confit, which I love; duck fat, which makes french fries sing; duck cracklings, which transform a salad or a lazy afternoon; and duck prosciutto, which remains on my list of to-dos, but will have to wait for another time.

A few stars aligned that pushed me to do this, and do it now. First, my friend Cathy has launched Charcutepalooza, and I had to join the fun. Be sure to check it out. Second, the kind folks at KOL Foods sent over a beautiful, pasture-raised duck, so I knew it was time to put my knife skills where my mouth is.

That’s when the fear set in. What if I mess up? What if all the wonderful duck meat and fat and skin and bones don’t wind up in all sorts of deliciousness? I needed to start small.

They say start with the outside and work your way in. So that’s exactly what I did. I started on the outside — literally: with the skin.

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A Resolution About Resolutions. And Some Cake.

rivka — Sat, 08 Jan 2011 16:37:36 +0000

It’s a new year: resolutions abound. Taking my friends at their word, 2011 will see the end of lateness, the renewal of grammar anal-retentiveness, and loads of meat. I won’t complain about any of that. But I admit, I’m overwhelmed. So many promises! So much good intention! So much…pressure! That’s no way to start the new year.

When I posted about my kitchen resolutions last September, I was fired up. I figured that publicizing my goals would make them real, make me most likely to achieve them. Now, I take a peek at those resolutions hovering in the corner of this space, and struggle not to cower in their presence.

That duck prosciutto, for instance. No time like now for duck prosciutto; my friend Cathy has teemed up with Kim Forster, aka the Yummy Mummy, to launch Charcutepalooza, a celebration of home-curing. First up? Duck prosciutto, of course. And were it not for the fact that I’m working minimum 60-hour weeks, lacking any curing space (no yard, no garage, no wine fridge), and trying to keep up this blog in the meantime, I’d totally take the plunge.

Alas, duck prosciutto will have to wait. It’s still a resolution, and I do hope to do it, but today just isn’t that day. Perhaps this will be the year in which I finally learn to say no.

That’s the thing about resolutions. When they’re motivators, they’re great. When they’re threats, I lose interest.

Not to fear, though — I haven’t abandoned my duck ambitions entirely. I’ve got a full bird thawing in the fridge right now, and I rendered two pounds of skin this past week. Stay tuned for instructions on how to render that fat, how to use the cracklings, and — finally — how to confit the legs. One resolution: check.

For now, amid the crazy talk of more time at the gym and less food in the stomach and other bloated promises, I’m dreaming of simpler things. Like cake.

Cake! This here loaf is a total winner. For shock points, I’ll tell you that it’s from Food52. (Seriously, ya’ll should start taking bets on how many recipes I’ll make that aren’t from that site.) It’s a browned butter and butternut loaf whose modest appearance belies its complexity. The brown-butter icing, which I skipped for simplicity’s sake, would elevate this cake from plain jane to star of the show, and I think it makes the perfect host gift. I’ve got one on the counter for tomorrow, one in the freezer for another time, and I’ve already resolved to stick this recipe in my regular rotation. That’s a promise I’m likely to keep.

Brown Butter and Butternut Squash Loaf
adapted slightly from fiveandspice via Food52

2 cups pureed roasted butternut squash
1 cup unsalted butter
3 large eggs
1 1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
3 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg (preferrably freshly ground)
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Glaze (optional):
5 tablespoons salted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cup or so of confectioner’s sugar

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees, and grease two (9 inch) loaf pans.

In a medium saucepan, heat the butter over medium-high heat. It will melt first, and then start to foam. Turn the heat down to medium. As the butter browns, the dairy solids will start to stick to the bottom of the pan. Scrape these browned bits back into the butter from time to time. After about 7 minutes, the butter will have turned a nice brown color will smell rich and nutty; remove it from the heat and allow to cool for about 10 minutes.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat eggs and sugars on high speed for several minutes, until the color has lightened. Scrape in the browned butter and beat for another couple of minutes, starting on low and raising speed to medium-high, until the mixture is smooth.

Add the pureed squash to the wet ingredients and beat until smooth and uniformly mixed in.

In a small bowl, combine the flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg, and cloves. Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients, and mix on low until fully incorporated. Do not overmix.

Divide the batter evenly into the 2 prepared loaf pans and bake for about 50 minutes, until a tester comes out clean. Take the bread out of the loaf pans and allow to cool completely.

To make the optional glaze, brown and cool butter as described above (it will take shorter since there is less). Add cooled butter to a mixing bowl. Whisk vanilla into butter.

Sift the confectioner’s sugar to remove lumps and whisk it into the butter mixture until the glaze is spreadable.

Spread the icing onto the loaves, and allow to set for about 30 minutes before slicing.

Mujaddara with Yogurt Sauce

rivka — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 15:28:30 +0000

Happy New Year!

In anticipation of my first post in 2011, I looked back at my last posts in 2009 and my first in 2010, to jolt my memory about where I was and what I was doing the last time I rang in a new year. Turns out, I was in Israel. Lucky me. I’m stateside this year, which, if you factor in the 12 hours I won’t spend on a flight to get there, ain’t half bad. We brought in 2011 with cocktails (lychee martinis, bourbon gingerale, the fancy stuff!) and appetizers (all sorts of delicious: we’re talking lahmajoun, deli sliders, chicken wontons, coconut corn fritters, the works). I’m chasing the debauchery and excess of December 31st with a healthy, wholesome 1/1/11. This here is a recipe even the most stern-faced New Years resolution-makers will be able to enjoy.

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Marcella Hazan’s Pasta with Eggplant Sauce

rivka — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 17:48:36 +0000

For most of you, this weekend was chock full of great food. I may not have had Christmas dinner, but I had a southern feast of fried chicken, pulled smoked beef, and collards that rivals the best Chinese takeout of my storied Jewish-Christmas past. Still, as I think back on the past couple weeks of eating, I tell you this with little hesitation: long fusilli with Marcella Hazan’s Tomato-Eggplant sauce is the single best food item I’ve eaten in weeks.

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Dutch Babies and New Years Day Brunch Ideas

rivka — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 19:03:02 +0000

updated from the archives: with New Years Day quickly approaching, I’m starting to think about breakfast in a serious way. Here’s a smattering of good ideas to make on my favorite lazy morning of the year.

December 31 is nearly upon us! I’m expecting thousands of drunken belligerent psychos to descend on my neighborhood next week, and if you think I’m excited, I’m actually going elsewhere. Nothing I hate more than Adams Morgan on New Years Eve. But New Years morning is another story entirely. The streets are quiet, the air is cold and still, the oven is on and the coffee is brewing. I love waking up on New Years Day to total silence, enjoying yummy but easy breakfast and hot tea in my bathrobe, and being altogether lazy.

Even if you’re like me and breakfast/brunch is your thing, I’m sure you feel me that cooking on New Years morning isn’t exactly an appealing thought. Especially if you’re hosting tomorrow morning, surely you want something easy to make, but with big wow-factor. A Dutch Baby is just the thing. It’s a big, floppy, eggy pancake that puffs up beautifully in the oven; pull it out, top with some stewed fruit and a dusting of powdered sugar, and ta-da! Perfect breakfast entree. It takes 20 minutes to bake and about 15 seconds to mix up. Can’t complain about that prep time, now can you?

Just in case a hot, fluffy, fruit-topped pancake isn’t your thing (but really, who are we kidding?) I’ve included links to some other good New Years brunch recipes below. Have yourselves a safe and rockin’ evening, and a very Happy New Year!

New Years Day Brunch Ideas:

Rich and creamy apricot-stuffed french toast
Lazy, boozy french toast casserole
Easy vintage breakfast biscuits
Ever-popular and dead easy shakshuka
Any kind of frittata, any kind at all
Blackberry and pear clafoutis — perfect for winter

There are plenty more where those came from — just run a quick search through my breakfast-and-brunch category and see what pops up.

Dutch Babies
basic recipe adapted from Lara at Cook and Eat
serves 2-4 (if it’s a main course for 4, double the recipe and make in two separate pans)

4 eggs
generous pinch of salt
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup milk
2 T unsalted butter

Preheat the oven to 425F.

Whisk the eggs with the pinch of salt until they just begin to get fluffy. Gradually whisk in the milk and flour and continue whisking until there are no lumps.

Melt the butter in a 8-inch cast iron pan. Then, pour the egg mixture over the butter. Move the pan immediately to the hot oven. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until it puffs up over the edges of the pan and is a rich golden brown on the edges.

Top with any kind of stewed fruit, or even good-quality preserves, and finish with a dusting of powdered sugar. I used poached quince that I had leftover — delicious.

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Curried Kohlrabi and Apple Slaw

rivka — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 15:00:10 +0000

Every year, sometime in late November, we turn on our heat, move the sweaters to the top drawer, dig up our tights and fleece-lined slippers, …and stop eating salads.

It’s silly, really. Once the cold sets in, and my cravings for fresh, red tomatoes are a faint mystery, all I can think about is stew and soup, tea and cider. Might a salad go perfectly with my black bean chili? Why yes, yes it would. Do I make one? No, no I don’t. The chill kills my appetite for fresh leaves, replaces it with a deep-belly hunger for soy-marinated kale and spicy, savory pasta dishes like this one. But I’m right on cue. Around December, I suddenly remember winter vegetable slaw, and everything changes.

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Buckwheat Cornmeal Scones

rivka — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 15:16:25 +0000

Alternative grains are all the rage these days. Joy the Baker made some buckwheat pine nut biscuits from my favorite new cookbook. David Lebovitz had the scoop on some tempting Italian cornmeal cookies. And Deb made oatmeal pancakes from the cookbook that clinched a well-deserved win of the Piglet, if you ask me.

I haven’t yet bought Good to the Grain. Until I do, I’ll have to wait on those oatmeal pancakes. (Also Strawberry Barley Scones, Buckwheat and Pear Pancakes, Gingersnaps, and now you see why I’m buying this book). But I can be patient. Very patient. See, I’ve got Alice Medrich.

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How to Use: Ginger

rivka — Mon, 06 Dec 2010 01:38:44 +0000

Until recently, I’d always bought ginger at the grocery store. It always looked kind of dry and gnarly outside, but I’d learned that peeling it revealed a soft, fresh, meaty interior, as great in stir-fry as it was steeped in tea. But last year, I learned that the folks at Next Step Produce, a local farm, were selling the knobs of fresh ginger at the Dupont farmers’ market. The stuff was sort of legendary; a certain Jeremy Brosowsky had been singing its praises for months, and when fall finally rolled around, I was eager to pick some up. The fresh ginger was approximately 5,723 times more expensive than the stuff at Harris Teeter, so I had high hopes, and I wasn’t disappointed. The flavor was smoother and sweeter, and yet more pronounced. It was also easier to slice. I was hooked.

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Mozzarella in Carrozza

rivka — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 16:03:06 +0000

For food lovers, Hanukkah is an eight-day period in which to justify that guilty pleasure, deep-fried food. Latkes and sufganiyot (jelly donuts) might be the most traditional Hanukkah fare, but they are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to things improved by a hot oil bath.

The reason we eat fried foods on Hanukkah is well-known, if not entirely logical. Because a one-day supply of oil kept the menorah in the Temple lit for eight full days, we have the tradition of consuming as much oil as we can, in remembrance of the miracle. So let’s fry some stuff, shall we?

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A Unique Holiday Gift Guide

rivka — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 14:36:07 +0000

Well, friends, I’m back at it. After a few terrible attempts at this in past years (no, I’m not providing links), this time I’ve got what I hope will be a unique take on holiday gifts for the important folks in your lives. Yes, these gifts are great for food lovers — but they’re the types of things others might appreciate as well.

I’ve tried to cover all the bases. From unique Etsy finds, to quirky items from standard stores like Amazon, to exotic spices, to must-own cookbooks, I hope there’s something here for everyone. All pictures are clickable; want it? Click it.

Take a look past the jump.

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Sweet and Sour Pearl Onions

rivka — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 15:02:36 +0000

The last in a series of posts on great side dishes for Tday. Happy Holidays to everyone!

Here’s one last easy side dish to top off your Thanksgiving feast. Not limited to Tday, these onions are great year round; I serve them alongside oxtail or shortribs, and they make a great complement to savory chicken dishes.

These onions get their sweetness from one of my favorite ingredients, silan, or date honey. Silan is darker, more viscous, and more intensely flavored than regular honey. It gives the onions a nutty quality, sweetening more gently but imparting plenty of great flavor. If you don’t have silan, feel free to use regular honey; the onions will still be tasty.

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Mushroom Conserva

rivka — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 15:57:14 +0000

This is part of a series on great side dishes for Thanksgiving and year-round. The first of the series can be found here.

To my mind, there are two foods whose flavor profiles are so diverse, they can taste like just about anything. One is cheese, which can taste sweet or salty, buttery or nutty or mild, grassy or spicy or altogether funky, like hot peppers or red wine, pure raw milk or bay leaves. The other? Mushrooms.

The buttons taste bland, but when you get into chanterelles that taste and smell of butter and honey, oyster mushrooms with briny undertones, and morels that sing of smoke and springtime, you’re talking serious flavor diversity. My favorites are honeycap mushrooms, which smell and taste like honey with chocolate undertones. I could literally sit for days with my nose deep in a basket of honeycaps.

The sweet taste of honeycaps comes at a price: $15 a box, to be exact. With few exceptions, I steer clear, making a b-line for the criminis, shiitakes, and maybe some chanterelles. Criminis are pretty plain, shiitakes slightly less so; when I serve these to company, I’m looking to maximize their flavor and increase their shelf life in case there are leftovers. For this, I turn to mushroom conserva. It comes from one of my new favorite cookbooks, Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc at Home.

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Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette

rivka — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 15:58:51 +0000

This is the first of a series of posts about great sides for Thanksgiving and year-round — stay tuned for more as we approach the big day!

For my money, this is the quintessential side. Flavor-wise, it’s totally in keeping with Thanksgiving tastes. The horseradish helps cut all that sweet, fatty Tday food, and the mustard reinforces for a one-two punch of spice. And at a meal where salad is the wallflower, green beans are more formidable company for that big turkey and the boat full of gravy occupying everyone’s attention.

If that’s not enough to lure you, other benefits include its ease and speed of preparation (it takes 10 minutes flat) and its willingness to hang out for a few days before serving. Really, what more can you ask for?

I make these green beans year round, but they’re especially great on Tday. Go forth and eat.

Green Beans with Horseradish-Mustard Vinaigrette
serves 4 as a side

1 pound green beans
1 tablespoon spicy whole-grain mustard
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish (I make mine by blending horseradish root with vinegar)
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/3 cup olive oil
salt and pepper
1/2 cup sliced almonds

Preheat oven to 350º. Spread almonds in a single layer and toast until golden, about 10 minutes. Watch them carefully so they don’t burn.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Fill a large bowl with ice cubes and water. Working in batches, cook beans in boiling water just until cooked but still crisp, about 2 minutes per batch. Transfer cooked beans to bowl of ice water to “shock” them and stop them from cooking further. Continue cooking and shocking process with remaining batches of beans. Transfer beans to separate bowl and chill. You’ll be serving the beans at room temperature, so chill only enough that they’re no longer hot.

Meanwhile, prepare vinaigrette. Mix horseradish, mustard, red wine vinegar, and lemon juice. Add oil in steady stream while whisking, until all oil has been added and vinaigrette is emulsified.

Transfer green beans to a serving platter. Drizzle vinaigrette over beans, top with toasted almonds, and serve at room temperature.
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