Tag Archives: Food

May21

Nosh: Savory Rhubarb-Onion Tart

Posted on May 21, 2013 by beyondpaisley

Did you know you can eat rhubarb in something other than a pie or cobbler or dessert or sugary syrup?

…waiting…

Yes, way!

I was in the local farmers’ market this past Wednesday and saw some gorgeous rhubarb, and it was so pretty and pinkish that I just wanted to play with it (because you CAN play with your food), but I’m really not much of a dessert eater, despite my activities at Christmastime which may point to the contrary.

Do NOT get in the way of my holiday baking. And I digress.

So there I was, facing down a gorgeous display of rhubarb. Frankly…what’s a girl to do?

Is it me, or do the tops of the rhubarb look like duck feet?

Here’s a few things about rhubarb:

It is naturally very tart, sort of like a SweeTart without the sweet, but it’s not so tart that it’s all bitter and no benefit. I like to think of it as bracingly fruity. Which, yeah OK, leads naturally to its pairing with strawberries and such, but you’re talking to the girl who cooks with fruit on a regular basis, so managing a fruity taste ain’t no thing.

Even though, to keep the record straight, rhubarb is not a fruit. It is a vegetable, closely related to sorrel, which is a leaf we tend not to eat much in the US even though it’s good for you! It helps treat scurvy.

Rhubarb is a great source of calcium, if you’re looking for calcium sources that aren’t dairy.

The leaves ARE poisonous. They contain high concentrations of oxalic acid crystals. These can cause the tongue and throat to swell, preventing breathing. So while the ends of the leaves may look like adorable duck’s feet, do us all a favor and throw them away before you kill yourself, mmmkay? Thanks.

So anyway, here’s what you need.

2 onions, one red, one yellow. Or whatever.
3 cloves of garlic, or to taste
5 stalks of rhubarb without leaves, which worked out to about two cups when chopped
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1 teaspoon summer savory OR thyme OR marjoram
1/2 c raisins
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 c vegetable stock, plus more as needed
8 (or so) Brussels sprouts, sliced thin
2-3 oz goat cheese
2 sheets of puff pastry dough, defrosted (or enough to fill whatever receptacle you’d like to cook this in)
Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat your oven to 400°.

Pull out your dough and let it defrost or, if it’s defrosted, set it on a parchment-lined baking sheet or silicone baking mat. Take a fork and dock the dough (translation: poke it repeatedly) everywhere except for the inch or so that makes the border of your dough. Docking prevents the dough from puffing with steam, so the body of this tart will stay flat but the border will puff up and be all nice and pretty.

Docked. Ready. Easy? Yep..

The dough is ready. Put it aside. Some instructions recommend chilling your dough. I left mine on the counter until I was ready to use it, and it worked out fine.

Start prepping the vegetables. I cut the onions in half-moons, the garlic in wide slices and the rhubarb in simple chunks, largely because I didn’t feel like doing much chopping. What? It was getting late, I didn’t want to fuss.

Just because I heart cooking doesn’ t mean I don’t have the same frustrations and limitations, folks.

Start the onions first to get them nice and soft and sweet and on the road to golden, then add the garlic, summer savory (which I just bought a big bag of before realizing I had it growing in abundance in my garden, so be prepared to hear a lot about summer savory in the upcoming months) (p.s. I hear it’s great in the garden for guarding against the Mexican bean beetle), mustard seeds, and some salt and pepper.

As far as I’m concerned, this is the foundation for just about any good meal.

Give the onions and garlic and seasonings a few minutes to mingle, then add the rhubarb and maybe another shot of some fresh-ground pepper, because I can’t help myself.

This ain’t yo mamma’s rhubarb.

Add in the broth, honey and raisins, and let this hang out for a few minutes. Feel free to add in some more broth if needed; I certainly added more as the veggies cooked into each other, and you want the raisins to plump up while the rhubarb cooks down. Complicated, I know, with that crazy chemistry. And yet that is what happens.

So.

Let the raisins plump, the rhubarb break down, and the onions soften until you have one lovely, balanced, silky, almost creamy mass of sweet and tart and savory goodness. It will be the consistency of a chunky jam. Let the onion/rhubarb mix cool for a few minutes; if you use a puff pastry base you want to avoid putting screaming hot food on a dough made largely of shortening. While this is cooking and cooling you could brown your Brussels sprouts in a hot pan for a minute, like I did…

How now, brown sprout?

…but in the interests of full disclosure, I feel compelled to tell you I made more work for myself. The sprouts were nice and crusty and delicious on the finished product, but by the end they sort of looked like brown confetti. Baking the tart in the oven baked the sprouts too, which only makes sense. So don’t brown the sprouts if you don’t feel like it, just sprinkle them on top of the onion/rhubarb mixture when the time comes, and let the oven do the work for you.

Anyway.

You’ve got your rolled out and docked dough. You’ve got your cooked and somewhat cooled onion and rhubarb mix. You have thinly sliced Brussels sprouts that have either been pre-browned, or not. So…now what?

Assemble!

That’s what I’m talking about!

Put down a layer of onion/rhubarb mix and then top it with the sprouts. Yum right from the start! When you top it with crumbled goat cheese it becomes even more of a fabulous idea, inching closer to a fabulous reality with every crumbly bit of cheese. Then put this li’l beauty right into your preheated oven for 15-20 minutes. At the end of 20 minutes, pull it out and give it a look. Rotate it if necessary, drop the oven temperature to 350°, and put it back in the oven for another 15 minutes or so until it becomes golden brown and puffy in the right places.

Golden. Poofy. Savory. #win

We served this with some grilled turnips, roasted kale and a grilled romaine salad. When you fill a puff pastry with things that aren’t cream and sugar based…well, thanks to its fat content I can’t ever say that puff pastry is good for you, but it’s not as bad for you as you might fear. And it’s a delicious, rich treat, the richness of which keeps massive eating in check. And? It’s fun!

Flaky on the top, rich and savory on the bottom. The pastry helps drive this dish that much further away from rhubarb’s usual use in desserts.

The rhubarb makes this dish tart and silky, while the onions and garlic deliver a savory balance that we don’t often look for with rhubarb. It’s understandable why we tend to pair it with fruit–and that is, without a doubt, delicious–but there are other ways to mellow rhubarb’s bright tartness that don’t involve massive amounts of sugar.

I’ve also seen rhubarb cooked as a springtime pasta sauce (perhaps next on my playing-with-rhubarb list) and a chutney, but haven’t seen too many other examples of how to cook savory rhubarb. I’d love to hear from other rhubarb fans out there: how do you like to cook this often underappreciated vegetable?

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May13

Nosh: Roasted Brussels Sprouts

Posted on May 13, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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I used to hate Brussels sprouts.

I mean, haaaaaaate, you know. They looked like little cabbages (mainly because they are), and when I was seven, cabbage was the noxious side dish of the devil. I have friends well into their adulthood who still feel the same way (and you know who you are). But for me, one day? Wham! It was like someone flipped a switch, and I loved them with an unrepentant fervor that continues to this day. I can’t explain it. It’s just what happened.

So imagine my delight one day at the Wednesday market (Lewisburgians, represent) when I encountered a bag of Brussels sprouts roughly the size of a tricycle. For $4. Must have must own must have must own.

Must roast. With soy sauce and pungent, nutty caraway seeds. Yes, way.

Many, many times in the (relatively recent) past I’ve discussed the benefits of roasting vegetables. It deepens their flavors. It brings out their inherent sweetness. It makes them nutty. And it’s easy to keep an eye on roasting sprouts and not let them overcook, since overcooking to mushiness is the enemy of joyful sprout eating. That’s when sprouts get that nasty, bitter, cabbage smell. Can roasting be any more awesome? I think not, friends. I think not. The great thing about a recipe like this is that it’s totally easy-peasy and dictated by your tastes, so once you learn how to roast Brussels sprouts you can substitute a world of flavors, like garlic or ginger or orange zest. Just keep the soy sauce. I’d say that’s mandatory. Here’s what you need:

About a pound of Brussels sprouts (yes, we bought a giant bag, but we cooked them in batches)
A teaspoon of soy sauce and/or to taste
Fresh-ground pepper to taste
About a palmful (maybe a tablespoon) of caraway seeds
Oil for coating and roasting

Preheat your oven to 400°F.

Clean and trim your sprouts. Strip off the gnarly outer leaves, cut off the hard end sticking out of the core, and cut the sprouts in half. Toss with oil, soy sauce, and pepper. Since soy sauce is inherently salty, you really don’t need actual salt-salt, unless you have no blood pressure and need something to keep the blood pumping through your veins.

It’s so simple it sounds crazy, but really, it works.

And then? Into the oven for about 20-25 minutes.

Coat with the soy sauce to your liking. Just mind the salt!

Let that start cooking along in your nice, hot oven, and after about twenty minutes pull the sprouts, give them a stir and then toss them with caraway seeds. How much should you use?

About this much.

It was about a tablespoon’s worth of seeds; I know that may be difficult to judge considering I have delicate, petite lady-hands.

Actually, I don’t. Look at those things! They’re built to dig potatoes out of the ground. But I digress, and it’s about a tablespoon’s worth of caraway. Sprinkle the seeds on the Brussels sprouts, give it all a stir and toss ‘em back in the oven.

Only twenty minutes ’til perfect.

Notice how they’re already picking up a nice char from the higher heat? Roasting at 350° provides a nice, even roast, but once you start to crank it up it does super-fun crispy charred things to your veggies, which you want even if you don’t know it yet. I’m here to help you, people. You have to trust.

Twenty-ish minutes later, your sprouts will be done to crispy, cooked-through-but-not-overcooked awesomeness.

It’s crispy and crunchy and nutty and umami. Wins all around!

The soy sauce provides a deep sort of umami flavor that we generally associate with greens and get from sources like bacon, so this dish is a succulent green that is totally vegan, and you can make this as a side dish for just about anything. Don’t worry, the soy won’t relegate the sprouts to Asian cuisine any more than adding garlic would make it strictly Italian. It just makes them deeply savory and delicious.

Did I mention this dish was easy?

Did I mention that I served the sprouts with butternut squash risotto?

That is one colorful meal.

Nutritionists say you should eat the rainbow to get a full complement of nutrients. A meal like this? Is a great way to start.

How do you like your Brussels sprouts? (And Shelby, saying “on fire in a corner while I eat chocolate” is not an appropriate answer.)

May6

Lemony Asparagus Soup

Posted on May 6, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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Ahh, the spring growing season is upon us, and I have already feasted on several forms of asparagus. Roasted. Grilled. Grilled again. And so on. When I was a kid I discovered that I really liked fresh asparagus, which was unusual because I was the insanely picky child. The next time we had asparagus, my mother pulled the worst bait-and-switch in history and served canned instead of fresh, and it was grossly inferior, with the accent on gross. I cried. And I didn’t touch asparagus again until I was an adult.

Sorry, Mom. But it’s true.

Childhood trauma notwithstanding, I have come to love the mighty asparagus spear. Using the entirety of my food and creating as little waste as possible gives me a sense of virtue that I don’t often have in my daily life. When we can combine the two? Bliss. Eating asparagus involves inherent waste because there’s that tough, woody end that you have to cut off, which gives me a sad. But never fear! Put those babies in the freezer until you’re ready to make stock, and then?

OK, five bags is a little excessive, but still…

Homemade asparagus stock leads to homemade asparagus soup. Yes!

Making asparagus stock is super-super simple. Gather up your asparagus butts and put them in a stock pot. Toss whatever else you want in there; I used an onion, a celery stalk, two carrots, five cloves of garlic, six or eight bay leaves and maybe two teaspoons of black pepper. Do you want to throw in some parsley? Go ahead. Mushrooms? Sure! Another celery? Go for it. Do bear in mind that asparagus is a more delicate flavor and can be overwhelmed, so you might not want to put in a whole head of garlic…or maybe you do, so go for it! The only thing I held back on was the salt. I didn’t put much in at this stage of the stock-making, maybe only a teaspoon or two. I wanted to be able to toss some in at the end to bring out the flavor once the stock had come together. Anyway.

How much more simple could it get? You don’t even have to peel stuff.

So you use twice as much “per height” water as there are veggies in your pot. Meaning, if you have three inches of stock vegetables loaded into the bottom of your stock pot, then you would put in about six inches of water. Did it make a ton of stock? Yes. Did I care? Not even a little.

Bring your stock veggies to a boil, and let it rip for about five minutes.

Rocking out.

And then turn it down to a simmer and let it cook for an hour. That’s it! Once it’s cooked you can taste the broth and adjust it for seasonings, then strain it into another large pot, through a mesh colander lined with cheesecloth. You should have a beautiful, clear brown stock that looks something like this:

My house smelled really comforting that day.

So, you could leave this alone, let it cool, divide it up into usable portions and put it in your freezer for future use. Or, you can let your stock start working for you and use it towards that night’s dinner.

Or both, which had been my intention all along.

Assemble ingredients for soup. I used:

1 medium yellow onion
2 carrots
1 celery stalk
3 or 4 cloves of garlic
1 bunch of asparagus
1 lemon
1-2 tablespoons of your herb(s) of choice; I used marjoram and some sage here, but it easily could have been thyme or oregano or fennel
2-3 bay leaves
Asparagus stock
Salt & pepper to taste

This won’t take long to come together.

FYI, I wanted some kind of starch to go in the soup so I made orzo. This soup would also be nice with diced boiled potatoes or sweet potatoes or maybe brown rice. If you’re going to make something like that to go with your soup, now is a good time to start thinking about when you need to get that water started.

Get some oil heating in another large pot, then start by sauteing the onions for a minute or two. Then add in the celery and carrots and let them cook together for three or five minutes; let everything start to get soft and mingley. Add the garlic and let that saute for another minute, then zest your lemon right into the pot. Cut the lemon into wedges and reserve as a garnish for your dinner.

So far, so good, right?

Once that’s done add your bay leaves and herbs, and some salt and pepper (but go easy on the S&P so you can tinker with it some more at the end). Let these all saute together another couple of minutes, until the veggies are starting to brown onto the bottom of the pot and everything smells summery and fragrant. Add your asparagus stock. I used about eight cups, but you can use more or less depending on how chunky you want your soup. Actually, here’s what I did. I put six cups in with the veggies for soup, then I measured out various sizes of asparagus stock to freeze for future soups and risottos (labeling what it is, how much is there and when it was made, of course).

We shall meet again.

Then whatever broth was left? Also went in the soup. There’s only so much measuring I can do before I start to make myself nuts.

Let that come to a boil for a few minutes, then reduce it to a simmer. Chop the asparagus into bite size-ish chunks and cook it lightly. I have a grill pan so I used that, but if you don’t then just saute it for a few minutes and all will be well.

Asparagus, orzo and soup, all happily doing their cooking thing.

When the orzo is ready, drain it and put it in a serving bowl. When the asparagus are grilled or sauteed, put them in a serving bowl. This soup doesn’t take long at all to cook so by the time orzo and grilled asparagus are ready the soup should be too, so just taste it again and add more salt or pepper as you see fit. BUT! Don’t add the asparagus or the orzo directly into the pot of soup.

Why, you ask?

I’m here to tell you. The asparagus will get soggy and unappetizing and the orzo will continue to soak in soup and will swell to a gooey and unpalatable mass. This is a soup that is greater than the sum of its parts, so long as those parts are maintained separately until they’re ready to be eaten. And then? All bets are off.

You’ve already got those lemon wedges waiting to be used, and I have certainly never complained about tossing a little parmesan cheese into my soup. Chop a little fresh mint as a bonus garnish, and drizzle with olive oil.

It’s like a bowl full of summer.

And if you’ve got a swanky back porch to eat it on, even better.

*Swoon*

Happy cooking, everyone! See you ’round the farmer’s market!

Apr29

Nosh: Cauliflower with Whipped Goat Cheese.

Posted on April 29, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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You read that right.

Whipped goat cheese.

WHIPPED GOAT CHEESE.

Yes.

How, you wonder, does one go about preparing such a culinary delight? Such a feast for the senses? Such a groovy thing to do with cauliflower?

Easy! It takes a little time, but that doesn’t change the “easy” factor. Here’s what you need for the cauliflower. I’ll talk about what to do with the goat cheese later, mostly because I’m evil and want to heighten your anticipation. Can’t bring it home too early, see. Anyway. Cauliflower.

2 1/2 cups dry white wine
1/3 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon kosher salt
Juice from 1 lemon and juiced lemon remains
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon sugar/honey/agave nectar
2-3 bay leaves
10 whole peppercorns
1 head of cauliflower, leaves removed
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes, optional

Cooking this cauliflower requires two steps; braising makes the cauliflower tender and infuses it with a variety of flavors, while roasting coaxes out the savory nuttiness and gives it a crusty texture. Plus, it looks and sounds elegant as hell. (Is that a legitimate term? Who cares. You all dig, I’m sure.) I’m a hearty advocate of making things that sound impressive to boost my cooking cred.

Oh, yeah. P.S., it tastes great.

Trim the cauliflower so it’s cleared of leaves and its stem is pared down so that the cauliflower can sit flat on a serving plate. Assemble all the ingredients you need for the braise.

Pretty uncomplicated ingredients, I’d say.

When choosing the braising wine, make it as dry as you can stand. You don’t necessarily want the cauliflower to become oaky or sweet, you just want it to become fragrant and delicious. So go dry, and make it a decent bottle.

Put the wine, salt, butter, oil, lemon (juiced, and then toss in the halves as well because why not?), sugar, bay leaves, and peppercorns in a large pot and get them cooking over a high heat. I did add some red pepper flakes when I made my cauliflower but frankly, I didn’t think they brought much at all to the party, so meh, only add them if you’re really committed to their presence. When everything’s going along at a pretty steady boil, add the cauliflower. CAREFULLY, so you don’t cause a big splash and burn yourself with water and boiling oil.

Hooray for the incredibly practical mesh spider!

If you think you still need a little extra cooking liquid in the pot, feel free to add some water or broth. Lower the heat to a simmer and let it cook for 15-20 minutes or so, until the cauliflower is soft enough to sink a knife in but still offers some resistance. You don’t want it to be mush, you just want it to be soft-ish. When it’s ready, take it out and let it drain.

The nice thing about this dish is, you can park the cauliflower here for a while if you need to take care of other business in the kitchen; once the braise is done you’ll only have to worry about getting it in the oven when you’re in serious dinner-prep mode.

When you are ready for Phase Two: Roasting, make sure your oven is pre-heated to the not-messing-around temperature of 475° and that your oven rack is positioned roughly in the middle of the oven. Put the cauliflower in a baking dish, give it a light drizzle of olive oil and toss on some salt and pepper. Then? In it goes, for 30-40 minutes. Turn it once halfway through. You’ll want to pull it out of the oven when it’s nice and browned and toasty on the outside. It should look something like this:

Roasted cauliflower perfection.

While it’s roasting you can whip your goat cheese.

Because seriously, words fail. Just saying it is sexy: Whipped goat cheese. Yes! It’s that good. You need:

4 ounces fresh goat cheese
3 ounces cream cheese
3 ounces feta
1 tablespoon unsweetened Greek yogurt (or more, in the interests of a smooth and creamy texture)
drizzle of honey
Fresh-cracked pepper to taste

Measure out your ingredients.

That extra 1/8 oz is a nibble for the cook. :)

That extra 1/8 oz is a bonus nibble for the cook.

And then…ready for this? Put all the ingredients in a food processor. Process.

That’s it.

I mean, taste it and see what you need to add. I don’t say you should add salt because feta and goat cheese are plenty salty on their own, but if you feel like the salt–or the pepper, or the honey–are lacking, then adjust accordingly. If you think it needs to smooth out a little more you can add some more yogurt, or some milk or water, but only do so in small increments so as to not make it too soupy. You want it to stick to the cauliflower, not run off. As further evidence that this may seem complicated but isn’t really, your goat cheese can be whipped ahead of time. I made mine the night before and it was perfect, I just had to let it warm up to room temperature and give it a couple of stirs to loosen it up.

Your guests, your family, your dining companions will be dazzled sho’ ’nuff when they walk in your kitchen and see this waiting for them.

I repeat: Elegant as hell.

It’s soft enough to cut with a serving spoon, so don’t be afraid to dive into the cauliflower, dress it with a happy dollop or seven of goat cheese and feast yourself silly. A dish this gorgeous makes every dinner better. Set aside a little time. It’s worth it, if for no other reason that it’s ultimately really simple and if you do what the dish requires (braise, roast, food process), you’ll look like a kitchen rock star.

Apr22

Roasted Red Pepper-Walnut Dip (Muhammara)

Posted on April 22, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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During one of my semi-annual trips to visit my old Russian professor in the Boston area, George and I got to experience the red pepper dip known as muhammara for the first time.

Oh. Em. Geeeeee.

Amazing. It was deeply flavored and fruity and sweet and spicy and roasty and redolent of garlic and rich, toasted walnuts. All that in one dish? Yeah! I knew after trying it that my mission (which I chose to accept) was to learn how to make it myself, since my local supermarket sure isn’t carrying pre-packaged muhammara. Happily, they carry all components. After years of tasting and experimentation (a rough job, I know), I can finally say neener neener, made it myself, and celebrate one more weirdo recipe in the repertoire.

Here’s what I used:

2 fresh roasted red peppers, peeled and seeded, plus the liquor they exude after roasting
2/3 cup (ish) plain bread crumbs (or maybe not as much, or maybe more; it depends on what you need to achieve the right texture)
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted
2 or 3 or 4 garlic cloves, to taste
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses (check the ubiquitously dubbed “international” section of your grocery store)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried hot red pepper flakes (or none, or more, purely to taste)
salt and pepper to taste (if you use pre-roasted peppers, be sure to go easy on the salt since they will be saltier than if you roast them yourself)
olive oil for garnish

The first thing to do is roast the peppers. (If you are pressed for time you surely may use jarred or frozen roasted peppers. Just drain or defrost them and make sure they’re peeled and seeded.) There are two different camps surrounding roasted peppers; you can char them at high heat just so the skins blister off, but the flesh of the peppers really won’t cook. Or, you could roast them at a lower heat so the peppers cook thoroughly. It depends on what you want to achieve. I chose to roast the peppers at a lower, slower heat since I wanted them to be softer and more amenable to become a dip, and not as dependent on a fatty olive oil added at the end to provide a soft texture. Plus, I love the liquid they exude.

Mmmm, silky pepper goodness.

See that golden liquor oozing out among the roasted peppers? That’s pure concentrated pepper sweetness, and it would be a crime to not include that in your dish; it is TOO GOOD. Once the peppers are roasted and cooled, peel them, pull out the stems and seeds, put the roasted pepper flesh into a food processor and strain that pepper liquor into your food processor as well. You won’t regret it. If you use jarred or frozen peppers, you won’t have this, and you’ll need to resist the temptation to use the liquid from the jar. It’s probably going to be too salty and/or vinegary to be of much use; you can throw in a splash of cranberry juice or broth or water if you want to get a little extra liquid rolling around in your dip.

While the peppers are roasting, measure out your walnuts, put them in a dry pan (meaning, one with no oil in it) and let it start warming over a medium heat. Don’t wander too far away since it won’t take long for the walnuts to start to brown and once they’re brown they’re ready to burn. Don’t let that happen. Also, you need at least 1/3 cup, but make 1/2. You may need more than the third, depending on how soft (or not) the dip is when you first blend it, and walnuts will help add structure. Besides, the temptation to snack on fresh-roasted walnuts is great, and you wouldn’t want to short the muhammara. I speak from experience here.

And so. Put all ingredients except the olive oil in a food processor; remember to start with 1/3 cup each of bread crumbs and walnuts, and then taste test your muhammara so you may appropriately tinker.

Give it a whirl!

Blend, scrape down the food processor bowl, taste. Repeat. Bread crumbs and walnuts will provide structure so if your dip is too runny, add in a little bit more of one or the other (or both!) at a time. You’ll want it to be firm yet scoopable, like a really thick hummus. Scoop it into a bowl, drizzle it with a little olive oil for a garnish and serve with bread or crackers or pita wedges.

Hell yeah.

Trust me, once you try this you’ll want it again. And again. And again. Bonus: it’s easy! Enjoy. xoxo

Apr17

Beans! Enjoyable the World Over

Posted on April 17, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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While I was out shopping in our local flea market and home of amazeballs finds, I came across BEANS: Enjoyable the World Over. A mini-cookbook and repository of bean knowledge, this li’l joybomb was distributed by the Michigan Bean Shippers Association in 1963. And! Its cover features a foppish kidney bean with pomaded hair and a vest, who sports a cane and carries a top hat. It’s hard to fail when you start this strong.

Hey there, Mr. FancyBeans!

Thanks to this pamphlet, I’ve learned a lot of things. I know that:

Nobody knows why we’ve started eating beans.
Egyptians thought beans were the symbol of life.
Greeks and Romans voted by tossing beans of different colors on a table.
People have used beans as a cure for baldness.
A bean found on the coast of Africa was used to establish the size and weight of a jeweler’s carat. (Though somehow, “It’s a two-bean ring!” doesn’t hold the same allure.)

Why does the title “Bean King” seem most suited to belong to a 15-year-old boy?

And there is a nobility to bean commerce that we ought not to overlook. This pamphlet reminds us, “Out of the seaway terminals at Bay City and Port Huron, ships loaded with Michigan Navy Beans sail to the far corners of the earth.”

The tale of Michigan beans is clearly global, and next time I’m at a great lake I will scan the horizon looking for the bean traders making their way back home. I can only hope that’s not what the Edmund Fitzgerald was carrying on its final voyage, as it would be too much to bear for all those beans to have met their dreary demise at the bottom of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.

The Enjoyable Bean reader is also given an overview of beans and their significance in American culture. Delmonico’s, America’s first official restaurant, apparently served beans on its menu, much to the surprise and delight of New York City diners (though it seems that modern investigative techniques have turned this idea on its head, as the much-touted 1834 Delmonico’s menu may not be the Real Deal. Scandal! Horrors! Where is my fainting couch when I need it?).

General Eisenhower baked his beans, though I suspect he piggybacked on Mamie’s skill to achieve bean-making success. Plus, he used fancy-pants tarragon in his cooking, which I can only imagine was some ill-gotten taste he acquired while traveling overseas managing wars. Conversely (and according to the recipe provided), First Lady Jackie Kennedy was an old-fashioned stay-at-home American-type Mom, who baked her beans with sugar and molasses and love (and the assistance of a classically-trained French chef named René Verdon).

This cookbook is interspersed with all manner of information and advice. For example, did you know that there are about 2100 navy beans in every pound? And did you ever think, when you were out in the wild…

Who knew “going native” required a can opener?

Because the fields of canned beans are heavy with produce; it is exactly what the natives ate.

Though actually, sometimes, their advice is kind of interesting.

Maybe I *will* try this.

I can find out how the French like to eat their beans.

Mais oui!

How to prepare Freedom Beans when practicing military maneuvers (because it’s not like you can trust the French; Capitulée! Capitulée!).

And what intoxicating Michigan bean concoction Governor Romney (that’s Mitten’s dad George Romney, mind you, not Mittens himself) can’t live without.

How…wholesome.

Though I can’t stop giggling over the inclusion of a recipe called “Bean Hole Beans”. *hee hee* You can learn how to make Taco Beans, what to do with leftover baked beans, and why congress is full o’ beans. There are recipes in here for party dips, bean salads and after-school snacks, though the “hint” that tells you to mix beans with raisins punches me square in the gag reflex.

This pamphlet is a 37 page powerhouse full of bean lore and succotash, culminating in what can only be the most lucrative of all the gifts beans can bestow upon humankind. (wait for it…wait for it…)

Toot toot a root toot tooooo!

All hail the beautiful bean queens! May their glory never fade.

A bean queen “travels in behalf of beans and reigns throughout the year”. That, friends, is a direct quote, and would be something to aspire to indeed. And really, it’s best that produce has a liege lord that rhymes. Bean Queen. Cuke Duke. Or at least is pithy, like Pump-King.

I have come to the end of my charming little slice of 1963-era bean cookery, and it was absolutely worth all 100 pennies I spent on it in MegaAwesomeFleaMarket. And for you food academics, remember. I have this baby entirely scanned, not just the comedic bits. You know were to find me. I’ll be right here, lost in the splendor of a home-grown Michigan bean.

Please enjoy the melodious melodyings of Brak, childlike imprisoned criminal and TV co-host of Space Ghost on Space Ghost Coast to Coast, singing about his favorite source of plant-based protein.

Apr15

Nosh: Broiled Beets with Horseradish Cheese

Posted on April 15, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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Beeeeeeeeeeeeets.

Spring is here, and that means my CSA is about to go beet-crazy. Huzzah! In anticipation of needing to have beet-ready recipes, I decided to take one for the team and do some early tinkering with nuggets of beety goodness. This recipe was inspired by the good people at Putney Farm, though I wanted something less brightly citrus and more heartily savory-umami. Besides, I have horseradish cheese in my fridge that I don’t want to go to waste. Of course I thought to pair horseradish, even in cheese form,w ith beets.

p.s. I wasn’t really taking one for the team; I just said that because I wanted you to think I was doing you a tremendous favor. Fact is, I liked it. A lot.

So. Here is what I used:

Beets (I used three medium-sized beets)
1/4 teaspoon thyme
Salt and pepper to taste
Oil to drizzle on said beets for roasting
2-3 slices of horseradish cheese from the deli counter at your local supermarket
1 teaspoon fresh chives (or other herb you have on hand) for garnish

Annnnnd…that’s it. Entirely.

Really. This is easy. It just takes a little time.

So. Wash off your beets.

Beets!

I’ve seen varying opinions of what to do with beets when you roast them (and yes, sure, I know boiling is an option…I guess…but honestly, people, why? It doesn’t take any less time and roasting is so much more yummy. But to each their own.) and I kind of can’t believe there’s so much debate. Cut off the greens. Cut off the roots. Some people peel them and trim them entirely beforehand, but whatever. Yes, beet juice will run into the roasting pan if you peel or cut them open while they’re raw. And?

Anyway. Drizzle some oil on them, then toss with thyme, salt and pepper.

My fancified technique is: drizzle and toss in yummy things.

And then cover your beets. Either use a pan with a lid or cover your pan with foil (that’s what I did). Put them in a preheated 400° oven and leave them alone for at least 40 minutes, maybe an hour depending on size and such. Mine cooked for about fifty minutes. In that meantime you could…read a book, maybe, or prepare the rest of your food. Take a nap. Whatever. The point is, you can’t rush beets. Nor should you want to. Because they are nutritional powerhouses, and good things take time. Patience, people.

You’ve reached the end of your beet roasting when a knife sinks into them like butter. Check the beets after forty minutes and if the knife meets resistance when you try to pierce them, put the foil back on and put said beets back in the oven. Give them another ten or fifteen minutes or so after that depending on how almost-done they felt. Once they have fully cooked, take them out of the oven to let them cool for a few minutes.

While they cool, get a baking sheet and lightly coat it with oil (rub it on or spray it, whatever works), turn on your broiler and boost the heat. My broiler tops out at 500° so that’s how high I hiked up the temperature. When you peel your beets you can choose to wear rubber gloves OR, of course, you can choose to not, which will dye your fingers red. That’s no big deal. A day later, my hands have returned to their normal flesh tone and I am none the worse for the experience. So. Peel, and cut into nice flat slices of beet about half an inch thick.

Just a little bit longer before nommy time.

Next, take a few slices of that beautiful, tangy, slightly spicy horseradish cheese and just break them up to fit on top of your sliced beets.

Cheesy goodness!

And put those tasty veggies right in the broiler. Do not wander too far afield. Your oven is super-hot and it won’t take very long for the cheese to melt and bubble on top of your beets, and it won’t be too much longer until it blackens and burns and then all this? For naught. Ever vigilant! Stay in your kitchen, guard your beets. Chop your teaspoon of chives and keep them at the ready. When the cheese is browned and melted and gooey, take the beets out of the oven and hit them with the chives and another shot of fresh-ground pepper. Within a very few minutes you’ll have a dish that looks like this:

Sup sup sup sup suppertime!

When we started to eat these, George started chuckling. ”I feel like I’m eating a steak,” he said, as he cut into a beet that was dense and pungent and almost chewy. He wasn’t off base–those beets had some heft!

Serve this with some garlic and herb mashed potatoes and a nice fresh salad, because it’s all so good for you I can’t even stand it. Some people get ready for bikini season. I get ready for beet season. And you know? I’m just fine with that.

Apr8

Nosh: Fiery Onion Relish

Posted on April 8, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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One of the things I make regularly to keep around the house are pickled onions of one sort or another. Pickled onions are quick and easy to make and add snap to just about anything. Hummus and pita. Sandwiches. Salads. Burritos! Burgers. Whatever works. I’ll put these things on pretty much anything. But I usually make them super-super simple, with just vinegar and sugar and salt. Delicious, sure, but that doesn’t mean I won’t yield to the temptation of pickled onions made with the soft, smoky flavor of cumin and the bite of crushed red pepper. Here’s what I used:

3 onions, thinly sliced; I used two red and one sweet yellow, all medium-sized. Use what you have and/or what you prefer.
2-3 (or four, who’s counting?) garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
1 1/2 tablespoon light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Pepper to taste.
Oil for sauteeing; I used olive oil because that’s what I always use, but you can certainly use something like sunflower oil with a more neutral taste.

Allrighty! Use whatever kind or combo of onions you prefer.

Allrighty! Let’s get cookin’.

And then? This is straightforward cooking, folks, so brace yourself for nothing complicated. Get a nice, big pan and heat it on medium heat, coat it with enough oil to lightly saute in, then add the onions into the oil and let them get soft and golden (it will take a few minutes, and stir them fairly frequently so you don’t let them start to brown. You want them soft, not crisped). Make sure you use a big enough pan! One of the best pieces of advice I read recently was, “Food needs room to cook”, and it sounds simple but it’s fundamentally true. Cram the onions into a too-small pan and they’ll steam and be weird and not develop their flavors as well as they should. Plus, it’s a pain to try and cook tidily in a pan that’s too small. Cooking’s not about getting messy and frustrated, it’s about making beautiful meals. Moving on.

Once the onions are golden, add the garlic, cumin, and mustard seeds. Give it a stir and let them cook together for a minute. Then add brown sugar, salt, red wine vinegar and red pepper flakes. Crack in as much fresh-ground pepper as you’d like. Please note: this is really where you can make this dish yours. Do you want it sweeter? Add more brown sugar. Hotter? Or not hot at all? Do what you will with the pepper flakes. You certainly don’t have to use as much garlic as I do. Do you think you want a less aggressive vinegar, or just want a different flavor? Use cider vinegar or champagne vinegar. You can play with your food. This is where the magic happens, folks.

Simmer your beautiful concoction over medium-low heat for a few minutes, until the liquid has evaporated and the onions are even more beautifully golden. They should be cooked through but still have a little bit of crunch, and they should be pungent and rich and brisk and snappy. Just like any good pickle.

One of my favorites sights to see in the kitchen.

When the time comes–and by “the time” I mean, “the moment you can’t stand it any longer and have to feed”–remember that this sits wonderfully on a crostini with a little shot of parmesan on top.

If only I’d had some goat cheese, or ricotta. Nom!

We served this with Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe Sauce and Parmesan-Roasted Acorn Squash, and holy pockets! It was one of those meals where I couldn’t decide which component I liked best. In the grand scheme of things, this is a very, very good problem to have.

Happy cooking!

Apr1

Nosh: Parmesan-Roasted Acorn Squash

Posted on April 1, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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Ready for one of the easy-peasiest recipes ever? Because this is it. I’m here to help.

I’ve already confessed my love for gourds of all kinds in a previous blog, and acorn squash is no exception. My biggest problem with acorn squash is that most recipes insist on adding even more sugar…brown sugar, maple syrup, whatever…to an already deliciously sweet vegetable that is bred for even more sweetness. I realize as a culture we love to mainline sugar, but this? Makes squash a little boring. One-note. There’s no complexity to the flavor it delivers.

So how do we season it?

Some other way!

When do we do it?

Now!

OK, for real…this is probably the closest I’ve ever come to being a cheerleader. And I digress.

We’re going to roast our acorn squash, fer sher. Only we’re going to do so with a little savory thyme, a little Parmesan cheese. It will still be sweet and delicious, but also a little nutty and herbal-cheesy-toasty fragrant. Is there anything that could possibly be wrong with that?

No. I didn’t think so.

Here’s what you need for two squash-loving hungry people, or four normal people who can share what’s in a bowl.

1 acorn squash, unpeeled and thoroughly washed (the skins are edible!)
1/3 c grated Parmesan cheese
1 tsp dried thyme
enough olive oil to coat the squash
salt & pepper to taste

Seems simple so far, right? Right.

Preheat your oven to 425°. Cut your squash in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, and then cut those halves into half-to-3/4-inch half-moons.

So far, not so bad, right?

Put the squash in a large mixing bowl. Coat it with olive oil and add in the salt and pepper and thyme. Give it all a really good toss around until it’s all nicely coated.

Still seems pretty doable, yes?

Then lay the slices of squash out in a single layer on a baking sheet. Food needs room to cook, so don’t let the squash overlap or crowd too closely together. Sprinkle the tops of the slices with half the Parmesan. What’s nice about this is, you really don’t need a lot of cheese and you still get a lot of flavor.

Get ‘em cooking!

Put the squash in the heated oven. Go do something else for twenty minutes. I don’t know; read a blog, go pet the cat. Make a salad. It’s up to you. At the end of twenty minutes, flip the squash and sprinkle the rest of the cheese on it.

No tricks up my sleeve. Just dinner. And not literally.

After another 15, maybe 20 minutes in the oven, they’re ready to eat. These are–literally–a dish I have to walk away from before I stuff myself silly with every bit of squash I can wrap my greedy little mitts around.

Try and stop yourself from hoovering. I dare you.

The squash gets nice and soft and a little creamy, almost. The skin and heavily browned parts get a little crispy. And it is all? A crazy-good way to expand your vegetable repertoire and shake up the side dishes, which aren’t always the most interesting part of a meal. Who needs canned peas when you can have this? And all you do it cut some stuff and stick it in the oven! Super-easy-peasy. We served this last week with Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe Sauce and Fiery Onion Relish and I’ve already made this squash again. It’s that good.

Enjoy!

Mar25

Nosh: Homemade Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe Sauce

Posted on March 25, 2013 by beyondpaisley

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Just writing the words “orecchiette with broccoli rabe sauce” makes me happy. I’m kind of a simple creature, really. That’s all I need. Well, that and having a plate of the actual food in front of me, because I am a hungry girl with a love for the delicious.

This brings me to orecchiette, which I love for many reasons. Let me count the ways. First, I love it for its name, which means “little ears” in Italian. They are round, disc-like things that have depressions in the middle, kind of like ears do. Adorbs! Next, I love them because they are dense. You don’t need to completely load them down with cheeses and fats to give orecchiette some heft because they’re made with semolina. That’s a serious, no-nonsense flour, so they’re hearty and kind of chewy and you really know you’re digging in and eating something. Finally, I love orecchiette because people are seemingly compelled to pair it with broccoli rabe, and I am down with anything that puts rapini in my trough. And yes, broccoli rabe = rapini = these words are interchangeable. I didn’t necessarily know that at first, and I’m still trying to figure out where broccolini fits into the broccoli family, but I digress.

Unfortunately, I’ve yet to see a store in Lewisburg and its environs that sells orecchiette, so my feasting upon it has largely been confined to restaurants and/or bags brought back from forays into shops in nearby metro areas. But who needs that? I have thumbs, I can cook. I’ll make my own! Do note, please: if you’re interested in making a pasta with broccoli rabe sauce but have no interest in making orecchiette, I understand. Skip this part, scroll down to where I talk about the super-easy sauce which comes together in about twenty minutes, and feel free to use a store-bought pasta. Just make sure you choose something hearty, like whole-wheat rotini. If you are interested in making the orecchiette as well, then read on!

First, mix your dry ingredients. Orecchiette seems to favor a 2:1 ratio for its flour. I used a cup of semolina flour and subsequently, I used a half-cup of AP flour. Mix the flours together with some salt (for this recipe, no more than a quarter-teaspoon) and have a half-cup of warm-ish water handy, though you may not use all of it. Also, keep a baking tray dusted with semolina flour nearby to serve as a landing pad for your shaped pasta.

Ready to roll.

Put in about half the water and start kneading, and add more water in small increments until you get a ball of dough that is cohesive and elastic. You can put it in a stand mixer if you have one with a good dough hook, but I don’t. I just did it by hand. It only took about five minutes of work to get it from a gnarly pile of mess…

Trust me, it gets better. Though I really want to put googly eyes on this.

To beautiful elastic ball of dough.

OMG, I can’t hardly believe it.

When researching orecchiette, I read a bunch of food blogs offering conflicting advice about how to proceed. Let it rest, don’t let it rest. Wrap it in plastic, don’t wrap it. There doesn’t seem to be a consensus on what to do, but here’s the thing: it’s never really a bad idea to let your dough rest, though it doesn’t seem that it would be criminal if you didn’t rest it. I wanted to tend to some onions I had cooking on the stove so I took the opportunity to let it rest, and covered it with the bowl I originally measured out the flour in so my dough didn’t dry out in the open air. If you need to park your dough for a little while, this is a perfect time to do so though if you’re going to let sit for more than a half an hour I’d at least lay down some plastic under it. When you’re ready, cut your dough into eight pieces and roll those eight pieces out into doughy dowels about 18 inches long. Ish.

That moment of perfect potential, when things can go great or really, really poorly.

That perfect moment of total potential, when things can go great or really, really poorly.

Cut them into pieces about an inch long and then? Squish them into shape. Again, in my research I read blogs that advised wrapping your dough around a spoon, or allowing the friction from the back of a dull knife to cause the pasta to curl, but then I thought, if I were some traditional Puglian nonna trying to make dinner, would I worry about ever-so-carefully fussing with the back of a knife? Or would I use the most basic tools available to me and have at them with my thumbs?

Thumbs won. I stuck my thumb in the middle of one piece of dough and shaped it with the other hand. Voila, little indented pastas. And they’re supposed to be rustic, so if they don’t look perfect, that’s fine.

Orecchiette!

Again, there are different schools of thought regarding what to do with your pasta now. I’ve seen sites that advise you to let the shaped pasta sit at least one hour before cooking, I’ve seen sites that say you can use it right away. I let mine sit–in the open, uncovered, just as you see it here–for the twenty minutes or so that it took me to prepare the sauce, and they didn’t dry out much and cooked super-super fast once I got them in boiling water. So. Once they’re at this point you can walk away and take care of other business.

For us, that other business is sauce. This is pretty straightforward, and adapted from Mario Batali. First, cut onions and garlic. I used a TON of garlic because (regular readers, you know this) I am a junkie for garlic and am even more so when it comes to bitter greens, but of course you don’t have to use five cloves of garlic if you think that’s excessive. This would also be a good time to get your pasta water started, so it’s boiling and ready by the time you want it. If you’re using dried pasta, start the water before you cut a single bit of onion since you need to let the water boil and then let the pasta cook for eight or ten minutes before it’s ready to use.

What? No, garlic is good for you!

Let the onions and garlic saute in a very large pan at a medium heat with a dose of crushed red pepper to taste (I like the spicy) for five or six minutes, until they’re nice and soft and taking on that beautiful oniony-golden hue. Add in your broccoli rabe, which has been rinsed, had the tough bottom ends of the stems removed, and roughly chopped.

So. Close. To done.

Once that’s in the pan, grate a little fresh nutmeg over it (yes, really, it just makes it warm and homey) and toss in some salt and pepper. This should saute for about five minutes before you add the tomatoes.

Come on, it even LOOKS festive.

p.s. Is your water boiling yet?

Allow the tomatoes to cook in with the rapini for two or three minutes and put your fresh orecchiette in to boil. Give it a stir and then watch it; within a minute or so it should start to float and when that happens, it’s ready to drain. Reserve a ladle full of pasta water and drain your noodles. Check the sauce. If it seems kind of watery and needs to tighten up, add in some of your ladle of starchy pasta water, give it a stir, and then add your drained noodles to your pan. Let them cook together for a minute or two. Check for seasonings and adjust salt and pepper–I hit mine with a pretty sizeable amount of fresh-ground black pepper. Make a chiffonade from ten or so fresh mint leaves, stir this in and remove from heat. Give it a little kiss from some pecorino-romano and serve. We ate ours with Parmesan-roasted acorn squash and bread with Fiery Onion Relish.

Score!

Fact: I can’t wait to eat the leftovers, either.

beyondpaisley

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Tag Archives: Food

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Nosh: Broiled Beets with Horseradish Cheese

Nosh: Fiery Onion Relish

Nosh: Parmesan-Roasted Acorn Squash

Nosh: Homemade Orecchiette with Broccoli Rabe Sauce

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