Tag Archives: vegetarian

Jun17

Nosh: Chapatis (Spiced Flatbread)

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Q:  Do you know how hard it can be to find a decent flatbread?

A:  It’s pretty difficult.  They’re either so overly-full of preservatives and additives to keep them pliable that their texture turns almost–weirdly–chalky, or the manufacturers think the right thing to do is coat them in some gooey spray oil, so you pull them out of the bag and immediately have to wipe off your fingers.  Yuck.

Related Q: Do you know how easy it is to make a decent flatbread?

Related A:  It’s actually quite easy.

So, chapatis.

To be fair, this is probably an Americanized version of the noble chapati and thanks to this and one other flatbread recipe I’ve played with in the past, I’m invested in learning more.  Full revelation: I should have used whole wheat flour (and will next time), and I probably could have rolled it out a little bit thinner (note to self: walk the five feet to the pantry and grab the rolling pin).  But.  This is an easy jumping-off point into the world of flatbreads, full of basic technique with a delicious outcome, so start here and then see what else you can do.

Here’s the recipe:

  • 1 cup flour (feel free to use whole wheat flour)
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin (or coriander or ground fennel or nigella)
  • 2 teaspoons crushed garlic (2, 3, 4 cloves finely chopped, who’s counting?)
  • 1/3 cup water
  • 2 teaspoons oil (olive oil has the best taste, but use what you have)

First, combine the flour, salt, cumin and garlic in a bowl.

Yeah, just like that, only mixed up.

Yeah, just like this, only mixed up.

Make a well with the flour mixture–this facilitates the liquids incorporating into the dry ingredients quickly and evenly, so you don’t get dry patches or lumps and end up overworking your dough in order to thoroughly mix it–and put in your water and oil.

Stir the water and oil into the flour, it will incorporate quickly.

Stir the water and oil into the flour, it will incorporate quickly.

Knead your dough for 2-3 minutes, until it is a beautiful, soft, cohesive ball.

Dough, ready to rest a while.

Dough, ready to rest a while.

Let your dough sit in a warm, draft-free place for about a half an hour.  Before you go and panic: where could that be?  Where can I put it?  Yes, a cabinet will do nicely.  But I like to put my dough in my oven (as long as I’m not using it, of course).  You know it’s draft-free.  It’s about as safe and untouched as it’s going to get.  Bugs won’t get it, the cat won’t be able to get it.  (As an aside, does anyone else have a cat that goes berserk over raw dough?  No, just me?  Okay.)  Cover it with a lint-free cloth (a towel that isn’t terry cloth, or a cloth napkin) and leave it alone for the next thirty minutes.

Then?

Divide your dough in quarters and roll out a ball until it’s nice and thin.  Don’t try and cut corners (like I did) and stretch them flat with your hand, because it won’t get it quite as thin as they should be.  Once you have a nice flat disc of dough, put it in a hot pan.  It’s important to remember that you’re not frying the bread; you’re going to let the oil you’ve already added to the dough be your browning agent, so don’t put any oil in the pan.

One chapati, coming up!

One chapati, coming up!

The first side will probably take two minutes or so to cook.  You’ll see that the dough will look less “wet” on the side facing up.  The cooked side should have some lovely charring from the pan, which is perfect.  Flip it and cook it for another minute or so, until you’ve got charring on the other side as well.

Ready for dinner!

Ready for dinner!

Traditionally, these are coated in some kind of butter or ghee as soon as they’re cooked, but since I was planning to serve them with a curry with a lovely sauce, I figured I could hold off on the butter.  They were wonderful.  Chewy and dense and crisp all at once, they brought a starch to the table that was thoughtful and fun.  And easy.  I cooked them while I was cooking the rest of my dinner, so they barely added any time to my cooking at all.

Dinner, voila! She is served.

Dinner, voila! It is served.

We served this with Thai Spinach-Potato Curry and a salad with fresh blackberry vinaigrette.  Yes, that’s sauteed asparagus you see, too, but that’s a different blog for a different day.

Happy flatbreads!  Let me know how you like it.

~XOT

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Jun10

Nosh: Blackberry Vinaigrette

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A moment, if you please, for the glories of a fresh vinaigrette.

Vinaigrette is an amazing thing.  I realized a long time ago that if I learned how to make things like sauces and dressings, I could experience an enormous range of foods in the comfort of my own home.  A common complaint about vegetarian cooking is that it’s “boring”.  It’s just a bunch of vegetables, right?  Only wrong.  When you take beautiful fresh fruits and vegetables and put them to work for you, even salads rock out.

You can make a vinagrette from a wide range of produce (and I know you can make salad dressings with bacon, too, but seriously, people…dial back the processed meat obsession just a notch, your colon will thank you for it) and it’s eeeeeeeeeeeeeeasy peasy so long as you have a few basics down.  Plus, you can make however much you want.  It’s just me and my boyfriend, so we make small batches of a dressing that we use over the course of a week.  We don’t have extra bottles cluttering up our fridge (how many times have you said, “Wait…I have this?  When did I buy this?  Hmmmm…it’s of indeterminate age, let me eat it.”) and we can alter the taste of the dressing depending on what we’re in the mood for.

Did I mention it takes about five minutes to make?  Ten, if you’re really, extraordinarily anal retentive and feel like you have to precisely measure every grain of mustard.

So let’s get to it.  For enough blackberry vinaigrette for two people for three or four days of salad (depending on how much you use, of course) you’ll need:

  • 1 Ball jar (or other container that can be securely capped and summarily manhandled, you’ll see)
  • 1 small shallot (about the size of a votive candle cut in half), finely diced
  • 8-10 blackberries (about 1/4 cup)
  • 1 healthy teaspoon of mustard (I prefer the really grainy kind)
  • 1/4 teaspoon thyme (or whatever herb works for you) (poppy seeds would be nice, too!)
  • 1/4 c mild vinegar (I used rice wine vinegar, but white wine or champagne vinegar would be equally lovely.  Save the strong and/or fruity vinegars for another dressing)
  • A good pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper (if you don’t have a pepper grinder, a) get one and b) if you need more than a quarter teaspoon of pepper I’d be surprised, since it’s really not that much dressing you’re seasoning)
  • Olive oil (to taste and yes, I will explain)

Here is one of the few times I will say this: I generally don’t use garlic in my vinaigrettes, people, so no, I didn’t forget to put it in the ingredient list.  Have you picked yourselves up off the floor?  See, as much as I love garlic, I think it has a tendency to take over the flavor of a vinaigrette, especially if it’s going to sit in the fridge for a few days without benefit of artificial stabilizers keeping the food in check.  Which this won’t have, because it’s all freshy-fresh.  Shallots deliver a savory impact that’s kind of a cross between onion and garlic all on their own and don’t tend to take over the flavor like garlic does.  Moving on.

First, take your shallot and cut it into a fine dice.  For many people this will be the most trying part of their dressing-making experience but hey, it can help perfect your knife skills!  Cut it into a small dice using the exact same planks/sticks/cubes method I talked about in my blog about potato-spinach curry, when I cut ginger.  If you’re getting stressed out about cutting shallots that small just remember, they don’t have to be perfect, they just have to be.  If you’re still getting stressed out, feel free to shred your shallot with a fine cheese grater.  Put your diced shallots in your Ball jar.

It's shallots. In a jar. Really, it gets better.

It’s shallots. In a jar. Really, it gets better.

Mash up the blackberries.  I used a mortar and pestle, but use whatever you’ve got.  A mixing bowl and the back of a spoon.  A fork.  I would advise against using either mallets or the heel of your shoe, both for ease of cleanup and because yuck, but hey, it’s your kitchen.  Then take your smooshed blackberries and put them in the jar.

Aha! So you see where I'm going with this, no?

Aha! So you see where I’m going with this, no?

Then add: mustard, vinegar, thyme, salt, and pepper.

Closing in on what actual dressing looks like.

Closing in on what actual dressing looks like.

Next, put in the olive oil.  I generally use a 1:1 ratio of oil, so since there’s about a half-cup of *stuff* (berries, vinegar, etc) in my jar already, I use an equal amount (or even slightly less) of oil.  It’s way less fatty than traditional vinaigrettes; 3:1 is the “classic” ratio for vinaigrettes but when I follow that recipe I always feel like I’m sliding my way into a salad.  I don’t care for it.

Much more to my liking.

Much more to my liking.

Once you’ve got all your stuff in your jar, it needs to become dressing.  Cap it securely and–I believe this is a legitimate technique taught in the finest culinary schools around the world–shake it.  Really hard.

Voila! Le dressing, she is done!

Voila! La vinaigrette, she is done!

Remember to re-shake it when you’re ready to eat it.  Once you grok your vinaigrette basics you can do tons of things to it.  Use ginger and soy sauce instead of shallots and salt.  Throw in some fresh parsley/dill/basil you have hanging around your crisper.  Add a shot of honey if the berries are tart and you think it needs a touch of sweet.  Use strawberries or raspberries instead.  Your options are wide open and regardless of what you put in it, the fact remains that you’ll know exactly what’s in your salad dressing, instead of eating a bowl of stabilizers and preservatives.

This vinaigrette will last at least a week in the fridge.  I don’t know how much longer than that it would stay because we tend to finish it.  Since it’s all fresh ingredients without preservatives, the (only) downside (that I can see) is that the vinaigrette will go bad if it’s left in the fridge too long, sitting in the back next to those pickles you got…when?

We all have those.

So.  Have a salad!

Easy. Tastes good. Good for you. What could be better?

Easy. Tastes good. Good for you. What could be better?

We served this with Thai Spinach-Potato Curry and chapatis.  But it will go with pretty much anything and would be really lovely alongside some chicken.  I hope you enjoy!

~XOT

Jun3

Nosh: Thai Spinach-Potato Curry

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Here’s what it’s currently too hot to do in my neck o’ the woods:

  • Bake
  • Roast
  • Move more than five feet away from the couch
  • Which is then gross, because you spend all your time sweating into your couch
  • I hate summer

But a girl’s gotta eat, and for a hungry girl like me that ain’t no joke.

For the last few days I’ve been craving some sort of vaguely Asian-ish food that isn’t as heavy or fried or sugary as Americanized Chinese food can be, and I haven’t been willing to hit up a restaurant because I’m a) a little tired of the local restaurants (remember, I live in a small town, so local restaurants are limited) and b) who wants to put on pants when it’s this hot?

I dug through some cookbooks because yesterday was “avoid the computer for the bulk of the day” day and found a recipe for potato-spinach Thai curry and I really only needed a few things that could be acquired with a trip to the grocery store.  Said trip was more like a covert raiding party–get in, get the stuff, get back home and into the AC before dissolving into a puddle of lip balm and flip flops–but it got the job done, sticky humid heat be damned.

It’s remarkable I survived in Texas.

Anyway.  Here’s what I used.

  • 3-4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
  • 1 1/2-inch ginger, finely chopped (or galangal if you have access to it, which I do not so purists, give me a break because I have to work with the resources available)
  • 1 piece of lemongrass, finely chopped
  • 1 tsp coriander seeds
  • 2 tsp Thai red curry paste
  • 1 jalapeno (optional)
  • 1/2 tsp ground turmeric (be careful not to get this on your clothes or they’ll be yellow forever)
  • 1 can coconut milk (I highly recommend using “light” coconut milk; the taste is still rich, but it cuts nearly 2/3 of the fat and calories that you’d get from regular coconut milk)
  • 1 large potato, up to 1 lb, cut in 3/4 inch cubes
  • Enough vegetable stock to make your sauce the consistency you’d like
  • 2 tsp honey/brown sugar/agave nectar
  • 7 oz spinach/arugula/chard/whatever kind of leafy green you prefer, but if you use something with a tougher rib (chard, kale) make sure the rib is removed
  • Juice from 1/2 lime
  • 1 onion, thinly sliced
  • Oil, salt, pepper…the usual suspects
  • Cilantro, thinly sliced shallots, and crumbled unsalted peanuts for garnish (all entirely optional)

First: Thinly slice your onions and start their browning.  You don’t need to pay relentless attention to them, just show them some love and give them a stir every so often.    They’ll take a while to caramelize so you should start them early but because they’re a garnish, once they’re browned they can sit quietly on the sidelines until you’re ready to eat.

Get these babies nice and rich and sweet and dark brown.

Get these babies nice and rich and sweet and dark brown.

Look at that, you’ve already got part of it started!

Next, get your spices ready.  The cookbook says to finely chop the garlic, lemongrass and ginger/galangal and grind them together with the coriander seeds in a mortar and pestle until they’re a smooth paste.

I've always loved the look of coriander seeds.

I’ve always loved the look of coriander seeds.

But here’s the thing: that’s a ton of work.  I only had arm enough to take it so far before I decided I was through and declared it “uh…yeah, sure…that’s smooth”, though I did make sure that at least all of the coriander seeds were crushed open and fragrant.  So if you neeeeeeeed to process this into a paste and have the appropriately sized food processor then by all means do so.  Otherwise, just crush the seeds in a mortar and pestle and finely chop the rest.

How do you finely chop ginger? Planks->sticks->cubes, works every time.

How do you finely chop ginger? Planks->sticks->cubes, works every time.

Cut your jalapeno in half and seed it if you want, or cut it into thin slices with the seeds fully attached, depending on how much heat you want.  (Or leave out the jalapeno entirely, it’s your kitchen!)  From here, the recipe progresses pretty quickly.  Saute the garlic-ginger-lemongrass-coriander seed combination and jalapeno at a medium heat for 30 seconds or so, to create a nice base.  Add the curry paste and the turmeric and let them cook for a minute or two, then add the coconut milk.  You can add as much coconut milk as you’d like so long as you put in at least half the can; I put in the whole can because what the heck am I going to do with leftover coconut milk?  However much you put in, stand back in amazement as the half teaspoon of turmeric totally wins over two teaspoons of red chili paste in the battle for color-of-the-curry supremacy.  Bring it to a boil.

If turmeric were a supervillain, its dastardly plan would be to turn the whole world yellow.

If turmeric were a supervillain, its dastardly plan would be to turn the whole world yellow.

Hey, how are those onions doing?  Don’t forget to check them.

Once it’s rolling along, add the potatoes, the honey and some veggie stock.  I used one of those box-stocks and probably put in about a cup’s worth.  I wouldn’t recommend getting too stock-crazy because you do want the sauce to have some body to it; you’re making curry, not soup.  Let the potatoes simmer for a few minutes; check them at 10 minutes and I’d be surprised if you need to let them cook as long as 15.  While they’re cooking, clean and chop your cilantro and shallots and shell your peanuts.

When the potatoes are nearly tender, add in your choice of leafy green–I used spinach and arugula–and let them wilt into the curry.  Check your seasonings and add salt (or if you’re feeling completely devil-may-care, soy sauce) and pepper to taste.  Finish with the juice from a half a lime.  Top each individual serving with onions, cilantro, raw shallots and peanuts, as you will.

We mixed our ethnic foods at the table (see: devil-may-care) and served this with chapatis, sauteed asparagus and a salad with blackberry vinaigrette.   Healthy.  Delicious.  Really easy.  And it’s flexible!  If you want to make this with chicken, just saute some chicken before adding the ginger-garlic mix, and then follow the above.  Saute the garlic-ginger in the chicken drippings for extra yum, and use chicken stock instead of vegetable.  Or toss in some tofu at the end if you want to both incorporate a protein and keep it vegetarian.  Whatever, it’s all good.

This, friends, is good eating on a hot summer's day.

This, friends, is good eating on a hot summer’s day.

Enjoy!  See you ’round the kitchen!

May21

Nosh: Savory Rhubarb-Onion Tart

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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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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!

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

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!

IMG_0037-001

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?

May13

Nosh: Roasted Brussels Sprouts

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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.

IMG_0015

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!

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.

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.

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.

IMG_0022

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?

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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

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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?

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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.

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.

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 cozy that day.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

It’s like a bowl full of summer.

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

*Bliss*

*Swoon*

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

Apr29

Nosh: Cauliflower with Whipped Goat Cheese.

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You read that right.

Whipped goat cheese.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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)

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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, peppery goodness.

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!

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.

Hell yeah.

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

Apr15

Nosh: Broiled Beets with Horseradish Cheese

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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!

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.

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.

So close! Just a little bit longer.

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!

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!

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

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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.

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!

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!