The Inspired Chef

Healing with Love and Time

2012-01-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

Maddy Joseph, 1937-2011

In memory of my mother, I am sharing an incredible recipe for "Healing with Love and Time," sent to me in a condolence card.

Ingredients:
2 pounds of passage of time
1 cup of acceptance
3 drops of sweet memories
4 tbs. full of hope and faith
2 cups of patience
Tears as needed

Condiments:
Calm, prayers and smiles

A note from the chef: move gently through the days. Be good to yourself.

Preparation:
Warm your feelings slowly.
Add the sweet memories, faith and hope.
Mix with patience.
Gradually add in acceptance, life must go on.
Add tears and sadness as needed.
Season with calm and prayers of your personal choice.
Sprinkle with smiles as you can.
Add the passage of time.

Simmer as long as needed and notice sorrow will slowly begin to dissipate.

Eventually sweet memories will provide a special seasoning to your life.

Chilled Cucumber Soup

2011-09-14T05:27:00.000-07:00

Not that I’m fishing around for invitations, but at times, last night for example, I feel that I can be a welcome asset to a dinner party. Not only did I bring an appetizer to my friend J’s house, I also provided useful dinner conversation. In fact, now all the women at dinner know their stripper names. Yes, stripper names! Here’s how you figure out yours (or your spouse’s/girlfriend’s): your first name is the name of your first dog (or pet) and your surname is the name of the street you grew up on. So, my stripper name is Colette West. My friend R’s name is Pepe Violet and her sister-in-law’s is Snooky Lovella. We also had a Mittens Seventy-Two, but we renamed her Mittens Sixty-Nine. Now if that isn’t going to get people talking at the dinner table, I don’t know what is!

In addition, I also brought a chilled cucumber soup that J served as an appetizer in adorable little soup cups with miniature spoons that she bought at Bed, Bath & Beyond. At first I heard murmurs that the soup might be too fattening for some of the women. But I assured them the Inspired Chef would never do anything to put extra padding on her friends. I had substituted yogurt and buttermilk (only 90 calories per cup!) for the usual heavy cream and sour cream. Plus, it was full of healthy greens, not only cucumber, but also parsley, scallions and dill, brightened up with a touch of lemon.

I wanted to make the soup because I had a huge bumper crop of cucumbers. It was the first year I’d ever grown them, having been content to have basil and cherry tomatoes in pots on my back deck for the past decade or so. But this summer, Bob’s friend A asked him if we wanted any vegetable seedlings. His daughter was moving to Maine in June, and he had too many pots on his deck to take care of. So, I drove over there, picked up half-a-dozen seedlings and transported them to my house. I repotted the plants – 2 cucumbers, 2 hot red cherry peppers, some basil, and what I thought was beefsteak tomato but turned out to be watermelon (Boy, was I surprised!). I placed the giant containers on the stoop outside my laundry room, which is an extremely sunny location.

Within a week, the cucumber plants were shooting up, and by mid-July their big leaves wound around the stakes I had planted in the potting soil. Soon tiny green tendrils latched around the stakes, cementing the plants’ upward trajectory. Within a few weeks, there were a dozen or so tiny yellow flowers, which turned into what looked like the gherkins they serve on the side of your plate when you eat a sandwich at a French-style bistro. By August, the small “gherkins” had miraculously turned into full-size cucumbers. “Just like you see in the grocery store,” I thought to myself, with more than a small amount of pride. Growing cucumbers was much easier than raising children, because all you had to do was water them every day (and they didn’t throw parties in your basement without your permission!).

So, what to do with all these beautiful cucumbers besides have them overtake my refrigerator? First on the list was to make cucumber salad. A no brainer, you slice the cucumbers as thin as possible (a mandolin would have been helpful, but, alas, the Inspired Chef does not own one). Then you add rings of thinly sliced onions, a cup of vinegar, some dill, and a pinch of salt, and you are set.

Making the cucumber soup was a bit more of a challenge. I had to find just the right recipe, which turned out to be a process of elimination. First, I cut out all the recipes that had ingredients I wanted to avoid: heavy cream, whipping cream, sour cream, and definitely cream of mushroom soup! I also wasn’t too keen on potatoes, butter and chicken stock. Finally, I came upon a recipe on Epicurious.com for Chilled Cucumber Soup from May 1998 attributed to Judy Goldwasser. I liked it because it seemed to use the healthiest and lowest calorie ingredients, plus it wasn’t ridiculously hard to make (like the one from Emeril Lagasse that had 24 ingredients!).

I started by peeling the cucumbers, cutting them in half, and scraping out their seeds with a spoon. Then I sprinkled them with some salt. Why do this? Because it makes them excrete water and keeps them crisp! While the cucumbers were “sweating,” I roughly chopped up the scallions, parsley and dill and squeezed my lemon juice.
While the recipe said to put everything in a blender, there was no way it could all fit, so I broke the mixture into two batches. In it went, along with the buttermilk and yogurt, creating a sea of floating green bits whirring around in the blender.

I poured both batches into a large 4-quart pot and stuck in my wooden spoon to garner a taste. It was 95 percent there, but still needed a bit more seasoning, so I added a teaspoon each of salt and pepper. I also thought it wasn’t “bright” enough so I squeezed in a spot more lemon, and, truth be told, added a tablespoon of sugar, only because it seemed to need just a hint of sweetness. All that was left was to throw it in the frig and let it chill for a few hours.

Now ladies (and gentlemen, if you wish), here’s your chance to send in your stripper names. I want them all! Do not email me, but rather click on the “Post a comment button” below and let me hear from you (hint: it may be easiest to post as Anonymous). Make sure to cc Hef as I heard his fiancé left him at the altar and he’s a bit lonely!

Cucumber-Dill Salad
Serves 4

1 seedless European cucumber, or 2 American cucumbers
3 tablespoons cider or white vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 small red onion, sliced and broken into rings
3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh dill

Thinly slice the cucumber(s) widthwise. Place the vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper in a bowl and whisk until the sugar is dissolved. Add the cucumber, onion, and dill, and toss well. Refrigerate and let the flavors mix for at least one hour.

Chilled Cucumber Soup
Adapted from Judy Goldwasser’s recipe on Epicurious.com

5 cucumbers
1/2 cup chopped parsley
6 scallions, chopped
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (add a tablespoon more if desired)
1 quart buttermilk
1 pint yogurt
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon sugar, optional

Peel cucumbers and cut them in half, scraping out seeds. Sprinkle the cucumbers with salt and let them stand 30 minutes. Drain excess water.
Chop the cucumbers coarsely and put the pieces in the blender along with scallions, dill, lemon juice, buttermilk, and yogurt. Blend at high speed. Season with salt and pepper to taste (and add additional tablespoon of lemon juice and a tablespoon of sugar if desired). Chill well before serving.

Anthony's Weiners AKA Sausages, Peppers and Onions

2011-05-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don’t know me that well, I have a little bit of an unusual background. Even though I grew up in a Jewish family in Shaker Heights, OH, my parents decided to send me to a private girls’ school for my education – K through 12 nonetheless! While the school claimed to be nondenominational, apparently this open religious mix didn’t include Judaism. That meant I grew up singing hymns in chapel every morning, walking down the church aisle with a lit candle during my middle school graduation, and attending all of my friends’ Christmas parties and debutante balls.

You can probably imagine that moving to New York was a little bit of a shock to my system. People who would see my straight blond hair and hear my Midwestern accent were always shocked to hear I was Jewish. Even my husband Bob insisted I was the biggest shiksa (Yiddish for gentile) that he had ever met.

I’ve lived here now for 25 years, and in that time I’ve learned to cook the traditional brisket for Passover meals and can even make a mean noodle kugel, a big Chanukah hit with Bob’s family. Even so, when I want some comfort food, it just doesn’t come from within me to tap into that vast and ancient source of traditional Jewish food. If I need something to satisfy my soul, I’m not running into the kitchen to whip up a batch of matzo ball soup or down to the deli to buy a potato knish! (Although I do have a soft spot for latkes, but then again, who doesn’t like salted, fried potatoes!)

My comfort food tends more toward the Italian side (I don’t know why as my family never ate Italian food growing up. We were solid meat and potatoes, and considered pizza to be some type of exotic delicacy reserved for once a year max!) I think it all goes back to when I was pregnant with my oldest son, Sam. Once I got over morning sickness, I had a constant craving for lasagna, stuffed shells, baked ziti, or penne a la vodka – anything with pasta, oozing cheese and dripping tomato sauce. (Unfortunately with Spencer, my younger son, I woke up every morning with a hankering for a Heineken; thank god for nonalcoholic O’Doul’s!)

Anyway, I really love to cook Italian more than any other food. Lately, the problem is that Bob has decided to go on a no carb diet, making most of my favorite pasta dishes off limits. I was thinking today of what I could make that would fit into Bob’s diet and still be hearty enough a meal for my boys, who jointly seem to be able to devour the contents of our entire refrigerator at a single sitting. I finally decided upon sausages, peppers and onions. No carbs, but lots of protein.

Skimming the Internet, I found a recipe on Food.com from Giada de Laurentiis that I tweaked ever so slightly to suit my needs and taste buds. What I especially like about her recipe is that it uses turkey sausage, as opposed to pork, offering a healthier option without sacrificing the flavor. I decided to use a mix of turkey sausages - a sweeter one with spinach and feta, a hotter one with red pepper flakes, and a third with broccoli rabe and garlic. And yes, that’s because it’s what I could scrounge up from the depth of my freezer! I do think a mix of sweet and spicy sausages is always a nice combination.

The great thing about this dish is it not only tastes incredible, it also smells heavenly during every step of the cooking process/journey. I started by heating some extra virgin olive oil in a sauté pan and browning the sausages. From the second the cut-up links (I chopped each sausage into 2-3 pieces) started sizzling in the pan, the searing scent of grilling meat permeated the air.

Once the sausages were browned, I removed them from the pan, and then added thinly sliced onion and a combination of cut up green and red peppers, letting the mixture sauté until it softened.

The intoxicating aroma of the cooking vegetables was perfumed with the addition of basil and oregano (I used fresh herbs because I had them, but dried herbs are fine as well), and punctuated by the scintillating bite of chopped garlic.

For the gravy, I added a can of chopped tomatoes and a little tomato paste, and last but not least, the key to this dish’s success – Marsala wine. The wine is essential because it boosts the flavor of the sausages and the sweetness of the peppers.

After I returned the sausages to the pan, I let the dish simmer on the stove for a while to let the sauce thicken into a nice gravy. At this point, you will probably want to do a taste test to see if you need to add a little salt and pepper. If you like things on the spicy side, feel free to also add a pinch of red pepper flakes to the pan. To tell you the truth, I taste-tested this dish enough times to count for an entire meal, yet still sat down with my family and served myself a full-sized portion at dinner! While Bob and I ate the dish sans carbohydrates, I made a bowl of penne pasta for my boys; it was perfect for soaking up the gravy. You could also serve this on an Italian sandwich roll.

So, while some members of the “tribe” (M.O.T.) might seek comfort in a half-pastrami-half corned beef on rye, I’d have to say that sausages, peppers and onions would be my go-to dish for the record!

Sausages, Peppers and Onions

Adapted from Food.com, Giada de Laurentiis

Ingredients:

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

1 pound Italian turkey sausage - 1/2 sweet, 1 /2 hot

1 red bell pepper, sliced

1 yellow pepper, sliced

2 yellow onions, sliced

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano (or 1 1/2 teaspoons fresh oregano)

1/2 cup chopped fresh basil leaves (or 2 tablespoons dried)

4 garlic cloves, chopped

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 cup Marsala wine

1 (15-ounce) can diced tomatoes

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes, optional

4 to 6 fresh Italian sandwich rolls, optional OR

1 lb penne pasta, cooked, optional

Directions

Heat the oil in a heavy large skillet over medium heat. Add the sausages (can cut them into 2-3 pieces if you like) and cook until brown on both sides, about 7 to 10 minutes. Remove from the pan and drain.

Keeping the pan over medium heat, add the peppers, onions, salt, and pepper and cook until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Add the oregano, basil, and garlic and cook 2 more minutes.

Add the tomato paste and stir. Add the Marsala wine, tomatoes, and chili flakes, if using. Stir to combine, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to release all the browned bits. Bring to a simmer.

Add the sausage back to the pan and stir to combine. Cook until the sauce has thickened, about 20 minutes.

Serve in bowls over penne pasta. Or, if serving as a sandwich, split the rolls in half lengthwise. Hollow out the bread from the bottom side of each roll, being careful not to puncture the crust. Fill the bottom half of the roll with sausage mixture. Top and serve sandwiches immediately.

Perfect Popovers

2011-02-05T20:09:00.000-08:00

Here’s the scenario: It's a Saturday night and Bob is out of town visiting our son Sam at Duke, my younger son Spencer is hanging with his high school cronies, and I'm home alone and happy, luxuriating in a peaceful evening with nothing to do and no one to see. I went to yoga in the afternoon, took a shower, put on my sweats, and didn’t bother to blow dry my hair or put on a stitch of makeup. After cancelling all possible pending dinner plans with sympathetic friends who didn’t want to leave me alone on a Saturday night, I took a pre-dinner nap, woke up refreshed and relaxed, ate M & M’s, almonds and an orange for dinner, and then proceeded to make chili for tomorrow’s chow-down during Super Bowl Sunday.

It’s now 8 p.m., and I am ready to handle the task at hand: making perfect popovers. It should be noted that to date I have only succeeded in making “pop-unders,” sorry little heaps of egg batter that tease me by swelling above the rims of the muffin tin, only to mock me by imploding in on themselves.

Last week I had partial success. I bought my designated popover pan at Bed, Bath & Beyond and followed all of the rules of the famed Neiman Marcus popover recipe – that is all except one. I was supposed to use eggs that were at room temperature. But I forgot to leave them out earlier in the day so I had to pull my eggs straight out of the refrigerator. That, my friends, turned out to be a fatal mistake. The popovers rose above their rims, but they didn’t get expansive little “hats.” As I suspected, when I bit into one of the golden brown darlings, the sweet, doughy taste was there but the inside was dense, giving not a hint of the light airiness created by all the tiny pockets of air that are supposed to inflate the inside of a proper popover specimen.

Tonight I am ready to go. My eggs have been sitting out all day and my popover pan is ready for BUSINESS! First, I heat up my milk in the microwave for a couple of minutes to get it warm to the touch. Then I crack the room temperature eggs in the bowl of my blender and beat them on low to a pale yellow, frothy consistency. I pour in the warm milk, and slowly add the sifted flour, salt and baking powder mixture. All I can say, if it doesn’t work out now, it’s never happening. But, I am thinking POSITIVE thoughts.

Just how did popovers come about? Well, I looked it up on Wikipedia while letting my batter rest for the designated hour. Food historians generally agree that popovers are of American origin, albeit derived from Yorkshire pudding and similar batter puddings made in England since the 17th century.

According to Wikipedia, the first cookbook to print a recipe for popovers was M. N. Henderson’s Practical Cooking, 1876. In American Food (1974), author Evan Jones wrote: "Settlers from Maine, who founded Portland, OR, Americanized the pudding from Yorkshire by cooking the batter in custard cups lubricated with drippings from the roasting beef (or sometimes pork).” Reversing history, American poet Ogden Nash gave this account below:

Let's call Yorkshire pudding

A fortunate blunder: 

It's a sort of popover 

That turned and popped under.

OK enough of this lollygagging, time to get to work! The oven's registering in at a piping hot 450 degrees, I've preheated the popover pan for 10 minutes (special shout out to my friend Doreen G., who makes excellent popovers and gave me this tip), and NOW “The Eagle has landed!” – the batter is poured and the popovers are in. I'm using the lower oven rack so that the tops will be popping in the exact center of the over. It’s time to lay back and see what happens.

While I’m watching my popovers miraculously start to rise (10 minutes in), I'm thinking about why I love them so much. In addition to the obvious fact that they are friggin delicious, here’s the sappy back story: whenever my parents flew in from Cleveland to visit me in New York, my Dad always asked me to take them to Neiman Marcus in White Pains. Why? Not for the shopping, but for the famed popovers they serve at the Zodiac Restaurant on the third floor. Now that my Dad’s been gone for three years, I feel like the popover holds some type of hallowed connection between us. I need to perfect this recipe for my father; he would have absolutely flipped if I had served him a homemade version.

Fifteen minutes in and the popovers are rising spectacularly, with towering golden-brown hats growing high above the rim of the muffin tin. I am smelling VICTORY as I turn down the temperature to 375 degrees. Minutes tick away like hours and it’s finally time to take these little suckers out of the oven. They certainly look good, but who knows what’s inside?

S-U-C-C-E-S-S!!! I tear open a popover and bask in the escaping steam. I am greeted by billowy, creamy yellow clouds of ethereal pastry interspersed with pockets of air. So warm, so chewy, so yummy!

Can it get any better? There is only one way to improve upon this recipe and that is to serve it with strawberry butter, made from whipping together non-salted butter with strawberry preserves. Spread it thick and let it melt into all the tiny crevices of the popover.

That's it for now. ONE SMALL STEP FOR MAN, ONE GIANT LEAP FOR THE INSPIRED CHEF. Good night and God bless!

POPOVERS

For the popovers :

3 1/2 cups milk 

4 cups all-purpose flour 

1 1/2 teaspoons salt 

1 teaspoon baking powder 

6 large eggs, at room temperature

For the strawberry butter:

1 1/2 cups butter, at room temperature 

1 cup good-quality strawberry preserves

Popover directions:

1. Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).

2. Place the milk in a bowl and microwave on high for 2 minutes, or until warm to the touch. Sift the flour, salt, and baking powder together in a large mixing bowl.

3. Crack the eggs into the work bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whisk and beat on medium speed for about 3 minutes, until foamy and pale in color. Turn down the mixer to low and add the warm milk. Gradually add the flour mixture and beat on medium speed for about 2 minutes. Turn the machine off and let the batter rest for 1 hour at room temperature.

4. Spray a popover tin generously with nonstick spray. Fill the popover cups almost to the top with the batter and place the popover tin on a cookie sheet. Transfer to the oven and bake for 15 minutes. Turn down the oven temperature to 375°F and bake for 30 to 35 minutes longer, until the popovers are a deep golden brown on the outside and airy on the inside.

5. Turn out the popovers and serve hot with strawberry butter.

Strawberry butter directions: 

1. Place the butter in the work bowl of an electric mixer and beat on high until light and fluffy. Add the preserves and beat until well combined.

2. To serve, spoon or pipe the flavored butter into 2-tablespoon ramekins or onto side plates
.

CURRIED CAULIFLOWER AND CHICKPEAS

2010-11-16T04:55:00.000-08:00

You’re not going to believe where the origins of this vegetarian Indian dish came from, but here it goes …

I was hiking this past summer in the Shawangunk Mountains with three friends. As we pulled into the New Paltz hotel where we were staying, we caught a glimpse of a German restaurant across the street. “I highly doubt we’ll be eating there,” I said, and we all chuckled.

But that was before an extremely strenuous day of rock scrambling and mountain biking. Sweaty and exhausted, we straggled back to the hotel around 5 p.m., and the last thing we wanted was to have to dress up and drive to a trendy restaurant (none of which were nearby anyway). Needless to say, the neon sign at the Mountain Brauhaus beckoned.
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Walking through the front door, I expected to be greeted (Willkommen!) by waitresses in full Biergarten attire – short dirndl skirts, corseted vests and peasant blouses – but instead they were dressed more like extras on the set of “Little House on the Prairie.” (Think Melissa Gilbert or those mid-calf length, floral Laura Ashley dresses that were so popular in the ’80s, or, if you’re too young for that, then the granny outfits those Mormon polygamist women wear on the HBO series “Big Love.”)

Vintage Laura Ashley

HBO's "Big Love"

Also, while we were expecting the standard German fare of schnitzel, spaetzle and sauerbraten, not to mention knackwurst and bratwurst, what we weren’t prepared for was the large selectionof vegetarian dishes, including the roasted chickpeas and cauliflower platter that we ended up choosing.

Out of everything we picked out, the chickpea/cauliflower dish turned out to be amazing, and we devoured every last bite. The vegetables had just the right crunch, not mushy at all, and they were spiked with the most fragrant curry.

I vowed to go home and figure out how to make the dish myself. Hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to replicate it exactly, but I have made a similar one that I think is topnotch. I ended up combining several recipes – one that I found inside the Ottolenghi cookbook at the farm-to-table store next to my office, one from chef Tyler Florence on the Food Network website, and another from an Indian food cooking blog (in fact, my final recipe reminds me of the chana masala I’ve eaten at several Indian restaurants). I’ve prepared my version about five times now, so I’ve been able to refine it and see what’s worth doing the extra work for and what you can skip.

To begin with, you can decide if you want to use olive oil or ghee. You’re probably saying, what the H-E-double hockey sticks is ghee? Well, I’ll tell you. According to WhatsCookingAmerica.net, ghee is used in traditional Indian cooking and is “clarified butter that has been cooked longer to remove all the moisture, and the milk solids are browned (caramelized) in the fat and then strained out.” What’s nice about using ghee is that it has a wonderfully rich aroma, like the smell you may remember as a kid when you were served lobster with drawn butter for the first time. Also, ghee is great for sautéing because it doesn't burn as easily as ordinary butter.

I made my ghee in a sauté pan, bringing unsalted butter to a boil and then simmering it for 45 minutes. Afterward, I strained it through a sieve lined with several layers of cheesecloth. It was cool, because you could actually see the browned milk solids caught in the cloth, with all the clear yellow “pure” butter strained through.

That said, you might not feel like making ghee, and I’d totally understand. In that case, I would suggest substituting olive oil. I did this and it was perfectly fine for sautéing all the vegetables and beans in this dish. In fact, I asked Bob if he noticed the difference with the extra energy I had spent making the ghee, and the answer was a resounding “no.” So you might decide to make the ghee for the mere novelty of it, and then you can tell all your friends and acquaintances (perhaps in a blog!).

The next step is to grab a heavy saucepan and sauté a cut-up onion in the ghee or olive oil, spicing it up a bit with a little ground cumin and coriander. Another side note here: I took an old pepper grinder and filled it up with coriander seeds. That way, whenever a recipe calls for ground coriander, I get it über fresh and flavorful. The other option is to add whole coriander and cumin seeds, but that option turned out to be a little too piquant for me, and I didn’t like biting into the coriander one bit!

Once the onion softened, I added some fresh chopped tomatoes. Again, if you don’t feel like doing this, take a short cut and put in some canned Roma tomatoes in their sauce; a big 28-oz. can is good. I’ve done it both ways, and either is fine. Once the tomatoes start breaking down, you can add cauliflower, chickpeas, a bit of tomato paste (I like this because it thickens your gravy), and some water.

One more option: many of the recipes I researched suggested making your own curry, which can be accomplished by combining a variety of spices, including but not limited to: coriander seeds, cumin seeds, fennel seeds, cloves, mustard seeds, cardamom seeds, whole black peppercorns, dried red chilies and turmeric. You toast them and then grind them up into a fine powder. Did I do this? God, no! I have a perfectly suitable container of Madras Curry Powder that has most if not of all of these ingredients. So, that’s what I used. If you want to do it from scratch, be my guest (and please give me some!). I also added some Hot Madras Curry Powder, which, upon review of the label, is only different in that it has red pepper added to it.

This cooks up into a beautiful stew inside a covered saucepan in about 15 to 20 minutes. In the last 5 minutes, I add a giant handful of fresh spinach, but you can also use a bunch of Swiss chard, torn up with the stems removed. I’ve done both and they taste exactly the same.

Soon, your entire kitchen will smell like an Indian restaurant (aka curry), which I think is a good thing. In taste-testing, you should be greeted by cauliflower and chick peas that are “al dente,” a hearty reddish-brown gravy (if too watery, add more tomato paste and also turn up the heat to reduce; if too thick, add some water), a slightly sweet taste imparted by the sautéed onions, and a fiery kick added by the curry powder (if too spicy, add more tomatoes and sauce; if not spicy enough, throw in some more curry!).

I garnish this with fresh cilantro and serve over brown rice, but please note that I do not wear a dirndl. Again, you may do as you choose.

CURRIED CAULIFLOWER AND CHICKPEAS

Ingredients
1/4 cup ghee, recipe follows OR 2-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 yellow onion, finely chopped
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 tablespoons curry powder (I like Madras Curry Powder), optional recipe follows
1/2 teaspoon Hot Madras Curry Powder
1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and julienned
2 vine-ripened tomatoes, chopped OR 28-oz. can plum tomatoes
1 head cauliflower, cut into florets
2 cups canned chickpeas, drained and rinsed
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 bunch Swiss chard, stems removed, torn into medium-sized piece OR 1/2 package baby spinach leaves
2 tablespoons cilantro, chopped

Directions
Heat the ghee in a deep skillet or pot over medium flame. Add the onion, coriander, cumin and ginger; cook and stir for a few minutes to soften the onion.

Add the chopped fresh (or canned) tomatoes and cook, stirring, until the tomatoes break down and soften, about six minutes.

Mix in the cauliflower, chickpeas, tomato paste, curry, and one cup of water; stir everything together. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until the cauliflower is tender, 15 to 20 minutes.

Add the spinach or Swiss chard in the last five minutes.

Uncover, and continue cooking until the excess moisture has evaporated and the cauliflower and chickpeas are coated with a thick gravy. Season with salt and garnish with cilantro before serving.

Ghee:
1 pound unsalted butter
Cheesecloth

Put the butter in a heavy saucepan over moderate heat, and swirl the pot around to ensure that it melts slowly and does not sizzle or brown. Increase the heat and bring the butter to a boil. When the surface is covered with foam, stir gently and reduce the heat to the lowest possible setting. Gently simmer, uncovered and undisturbed for 45 minutes, until the milk solids in the bottom of the pan have turned golden brown and the butter on top is transparent. Strain the ghee through a sieve lined with several layers of cheesecloth. The ghee should be perfectly clear and smell nutty; pour into a glass jar and seal tightly.
Yield: 1 1/2 cups

Curry Powder:
2 tablespoons coriander seeds
1 tablespoon cumin seeds
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
1/2 teaspoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds
1 tablespoon cardamom seeds
1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns
2 dried red chilies, broken in pieces, seeds discarded
1 tablespoon turmeric

Toast the whole spices (coriander, cumin, fennel, cloves, mustard, cardamom and peppercorns) and the chilies in a small dry skillet over medium-low heat, shaking the pan often to prevent them from burning. Toast for a couple of minutes until the spices smell fragrant. In a clean coffee grinder, grind the toasted spices together to a fine powder. Add the turmeric and give it another quick buzz to combine. Use the spice blend immediately, or store in a sealed jar for as long as one month.

Yield: about 1/2 cup

10 Things I Didn't Do This Summer, Plus a Recipe for Mediterranean Dip

2010-08-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

As I drink my morning coffee and stare out at the waves crashing on the sandy shore outside our rental home on Long Beach Island, it dawns on me that August is more than halfway over. In tribute to the encroaching Labor Day Weekend, I’ve compiled my list of “Top 10 Things I Didn’t Do This Summer.” They are as follows:

1) Fix my dishwasher, even though it leaks every time I run it and there’s a 50-50 chance the detergent door latch won’t open during the cleaning cycle, leaving food remains caked on my cups and plates like pieces of errant confetti.

2) Get a new foyer chandelier to replace my 1980s tribute to glass and glitz hanging from a Houdini-like metal-link chain.

3) Make appointments for my kids’ physicals. Hey, what can I say? The doctor’s phone was busy when I called in May and then I forgot about it for three months.

4) Take advantage of New York City’s museums. I’ve been planning to go to the Metropolitan Museum to see “Big Bambú” on its rooftop. But apparently I have until Halloween to climb this cresting wave of bamboo, so all is not lost. FYI, I also missed the exhibition with naked people (Marina Abramovic) at the Museum of Modern Art as well.

5) Get up at 6 am and read The New York Times. I have punched that snooze alarm so often it should be black and blue! Alas, I must resort to the insipid WPIX 10 o’clock news and random snatches of 1010 WINS radio.

6) Make the bed on a scheduled, daily basis instead of running upstairs like a wild woman to tuck in the sheets the second I hear Bob’s car pull into the garage at night.

7) Chop up fruits and vegetables so they are available in the refrigerator for healthy snacking. But really, why do so when kettle corn and Twizzlers await in the snack drawer?

8) Watch “The Real House Wives of New Jersey.” Everyone I talk to is addicted to this show, but ever since we got FIOS earlier this year, I can’t even figure out what station Bravo is on.

9) Buy a cover up to bring on vacation to Long Beach Island, which is why I am currently on the deck wearing Bob’s ratty t-shirt over my bathing suit.

10) Write a new blog –

But wait!! Forget that last one as you can see by the date of this blog that it’s still August!

Here is what I did do this summer -- make a delicious Mediterranean-style dip, (a healthier, lower-fat version of the popular Mexican layer dip) which I am now going to share with you. I got the bones of this recipe from my friend Randi S., who’s been on a number of my tennis teams. (FYI, playing tennis all summer long during any free time in the day or night may have contributed to my unfulfilled “Top 10 To Do List.”)

Here’s how you make the dip: First, spread a 1/2-inch layer of hummus (buy it in the store or visit my blog on homemade hummus) on the bottom of a glass or porcelain pie dish (I usually make 1 1/2 times the recipe so I used a glass casserole dish that measures 8 x 12 x 2 inches. Then mince some red onion and cucumber and stir into a container of plain yogurt, creating a refreshingly tasty tzatziki-style mixture. Spread the yogurt in a thin layer over the hummus.

The next step is to tear up some spinach leaves and sprinkle them over the dip, followed by roughly chopped red onion, cucumber and tomatoes (quartered cherry tomatoes or diced larger ones). For a final touch, scatter Feta cheese on top. I am not a big fan of olives, but you could also add these here as well. All that’s left to do is pick up some pita chips and dig in!

I brought this dip to an end-of-season tennis team dinner and it was totally devoured. My friend Robin D. gave it the biggest compliment by saying, “It tastes like Greece,” and there were many requests for the recipe. In response, I am now posting it in the blogosphere to share with all my tennis teammates and the world. Phew, now I can cross that off my “To Do” list!

Mediterranean Dip

1 7-oz. container hummus (buy in store or check out the homemade recipe on my blog)
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup fresh spinach, torn into pieces
1/2 cup cucumber, chopped, plus 1 tablespoons minced
1/2 cup red onion, chopped, plus 1 tablespoons minced
1/2 cup tomatoes, chopped
1 4 oz. container crumbled feta cheese
1/2 cup olives, optional

Spread hummus on bottom of a 9-inch-round pie pan. Mince red onion and cucumber and stir into plain yogurt, then spread mixture in a thin layer over the hummus.

Sprinkle torn spinach leaves over the hummus, and then add the chopped cucumber, red onion and tomato. Top with crumbled feta cheese (and olives if you choose).

Serve with pita chips.

Delightful Whole Grains

2010-05-25T17:13:00.000-07:00

The other day Jamie B. told me, “You’re husband is delightful.”

Now, I should have been happy. But I was actually, a little – oh, I don’t know – annoyed … dare I say jealous? I soon forgot about it, but then Bruce C. came up to me a week later and said, “I gotta tell you, Bob is so easygoing and even-tempered. It’s really a pleasure to be with him on the golf course.”

OK, now I’d had enough. When I saw my husband that night, I told him, “It appears you have quite a fan club. I am worried that you have become more ‘delightful’ than me. And by the way, can you please trim your nose hairs?”

“Now see, Laura, that is exactly why you are not as delightful as I am,” he said.

I needed to get confirmation on this, so I asked my friend Jutta which one of us she thought was more ‘delightful.’ Unfortunately, I didn’t get the answer I wanted. “Well, Bob really doesn’t have a bad word to say about anybody, but you’ve got that little sliver,” she said, pinching her thumb and pointer finger together. “That little sliver of what?” I asked, but she just said, “You know, what I mean.”

Well, let me let you in on a little secret: Bob is not always so pleasant. I swear that he really does have occasion to let unkind remarks slip from his mouth. In fact, lately he has been letting them fly as I’ve been on a mission to experiment in the kitchen with all things related to my new love of whole grains — specifically bulgur, quinoa and wheat berry. Yes indeed, his comments have not been ‘delightful’ in the least. Yet as I perfect my recipes, his words have grown less harsh, with even a little praise and encouragement thrown in.

My first foray into whole grains started with bulgur, a cereal food that Wikipedia says is “made from several different wheat species, but most often from durum wheat.” Boasting a light, nutty flavor, bulgur is well-known as the main ingredient in tabbouleh , and is a common part of Assyrian, Kurdish, Turkish, Middle Eastern, Indian and Mediterranean dishes. Sunnylandmills.com says, “…biblical references indicate it was prepared by ancient Babylonians, Hittites and Hebrew populations some 4,000 years ago.” Sold parboiled, dried and partially de-branned, the web site claims “bulgur is more nutritious than white rice and couscous, because it contains more fiber, protein, vitamins and minerals and has a lower glycemic index."

I decided to make a slow cooker bulgur chili, figuring that if I filled up the meal with bulgur and lots of veggies, I could insert all the protein we needed without having to rely on beef or chicken. I began by adding boiling water to a couple cups of the tan-colored, rice-sized bulgur grains and letting them stand for 30 minutes. While that was going on, I sautéed some chopped green pepper and yellow onion along with a minced jalapeño until the mixture was tender.

The next step was to add the drained and squeezed-dry bulgur into the slow cooker, along with the sautéed vegetables, plus some kidney beans, corn, crushed tomatoes and tomato sauce. For some added heat and flavor, I threw in chili powder, garlic, cumin and cayenne pepper and the dish was all set to slow cook for eight hours.

Now, if you can believe it, the recipe said this was only 135 calories per serving, which I find a little bit suspect. Maybe that’s because I like to pour mounds of shredded cheddar cheese and a big dollop of sour cream on top of my version, LOL! By the way, Bob was not delightful about the lack of meat in his chili, but calmed down once he tried the dish, and actually really liked it!

Next on the list was quinoa, pronounced keen-wa. According to quinoa.net, it is a “grain that comes from the Andes Mountains of South America.” However, further research on my part uncovered the fact that quinoa is actually a “psuedograin.” Ken Jones, author of The Quinoa Cookbook, says on his website, quinoatips.com, that it is the “seed of the goosefoot plant, a relative of spinach.”

Unlike wheat or rice (which are low in lysine), quinoa contains a balanced set of essential amino acids for humans, making it an unusually complete protein source among plant foods. It’s also a good source of dietary fiber and phosphorus and is high in magnesium and iron. (Plus, it’s gluten-free.)

I’d had quinoa salads at other people’s homes but was never thrilled by it. Looking back, I think this dissatisfaction arose for two main reasons: one, it was served as leftovers so it didn’t taste that fresh; and, two, there were ingredients that get soggy quickly, like tomato and avocado. I decided my version should have more of a chewy/crunchy texture and a fresher taste, plus an attractive color palette. It took me a while to get my A list together, but here it is in annotated form:

Red pepper – colorful, crunchy and tasty with a bit of a bite
Toasted slivered almonds – nutty and crunchy, slightly salty
Red apple – crisp and slightly sweet, very fresh tasting
Cucumber – the same
Carrots – the same, plus very colorful!
Craisins – eye-catching dark red color and very sweet
Scallions – nice bite, but not as sharp as red onion, which I found way too strong for this dish
Parsley – added a nice green color and fresh garden taste
Other options: toasted pine nuts, edamame beans

To make this salad, I put the quinoa in a pan with some water, brought it to a boil and then let it simmer for a while. You know that the quinoa’s done when you can see the slightly green germ ring along the outside edge of the cream-colored grain. (You can also get red quinoa.)

Now of course, it still needed some dressing, so I mixed up some apple cider vinegar, EVOO (extra virgin olive oil for those of you who don’t watch Rachael Ray), salt and ground pepper. The truth: I loved this and Bob did not. He insisted he is not a quinoa fan, but I didn’t want to give up so I searched for another recipe.

The one I finally found was a Mexican-style quinoa salad, involving black beans, corn, green bell peppers, jalapenos and cilantro. The dressing was a little different from my first salad, having a little south-of-the-border twist with fresh lime juice (instead of apple cider vinegar) and cumin thrown in. Bob was a little happier with this one and ate it as a side dish with fajitas, although he wouldn’t agree to have it as leftovers the following night, as I was more than happy to do.

Now, I must say Bob was most pleasant when it came to my third whole grain – wheat berries. According to Wikipedia, the term wheat berry refers to “the entire wheat kernel (except for the hull), comprising the bran, germ, and endosperm.” The site also noted that wheat berries are an excellent source of dietary fiber.

I’d always loved wheat berry salad when I’d eaten it at the café in my gym, but I’d never made it because it required too much chopping. Now, I’ll be honest, it still does, but I feel more up to the task these days for some reason. Wheat berries need to be rinsed, drained and then boiled, puffing up in the process and acquiring a nice chewy consistency. It takes about an hour to an hour-and-a-half to cook the wheat berries. During that time, feel free to dice up your other ingredients: red apple, celery, parsley, cranberries, currants and green onion. I mistakenly decided I could also run a few errands, heading out to the grocery store and the drycleaner, only to come back and find my wheat berries burned to a crisp.

The dressing is a mixture of fresh orange juice, grated orange zest, olive oil and seasoned rice vinegar (note: make sure your bottle says seasoned or you will not be happy). This healthy salad has a nice blend of sweet and citric with a little bite from the green onion, plus it looks beautiful with the tan wheat berries resting against its red, green and orange companions.

I served the wheat berry salad with some broiled salmon last night and thought the two went ‘berry’ well together. When I asked Bob what he thought, he said, “Delightful!”

Bob eating Wheat Berry Salad

Slow Cooker Bulgur Chili
Adapted from: http://recipes.sparkpeople.com

1 cup bulgur
2 cups boiling water

3/4 cup chopped green peppers
1 yellow onion, chopped
1/2 jalapeno pepper, minced
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 can kidney beans
1 can chickpeas
1 cup corn
1 29-ounce can crushed tomatoes, undrained
1 cup tomato sauce
1 cup water
2 tablespoons chili powder
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper (add more according to taste)

Place bulgur in a bowl and add boiling water. Stir, cover and let stand for half an hour. Drain and squeeze dry.

Sauté green pepper, onion and jalapeno in the olive oil until tender. Add to the slow cooker with the bulgur and other ingredients. Cook on high for one hour and then turn down to low for four or more hours.

Serves 6-8

Quinoa Salad

1 cup quinoa
2 cups water
1/2 cup red pepper, chopped
1 red apple, chopped
1 cucumber, chopped
1/2 cup carrots, chopped (or buy them shredded)
1/4 cup dried cranberries
4 scallions, chopped
1/4 cup parsley, chopped
1/4 cup sliced almonds, toasted

Dressing:
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper

Cook quinoa according to package directions. Add the red pepper, toasted almonds, apple, cucumber, carrots, scallions, dried cranberries, and parsley. Whisk the apple cider vinegar with extra virgin olive oil and add salt and pepper to taste, then pour on top and mix all ingredients with a large spoon.

Serves 4

Quinoa and Black Bean Salad
Gourmet Magazine, July 1994

1 1/2 cups quinoa
1 1/2 cups cooked black beans, rinsed if canned
1 1/2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 1/2 cups cooked corn (about two large ears)
3/4 cup finely chopped green bell pepper
2 pickled jalapeno chilies (I used only one jalapeño chili)
1/4 cup chopped cilantro

Dressing:
5 tablespoons fresh lime juice (I used three, start there and add to taste)
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 teaspoons ground cumin
1/3 cup olive oil

After cooking, transfer quinoa to a large bowl and cool. Add beans, corn, bell pepper, jalapeno, and cilantro; toss well.

For the dressing: whisk together lime juice, salt, cumin and oil. Drizzle dressing over salad and toss well; add salt and pepper to taste.

Salad may be made one day ahead and chilled, covered. Bring salad to room temperature before serving.

Wheat Berry Waldorf Salad
Adapted from Gourmet, October 1995

1 cup wheat berries
2 tablespoons chopped walnuts or pine nuts, toasted
1 red apple, peeled, cored and diced
1 celery rib, sliced thin and diced small
2/3 cup packed fresh mint or parsley, chopped
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup currants
4 green onions, chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup seasoned rice vinegar
3 tablespoons fresh orange juice
3/4 teaspoon freshly grated orange zest

After cooking, transfer wheat berries to a bowl and cool to room temperature. Whisk together the extra virgin olive oil, seasoned rice vinegar, orange juice and orange zest and pour over all remaining ingredients. Season with salt and pepper.

Serves 3-4

Turkey and Tomatillo Chili

2010-03-22T17:03:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched in dismay as your child (or spouse) picked out every single mushroom and bean sprout from the chicken stir fry you made or removed each strand of spinach from a pasta dish you served? If you’re starting to give up on getting your family to ingest anything that might be remotely good for them, then I really need to introduce you to the Sneaky Chef. Her name is Missy Chase Lapine and she’s written several books on hiding healthy foods in her family’s favorite meals.

Even before I went to an event where I heard the crafty cookbook author speak a couple of years ago, I had been sneaking healthy ingredients into my cooking and baking on a sporadic basis. For over a decade, I’ve added wheat germ and rolled oats to my chocolate chip cookies, and my boys love them. I’ve also successfully hidden tofu, bananas and rice milk along with some more obvious mixed berries in fruit smoothies, and blended Swiss chard into my soup stock with no one blinking an eyelash.

The Sneaky Chef is a little more brazen than I am though (I’m only the Inspired Chef!). If you go on her web site, you’ll see recipes like “Power Pizza,” which incorporates pureed sweet potato and carrots into its tomato sauce. I tasted that at the book reading and it was pretty darn good. More audacious is the recipe for “Brainy Brownies.” It’s got pureed raw baby spinach and frozen blueberries (yes, really!) in its “batter.” I’ve got to say, that one was a bit suspect and I couldn’t imagine pulling it off with my family (especially since I spat my sample out into a cup after one bite).

I forgot about the Sneaky Chef for a while, but she came back to me last week, channeled through my friend Vicky. I was complaining that whenever I made chili for dinner I had to prepare two versions of the meal, because Spencer (and Sam, when he’s home from college) won’t eat the kidney beans. Vicky said, “When I want my son Josh to eat lima beans, I puree them and add them to whatever I’m cooking.”

“Ahhh, that reminds me of the Sneaky Chef,” I said. “I should try that.”

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And, so I did. Yesterday I decided to make “Turkey and Tomatillo Chili,” which I based on a recipe I had torn out of the November/December 2009 issue of Clean Eating magazine. To begin with, there are the tomatillos, a relative of the tomato and provider of the tart taste that you find in a host of Mexican green sauces. Following the magazine’s recipe, I pureed these small green spheres, along with some chopped jalapenos and garlic, in a blender until smooth. (The original recipe called for chipotle peppers – smoked jalapenos - but I’ve had several bad experiences with those hot little numbers). Then I combined the mixture with browned ground turkey, sautéed onions, chicken broth, cumin, oregano and a bay leaf, and put them all in a slow cooker for four hours.

Later that day, I turned my attention to the white kidney beans that I needed to finish up the chili. Even though the recipe called for whole beans, I decided to try to fly them under my son’s radar by putting the beans in my blender, along with a big bunch of roughly chopped cilantro. When the mixture was nice and smooth I added it to the cooked chili. There was only one problem – while I didn’t have kidney beans poking out of the pot, what I did have was a ghoulish looking meal: as a result of the cilantro and tomatillos, what should have been a nice brownish-red chili now had a bright green sheen.

What to do? That is where my spices came to the rescue. While the original recipe called for mustard-brown cumin, I also added a teaspoon of pimenton, which is a Hispanic smoked paprika, bright red in color (you can also use Hungarian paprika in a pinch) and a healthy dose of rich red-brown chili powder. I must say I was extremely satisfied and relieved with the results. The original color, as well as the kidney beans, seemed to be well hidden by my earthy palette of spices. For some extra distraction I threw in a can of the called-for corn kernels and the chili was ready to go.

Pimenton

Now for the real test. Would Mikey, errr, I mean Spencer eat it? (You do remember that Life cereal commercial, don’t you?). I sat at the kitchen table waiting for him to take a bite and tried to act nonchalant. I noticed as he picked up his fork and took a bite. He didn’t seem disturbed. Would he continue eating the chili, or would my attempt at being sly be exposed? Spencer kept eating and finished his meal without a hitch. I felt triumphant, as if I had somehow accomplished something (exactly what, I don’t know). Bob, who came home a couple hours later, also ate the chili with no complaints, and in fact, complimented the meal.

Hmmm, maybe I should reconsider those “Brainy Brownies.”

Turkey and Tomatillo Chili
1 small jalapeno chili, ribbed, seeded and roughly chopped
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 pound lean ground turkey
1/2 cup onion, diced
2 garlic cloves
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon oregano
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/2 cup cilantro leaves, roughly chopped
1 14-oz. can low sodium white kidney beans, rinsed and drained
3/4 cup fresh or frozen corn kernels
Sea salt and ground black pepper to taste
1/2 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon pimenton (or smoked paprika)
1 teaspoon oregano
Shredded cheddar cheese
Sour cream

Heat oil in a nonstick pan. Add turkey and onion and cook, stirring with a wooden spoon until meat is browned. Drain and discard fat, then transfer turkey mixture to a slow cooker.

Blend garlic, jalapeno chili and 1/4 cup water in a blender until finely chopped. Add tomatillos and 1/4 cup more water and blend until smooth. Pour into slow cooker; add bay leaf, cumin, oregano and chicken broth and stir until thoroughly combined. Cook in slow cooker on low heat for four hours.

Fifteen minutes before serving, place cilantro, white kidney beans, and 1/2 cup cold water in blender and puree. Stir into chili mixture. Add corn, pimenton/smoked paprika, and chili powder, then season with salt and pepper. Cook for another 15 minutes in slower cooker on low heat. Garnish with shredded cheese and/or sour cream.

Serves 3.

Persimmons

2010-01-27T15:07:00.000-08:00

Maybe it’s the cold weather, but more likely it’s because I went back to work part-time and am always trying to squeeze more into a day than I can handle. Whatever the case, I am tired all the time. Naps are de rigueur every weekend, and whenever else I can fit them in. Last Tuesday, as I was putting on my exercise clothes for an early morning workout, I decided to lie down on my bed. “I’ll just close my eyes for five minutes,” I said to myself. I woke up at 11:30, three-and-a-half hours later and, coincidently, the same time that I was supposed to be meeting my friend Mary in town for an early lunch.

Somehow I managed to get dressed and make it into town in about 10 minutes, a feat I haven’t accomplished since oversleeping for class back in my college days. I was still in a groggy state, even after lunch, but nevertheless I needed to do some grocery shopping, this being my day off. Sluggishly I pushed my cart up and down the produce aisle and tried to remember what was on my grocery list, which I had, of course, left at home. Cucumber, check; red pepper, check; carrots, apples, lemons, all present and accounted for. Then, as I sleepily passed a carton of persimmons, their bright orange color caught the corner of my eye and triggered the “on” switch somewhere in my mind. Hadn’t I always wondered what you could make with those strange fruits? The Inspired Chef was now fully awake.
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I turned my cart around and returned to the pile of persimmons. I picked one up and examined it. Turning the fruit around in the palm of my hand, I thought it looked like a large tomato – it was round and kind of squishy, but orange instead of red and with a slightly pointy bottom. I wasn’t sure how to choose the best ones, but, returning to the tomato, I though they shouldn’t be too hard or too soft, but rather have a slightly springy feel; when gently squeezed, they should rebound quickly to their original shape. I picked out four persimmons to be sure I would have enough for any recipe I might find later.

After I got home from the supermarket, I went upstairs to my home office and did a little persimmon research on the computer. I discovered that this delicate oriental fruit is native to China. It spread to Japan long ago and was introduced to California in the middle of nineteenth century. While some bloggers said they thought the persimmon tasted like an apricot, others said it reminded them of a plum. On Sarah Jios’s “Vitamin G” blog at glamour.com she said the taste was “a cross between an apple and a papaya,” which, after I tasted the fruit myself, I think is the best description. Apparently, the Fuyu variety is much sweeter than the Hachiya strand and can be eaten raw like an apple. The Hachiya must get very ripe before consuming, otherwise it can be overwhelmingly astringent. As far as nutrition, persimmons are an excellent source of fiber and high in vitamins A and C.

Searching the Internet, I found a couple of persimmon recipes that I wanted to try, one being a salad with persimmons and prosciutto, and another, a persimmon smoothie. My friend Julie gave me her aunt’s favorite holiday persimmon pudding recipe, but since it called for the trifecta of my least favorite things to put into a dessert – raisins, dates and chopped nuts – I opted to pass on that one. (Although Julie said it's delicious so I'm including it at the end of the blog.)

My first foray into the world of persimmons was the salad. While I had Hachiya persimmons instead of the requested Fuyu variety, I decided they were ripe enough to make do. (You can also put them in the freezer for a day if you need instant ripening.)

That afternoon I went to the local Italian deli and picked up a quarter pound of prosciutto. Now, a side note here, if I may. I only like to get the imported prosciutto, often called Prosciutto di Parma, because that is the province in Italy where it comes from. According to Specialtyfood.com, “Prosciutto, the Italian word for ham, is a term broadly used when describing meats that have been seasoned, salt-cured and air dried.” The imported prosciutto, at least to my mind (and taste buds), is much less salty and has a very silky, almost sensuously soft feel on the tongue. At the store, they cut it into extremely thin slices, the brownish meat surrounded by striations of fat that glistened on the bright white, coated wrapping paper.

Also on the shopping list for this salad were unsalted pistachios, baby arugula and a pomegranate. At home, I had the extra-virgin olive oil (EVOO) and pomegranate vinegar needed for the dressing.

Back in my kitchen, I started by peeling and coring the ripe persimmon and then cutting thin strips of the pulpy orange flesh that reminded me of papaya. Then I set to work peeling the pomegranate and prying loose its seeds from their pulpy inner sanctum. Have you ever done this? If not, I’ll give you one important tip – don’t wear white anywhere near a pomegranate. I looked like a stabbing victim due to the ruby red stains splattered across my sweater, procured by inadvertently splitting open some of the pomegranate’s scarlet seeds. It was well worth it though, as the sweet yet slightly biting pomegranate seeds, along with the sugar-laden persimmons, contrasted perfectly with the salty prosciutto and toasted pistachio nuts. The last key ingredient was the baby arugula, its peppery taste adding yet another layer of flavor and complexity to the salad.

The EVOO and the pomegranate vinegar echoed the flavors already in the salad, and made it even more irresistible. Plus, it looked fabulous with the brownish-red prosciutto peeking out from underneath a pile of bright green baby arugula studded with the earth-colored toasted pistachios, orange persimmon slices, and deep red pomegranate seeds. Definitely a keeper, I decided, and perfect for company.

My next experiment was a persimmon smoothie. For this go around, I was looking for a balance of sweet and tangy. I also wanted to keep it healthy, minimizing the amount of sugar and fat as well as using all natural ingredients. I found several interesting recipes online and made my own alterations to them to get the results I was looking for. On the sweet side, I had the persimmons, low-fat vanilla yogurt, honey and cinnamon. On the tart team was orange juice and powdered ginger.

The way to go with this smoothie is to start by pureeing the peeled and cored persimmon in a blender until it’s a thick, smooth consistency. I had to push some pieces of persimmon back into the well of the blender with the tip of my spatula several times in order to puree the fruit in its entirety. Once this was accomplished, I added the rest of the ingredients and blended them all together.

Bob and I had the smoothie for breakfast the next day, and we both agreed it was refreshing.

“What do you think it tastes like?” I asked Bob.

“Hmmm, let me think,” he said. “Maybe pear… papaya… I’m really not sure.”

This echoed my previous online research, making me conclude that the persimmon really does have its own unique taste, one that I definitely like and will now add to my repertoire. Hopefully, you, too, will go out and try this little known and underappreciated fruit.

By the way, that night we were watching television in the family room and Bob asked me if I wanted him to bring me in some of the leftover smoothie for an evening snack. Only problem was, when he came back into the room, I was fast asleep on the couch. Zzzzzzzzz!

Prosciutto with Persimmon, Pomegranate, and Arugula
Bon Appetit, December 2006
Clark Frasier and Mark Gaier, Arrows Restaurant

16 thin slices prosciutto (about 8 ounces)
1/2 cup fresh pomegranate seeds
1 large Fuyu persimmon, peeled, pitted, cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices
4 ounces baby arugula
1/2 cup pistachios, toasted
Extra-virgin olive oil
Pomegranate vinegar

Preparation:
Arrange two prosciutto slices on each plate. Add persimmon slices around the prosciutto and mound arugula atop. Sprinkle with pomegranate seeds and pistachios. Drizzle with oil and pomegranate vinegar.

Serves 8

Persimmon Smoothie

1 ripe Hachiya persimmon
1 tablespoon honey
1 cup nonfat vanilla yogurt
1/4 teaspoon powdered ginger
Pinch cinnamon
1/3 cup orange juice

Remove stem and core from persimmon and puree in a blender or food processor. Add remaining ingredients and mix until smooth.

Persimmon Pudding
Kathy Gabler

1 cup persimmon pulp (1/2 pureed, 1/2 mashed), made from two large/three small persimmons
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs, unbeaten
1/2 teaspoon lemon extract
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon baking soda stirred into 1/2 cup milk
2-3 cups mix of chopped nuts, raisins and dates

Beat the persimmon pulp, sugar, salt, eggs, and lemon extract. Sift together flour, baking powder, and cinnamon. Add alternately with the milk/baking soda combination to the persimmon mixture and blend. Add the chopped nuts, raisins and dates.

Fill greased tins 2/3 full and cover with foil, simmer for three hours on top of stove in covered pan (fill pan with water so it comes 1/3 of way up cans). Historically, I use well-cleaned soup cans (four), liberally greased with Crisco and put them in pasta insert in a large pot. Now I have a mold hat takes the whole batch. Let cool awhile before unmolding they’re will be a better chance pudding will come out clean. Cut each in half and serve warm with lemon sauce. Serves 8.

Lemon Sauce

1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Dash salt
Dash nutmeg
One lemon
2 tablespoons butter

Mix together sugar, cornstarch, salt, and nutmeg. Add one cup boiling ater and stir over medium-low heat until thickened. Remove from and stir in lemon juice. Add grated lemon zest to taste and melted butter, stir.

Liar, Liar

2009-12-02T17:56:00.000-08:00

Last week I went to a play called "The Liar Show." It was genius! Here’s the premise: four actors get on stage, and they each tell a story. Three of them are telling the truth and one is lying. The audience gets to vote for the person they think is the liar, and the truth comes out at the end. An actress told how her fiancée proposed to her with 1,000 origami swans, an actor spoke about his wife giving birth in a baby pool, a former cop talked about a perp’s mom who wanted her son’s mug shot for the family photo album, and the last storyteller told about chaining himself to a tree in college to stop it from being chopped down (liar!).

Since I loved the play so much, I am going to post my own version of “The Liar Show” on my blog. I will tell you four stories related to my past cooking experiences. Three of them are totally true, one is a fabrication. After you read this, you can vote for which one you think is a lie.

Story #1: Before we got married, Bob had a studio on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Back in those days, I never cooked. We either went out for meals or ordered in everything, and I mean everything. This included breakfast on the frequent weekends that I stayed at Bob’s apartment. The first thing we’d do on those Saturday and Sunday mornings was call the neighborhood diner, Mr. Chips. I can still remember the intercom buzzing and the voice over the speaker announcing, “Delivery!” One of us would buzz the delivery man up, then shuffle to the door in our pajamas and slippers to relieve him of our order and bring our aluminum containers to the kitchen table. Opening the lids, the smell of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon wafted around the tiny space.

After about a year, Bob and I got married and moved into a larger apartment. Since Bob’s lease wasn’t up, he sublet the studio to a friend of a friend. A week after the guy moved in, he called Bob on the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the oven?” he asked.

“What about the oven?” Bob replied.

“You don’t know? I tried to use it last night and when the burner wouldn’t light, I stuck a match in to ignite the gas. A giant fireball shot out and burnt off my eyebrows and all the hair on my arms. I had to call the fire department.”

Bob told him he was really sorry but he’d never used the oven. The guy wasn’t buying it. “You’re kidding me. You never cooked there for an entire year?” he asked in disbelief. But it was true: Bob and I had never once turned on the oven in his studio.

Story #2: Last week, Bob and I went with the kids to Cleveland for Thanksgiving. I was very excited to be with my side of the family, plus it was the first Thanksgiving that I was going to be able to spend the entire day cooking with my brother, David. We decided that he would be in charge of the turkey, stuffing and green bean casserole. I ordered a ham, and was going to make mashed potatoes, roasted root vegetables and pumpkin pie when I got to Cleveland.

I sent David my grocery list via email and added, “I can pack a rutabaga and celery root in my suitcase if you want.”

“Don’t worry, we have those in Cleveland," he answered. He called me later to say that he couldn’t find pumpkin puree. “The lady at the grocery store said there was a pumpkin shortage this year due to the bad weather conditions.”

No pumpkin puree? This was going to be a problem. I told Bob that I would have to pack canned pumpkin in my suitcase.

“Laura, we’re only bringing carry-on luggage and you can’t bring liquids,” he said.

Pointing out that the canned pumpkin was not actually a liquid seemed to further aggravate him, as did the suggestion to check my bag (I thought the $20 fee for checked luggage was well worth it).

The next day, Bob checked the airline website to find out if I could bring canned goods on the plane with me. The answer was a definitive no.

“Then maybe I’ll just Fed Ex the cans to my brother,” I told him.

Either to shut me up or to prevent an embarrassing scene that might lead to my arrest at the airport, Bob decided to search online for a Whole Foods in Cleveland and located a sales clerk who promised to put two cans of pumpkin puree on hold for us. The first thing we did upon our arrival in Cleveland was to proceed to the store to pick up the cans. When we got there, the manager at the service desk had them waiting for us.

P.S. The pie turned out perfectly!

Story #3: (Note, those of you who are faithful followers of my blog might have a little inside information on this one.) While I have made my share of apple crisps, I had never tackled an apple pie with a homemade crust until several years ago. On a cold Saturday morning in early November, I came back from the Thompson's Cider Mill with 10 deep red, robust-looking Cortland apples, which sat in the refrigerator for a week while I gathered the courage to bake a pie from scratch.

To let you in on a secret, I actually had to make this crust to cover up a whopper of a lie that I’d told my friend Patti when we visited her family in Philadelphia earlier in the year. It all began when I said how much I love to make pumpkin pie, which is true. “You’ll have to tell me how you prepare your pie crust so it doesn’t fall apart,” Patti responded.

In reality I had “prepared” my crust by heading to the frozen foods section of the grocery store and buying a pre-baked shell. However, that’s not exactly what I told Patti. Not wanting to betray the fact that I wasn’t quite the domestic goddess she was, I mentioned something about making sure the pie crust was well-chilled because I knew that’s what I had done with my Pillsbury sugar cookie dough when I’d rolled it out.

“Do you fold the crust in quarters and then open it up in the pan?” Patti wanted to know. Fumbling for words, I told her it was hard to explain. To my horror, she then said, “Maybe we’ll have some time this weekend for you to show me how to do it.” Thank God we were too busy running around with the kids for that embarrassing fiasco to ever take place.

Anyway, it had been almost a year, and just in case we headed back to Philadelphia or Patti came to visit, I figured it was time to learn how to make a pie crust. The first one I attempted did tear and fall apart, just as I had feared. However, subsequent practice and the purchase of my favorite kitchen accoutrement, the “pie bag,” has cured my pie problems, and I can now proudly demonstrate my fail-proof pie crust methods to Patti, should she ever request a hands-on demonstration.

Story #4: At about this time last year I was starting to think about what holiday food gifts I wanted to make for my friends. Then, one morning when I was brushing my teeth, Bob shouted at me from the bedroom. “You should watch this,” he said. He was referring to a segment on the Today Show, where New York Times food writer Mark Bittman was showing Matt Lauer how to make spicy fried nuts. This was definitely something I was interested in.

Trying not to drool toothpaste onto the bedroom carpeting, I watched Bittman heat up some extra virgin olive oil in a pan and add a variety of nuts that he flavored with a little cumin, cayenne pepper and salt, as well as a generous sprinkling of sugar.

I decided that was going to be the holiday gift du jour and wound up whipping up enough spiced nuts to feed a small African nation. When I had my family over for our big holiday party, I put out a big bowl of my leftover nuts. They were scooped up instantaneously.

Around dinner time, Bob said he wasn’t feeling so well. “My throat feels like I swallowed a hairball,” he said. By dessert, he was in even more distress and was having trouble breathing. We were all trying to think what could be making Bob feel so sick.

“I don’t know what it could be. The only thing I’m allergic to is cashews, and I know you would never serve those,” Bob said.

Hmmm…, I thought to myself. Did I not think about cashews being part of my mixed nuts concoction? Did Bob not see them? And more importantly, do I need to call 911?

Bob and I ended up having to leave his family at the dinner table and rush to Phelps Hospital, where he was given an Epi-Pen to prevent his throat from closing up. Nuts!

OK, time to vote (scroll down to bottom). All the winners will now receive my recipe for Curried Carrot Soup (and so will the losers). Much thanks to the My Sister’s Place cookbook for this recipe.

CURRIED CARROT SOUP
“Recipes & Reflections from My Sisters’ Place”

1 medium onion, chopped
1/4 stick butter
1/4 cup olive oil
1 lb. bag carrots, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic
1 tsp. curry powder
1 tsp. cayenne sauce (or 1/4 tsp. cayenne chili powder)
1 qt. (32 ounces) chicken or vegetable stock

Sauté onion, garlic and carrots in butter and olive oil until onion and garlic are translucent. Do not allow them to burn. Add stock, curry powder and cayenne sauce (or powder). Bring to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes. Salt to taste, then process in a blender.

6 servings

12/10/09 Posting The answer is D. Killer Cashews

Vegetarian Chili with Bulgur

2009-10-30T14:42:00.000-07:00

I’m trying to get used to going back to work. I’ve always been working for the past 15 years, but it’s been from home and freelance, so basically I could wake up in the morning, down a cup of coffee, and then head to my guestroom in my pajamas to conduct the day’s business. Now, it’s a little different. For the past month, I’ve been driving to a public relations firm in Bedford Hills, where I work 20 hours a week. That’s 20 less hours to do a variety of things, which have fallen along the wayside. I know I shouldn’t expect a pity party for having to give up my Friday morning manicure or my daily dose of watching at least part of “The View,” but I do miss being able to run down to the kitchen at any time of the day to start preparing dinner, whether it’s to dice a couple of carrots and cucumbers for a salad, marinate chicken breasts, or scrub and quarter some red potatoes.

I was getting into a bad dinner routine, picking up frozen raviolis and store sauce one night, then prepared spinach quiche on my way home from work the following evening. As I was dialing Dom & Vinny’s to order a pizza last week, I slammed down the phone and called an intervention on myself. “I’ve got to get my act together and find a way to keep home cooking in my routine. There’s no way The Inspired Chef is going to start living on Chinese takeout!” I said to myself.

I remembered a story my friend Eric had told me about his mom going back to work when he was in tenth grade (which is, coincidentally, the grade my younger son, Spencer, is in). “Yeah, she got this slow cooker and made all our meals in it,” he said. Putting aside the fact that Eric said that’s why he never wants another one-pot meal in his life, I decided that this was going to be my mission – to find some meals I could cook for my family in the slow cooker.

Still recovering from the recent “steak night” at our club, I made up my mind to go the “no meat” route for my first run. Cutting out ground beef, chicken and turkey meant sacrificing some much needed protein, so I decided to look for a slow cooker vegetarian chili recipe that could still deliver the goods via a variety of beans and vegetables. I also happened upon an additional protein source, which I found online in several recipes for slow cooker vegetarian chili that added bulgur to its list of ingredients.Read more...
Best known for its presence in tabouli salad, bulgur is “what’s left after wheat kernels have been steamed, dried and crushed,” according to the TLC Cooking website. “High in fiber and protein, and low in fat and calories,” this Middle Eastern staple offers “bulk and nutrients to fill you up without adding pounds.” Apparently, a cup of bulgur has twice the fiber of brown rice (remember this part, it will become important to my story later on). I also read that you should store bulgur in a screw-top glass jar in the refrigerator; that way it will keep for months. (Click here to see youtube.com video)

Deciding to adapt the “Slow Cooker Bulgur Chili” recipe I found at sparkrecipes.com, I started searching the house for the ingredients I would need. In the pantry, I found cans of kidney, garbanzo and black beans, plus containers of crushed tomatoes and tomato sauce. Then I headed into the kitchen, straight to my spice cabinet. (Do I admit here that I keep my spices in alphabetical order? That I’m The Obsessive-Compulsive Chef in addition to the The Inspired Chef?) I found the cayenne pepper, chili powder and cumin – in that exact order. Although you could use a packaged chili mix, it’s much less expensive and lower in salt if you make it yourself with these spices. Opening the refrigerator, I discovered a couple onions, a few leftover cloves of garlic, and a package of shredded cheddar cheese, so all I needed to buy were some jalapeno and green peppers.

Now here’s the problem that I frequently discover with slow cooker recipes. You don’t just throw all the ingredients into the slow cooker in 10 seconds and then leave on your merry way to work; no, there’s more to be done. In this case, I had to soak the bulgur in boiling water for half an hour and also sauté the green peppers, jalapeno and onions until tender. I ended up doing this the night before I served the chili.

The next day, I combined all the ingredients in the slow cooker, turned it on low, and left for work. I was starving by the time I got home. As soon as I walked in the door, the enticing smell of the chili wafted out of the kitchen and beckoned me with its tangy tendrils of spice and heat.

I thought the chili was terrific, but I have to admit there were some mixed reactions in my family. Bob liked it but said he preferred meat in his chili, and Spencer saw the beans and wouldn’t touch it. I pawned the leftovers onto my friend Roberta, whose entire family is vegetarian. I felt vindicated when Bob and I came back from eating out the following night and the message machine was beeping. It was Roberta’s husband, Alex. “Laura, I’m eating your chili right now and I have to say, it’s absolutely amazing. You can bring your leftover chili over here anytime you want.”

Of course, my husband, being the jokester he is and having split a bottle of wine with me at dinner, immediately texted Alex on his Blackberry, saying “Glad you enjoyed the chili, but be prepared for a total colon cleansing.” Like I said before, this is the chili to go to if you are looking for lots of taste, lots of protein – and lots of fiber!

VEGETARIAN CHILI WITH BULGUR
Adapted from http://www.sparkrecipes.com/

1 cup bulgur
2 cups boiling water
3/4 cup finely chopped green pepper
1 large onion, chopped
1 jalapeno, finely chopped
2 tsp. olive oil
1 can kidney beans
1 can black beans
1 can garbanzo beans
1 can crushed tomatoes (29 oz.), drained
8 oz. can tomato sauce
1 cup water
2 tbsp. chili powder
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp. ground cumin
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper (or to taste)

Garnishes:

Shredded cheddar cheese
Green onion
Sour cream

Directions:

Place bulgur in a bowl and stir in boiling water. Cover and let stand for 30 minutes. Drain and squeeze dry. Sauté green peppers, onions, and jalapeno pepper until tender.

In large slow cooker, combine bulgur, beans, tomatoes, tomato sauce, water, chili powder, garlic, cumin, and cayenne. Stir in sautéed vegetables.

Cook on low for 8 hours in slow cooker.

Yield: 8 servings

2009-09-22T16:02:00.000-07:00

The seed for my zucchini bread story sprouted while we were on vacation in Lake Placid last month. I was dozing in and out of sleep on a massage table at our hotel’s spa, seeking relief for my aching limbs after a four-hour trek to the top of Cascade Mountain and back.

I must have been dreaming about food because I woke up and started talking to Mike, the masseuse, about growing herbs and vegetables. I told him that I had pots of basil, rosemary, mint, parsley, and thyme on my deck.

“Plus, I’ve got a couple of cherry tomato plants that are growing like crazy. I’ve harvested dozens of tomatoes already,” I said, proud of my horticultural skills.

As it turned out, Mike’s garden put me to shame. Apparently he was growing peppers, eggplants, cucumbers and carrots in his backyard.

“In fact, I brought in five zucchinis today in the hopes of giving them away. Do you want one?” he asked.
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Is that a little weird to ask a client? Plus, on a practical level I still had six days left of vacation before going home. But on the other hand, there was a refrigerator back in my room.

“Sure,” I said, and then promptly returned to my trance-like state as he finished the massage. Afterward, I gathered my belongings and looked for Mike to give him a tip.

Turning a corner, I saw him, zucchini in hand. “Here it is,” he said.

This was not your average zucchini. Granted, it was dark green. But it was four or five pounds, about ten inches long and five inches in diameter at its widest. “Oh,” I said to myself, “I’m glad my husband’s not around to see this.

I took the zucchini and quickly stuffed it in my purse. When I got back, Bob was lying on the leather couch in the sitting room of our suite, reading the newspaper.

“How was your massage?” he asked, not looking up.

“I had a male masseuse,” I said.

“That’s nice,” Bob said, eyes still glued to the paper.

Feeling like I wanted a little attention, I said, “Uh huh, and I got a ‘happy ending,’ too.”

That’s when he looked up and saw me holding the oversized squash. “Laura, how did you end up with that?”

We had a good laugh and then I stuck the zucchini in the refrigerator of our efficiency kitchen and forgot about it until it was time to head to our second destination, Manchester, VT. I packed the zucchini in my beach bag, sandwiched between several bottles of cold, bottled water so it would remain cool during our trip. Along the way, we stopped at a dairy farm near Manchester and bought a half dozen raw milk Gouda cheeses that I planned on giving to friends as gifts when we returned. I threw them into my beach bag with the zucchini and cold waters.

Our room at the Equinox hotel in Manchester was small but beautifully decorated, overlooking the quaint town below. Bob and I started unpacking our suitcases. I looked around for the honor bar, wanting to store our food in its refrigerator. It wasn’t in the mahogany wardrobe or in the matching chest of drawers. In fact, it didn’t seem to be anyplace. This could be a problem, I thought, imagining four days of smelly cheese and rotting zucchini.

Desperate, I called the front desk and asked the receptionist if there was a mini-fridge available. Wah-lah! One was waiting for us in our room when we returned from dinner.

Well, the zucchini made it safely through our stay in Vermont and our car ride back to New York. Then it sat in my garage refrigerator for another few days until I could think of a reason to use it. The occasion turned out to be a Shiva call for the father of one of Bob’s employees. As an added bonus, I could bring a loaf to book club later in the week. The format, I decided, would be zucchini bread.

My mission was to cram the healthiest ingredients possible into the bread, combining a few recipes I found online. My shopping list included a banana, applesauce, walnuts, golden raisins, and some whole wheat pastry flour (FYI, much finer than regular whole wheat flour, resulting in a lighter, fluffier end product). Not to mention the star of the show, the zucchini, which was still sitting in my refrigerator.

I peeled the skin off the squash and quartered it and cut out the seeds. When I put the pieces into the food processor, I couldn’t believe I ended up with over four cups of grated zucchini, and I only needed two – that was one supersized vegetable!

I peeled the banana and mashed it with a fork. After beating some eggs, I added the other “healthy” ingredients, plus some baking basics – vanilla, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and salt. I cut the oil in half and substituted applesauce in its stead, which I often do when baking sweets.

The recipe made two loaves of zucchini bread, which baked perfectly and turned a golden brown on top in about 50 minutes. I cut off a corner slice of the bread after it had cooled to see how it turned out. I couldn’t see or taste the zucchini, but the vanilla, cinnamon and raisins proffered a pleasantly sweet taste, the walnut added a little texture, and the banana definitely contributed to the moist interior of the bread.

Now, a normal person would have been happy, but not the Inspired Chef. I still had two more cups of grated zucchini in the refrigerator and couldn’t stand to see it go to waste. The solution? I decided I had to make more zucchini bread, but a slightly more sinful version the second time around. The next day, I found a recipe for chocolate chip zucchini bread on cooks.com. It had the same basic ingredients, but instead of banana, raisins and walnuts, there were semi-sweet chocolate chips. I did my usual healthy substitutions – two parts white flour to one part whole wheat pastry flour, and cut the oil in half by using applesauce – but there was no denying this would be a much richer zucchini bread.

Again, the bread baked to golden perfection, but this time a taste test revealed a denser, much sweeter flavor. But no complaints, especially from Bob, who is a chocolate man at heart. By then it was late and I was tired. I told him that was going to be the only “happy ending” he would get that night.

ZUCCHINI-BANANA-RAISIN BREAD

2 eggs
½ cup applesauce
½ cup vegetable oil
2 tsps. vanilla
1 ½ cups sugar
1 banana, mashed
2 cups white flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup walnuts, chopped
1 cup golden raisins

Beat eggs and then add the applesauce, oil, vanilla, sugar, grated zucchini and mashed banana. Mix together and add other ingredients. Pour into two well-greased and floured loaf pans. Bake in a 350-degree oven for 50 to 60 minutes or until toothpick inserted into the center of the loaf comes out clean.

CHOCOLATE CHIP ZUCCHINI BREAD
Cooks.com

3 cups flour (I used two cups white flour and one cup whole wheat pastry flour)
½ cup white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
1tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
3 eggs
2 cups grated zucchini
¾ cup oil (I used ½ applesauce, ½ oil)
3 tsp. vanilla
6 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips

Mix all dry ingredients together. Then mix eggs, oil, applesauce, vanilla and zucchini in a separate large bowl. Add dry ingredients to wet mixture and mix well. Add chocolate chips.

Grease two loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees for 50 to 60 minutes.

Kale Salad

2009-08-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

First of all, thank you to everybody who filled out my blog survey question: “Have you ever bought anything at the store and then served it to guests and said you made it yourself?” According to the results, six respondents said “yes,” 26 said “no,” and one said “I’ll take it to my grave.” While I’m happy to know I am not the only who hasn’t always been completely honest about serving something I’ve “made from scratch,” I’m still not sure if those 26 who answered “no” are cooking saints or big fat liars.

Nevertheless, some funny stories came out. My friend Barbara said that she was at a party where the hostess served a fancy apple turnover with fresh berries and Chantilly cream for dessert. While the hostess took credit for making the dish from scratch, Barbara told me in an email that, “I was helping her later in the kitchen, and, there in the trash, were the Pepperidge Farm frozen apple turnover containers.”

Then, on Facebook, an old high school friend posted that one of her co-workers “served his weekend guests tomatoes they believed he grew in his garden, but he had actually bought them from a friend.” I don’t know – is that similar or worse?

I could do a whole blog on lying about making something from scratch that I bought at the grocery store (come to think of it, I already did: APPLE PIE), but this blog is going in the opposite direction because I recently bought something at a store that I wanted to make myself at home. It was a kale salad that I discovered at Susan Lawrence, the incredibly delicious and somewhat pricey gourmet shop in Chappaqua, NY.

Last week, I was early for my physical therapy appointment in nearby Pleasantville, so I thought I’d drop by Susan Lawrence and pick up some lunch. I spotted the kale salad in the shop’s display case and was immediately drawn to it, enticed by the shredded dark green leaves mixed with currants and pine nuts. “This is definitely for me,” I said to myself, and ordered a small container along with a pasta and vegetable salad, which, by the way, turned out to be totally forgettable.

At first, I was going to wait until after my PT appointment to eat lunch. Starting the engine of my car and blasting the air conditioning, I decided to have a little taste of the kale. As I opened the container lid, I smelled fresh greens perfumed with the sharp scent of vinegar. I stuck in my plastic fork to take one bite, but ended up devouring the entire portion in less than a minute. It was delicious! The kale had been either sautéed or marinated in what I thought was olive oil so that it wasn’t too tough but had just the right crunch. I was also pretty sure I could taste vinegar, Parmesan cheese, and this lovely bit of sweetness imparted by either sugar or honey. Anxious to find out exactly what was in the salad, but too lazy to walk back across the street, I dialed my new favorite number, 1-800-GOOG-411, a free phone directory, and got connected to the store.
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“I’m interested in the kale salad,” I said to the woman who picked up the phone. Summoning my courage, I asked, “What’s in it?” I wasn’t sure if she would divulge what might be a store secret, but right away she told me the obvious: kale, pine nuts, currants, olive oil and Parmesan.

“Is there any vinegar?” I asked. She said no, but I wasn’t convinced. “Do you cook it?” I wanted to know.

“No, it’s raw and just marinated in some olive oil,” was the answer. Thanking her, I hung up the phone and made a mental note to do a little more research back at home.

Later that afternoon, I phoned my friend Lisa, who’s also a cook. “Have you ever had the kale salad at Susan Lawrence?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said.

“Have you made it at home?”

She said she’d prepared a similar version that was pretty good, but it wasn’t quite the same as Susan Lawrence’s. When I asked her if her salad had any type of vinegar, she told me she had used lemon juice, which I could also see as giving the kale a little kick. The best tip Lisa gave me was to chop the kale on the pulse setting in a food processor instead of cutting it with a knife, which would have been much more time consuming.

My next step was to go online and do a little research. I decided to go to Google and type in the words “kale salad, currants, pine nuts, and Parmesan cheese.” A number of recipes popped up, but they were all basically the same. Apparently, the key to the “bite” was a mixture of unseasoned rice vinegar and white balsamic vinegar. The next “secret” ingredient, the one that gave the kale salad its sweetness (along with the currants), turned out, as I had guessed, to be honey.

Now, let’s talk about kale, a form of cabbage that has large, ruffled, dark green leaves. It pops up all the time as a “superfood,” which, according to Wikipedia, “is a term sometimes used to describe food with high phytonutrient content that some may believe confers health benefits as a result.” It’s on the top ten superfoods list, and I also found the following on http://www.formerfatguyblog.com/, not exactly the American Heart Association, but it’s funny, right?):

1. Collard, mustard & turnip greens - Nutrient Score: 1000
2. Kale - Nutrient Score: 1000
3. Watercress - Nutrient Score: 1000
4. Bok Choy - Nutrient Score: 824
5. Spinach - Nutrient Score: 739
6. Brussels sprouts - Nutrient Score: 672
7. Swiss chard - Nutrient Score: 670
8. Arugula - Nutrient Score: 559
9. Radish - Nutrient Score: 554
10. Cabbage - Nutrient Score: 481

Checking kale out on Wikipedia.com, I was impressed by its résumé. “Kale is considered to be a highly nutritious vegetable with powerful antioxidant properties and is anti-inflammatory,” according to the website. It also said the vegetable is “very high in beta carotene, vitamin K, vitamin C, lutein, zeaxanthin, and reasonably rich in calcium,” and “contains sulforaphane, a chemical believed to have potent anti-cancer properties, particularly when chopped or minced.”

The timing was perfect to make the kale salad because I had some friends coming over the following night who were extremely health conscious. I was going to grill some wild salmon and corn-on-the-cob, and the kale dish would go perfectly.

The first thing to be done was to marinate the currants in some of the white balsamic vinegar. It’s best to leave the mixture overnight so the vinegar can soak in well. The next day, I pulled out my two big bunches of kale and removed each of the leaves’ large central veins with two quick cuts of my knife (see video). I dropped the leaves into my salad spinner to rinse off the dirt and spun them dry. Then I put them in the basin of my food processor and, following Lisa’s suggestion, pressed the pulse button to create perfectly shredded kale. (NOTE: Kale leaves must be totally dry before putting in food processor.)

The next step was to grab the white balsamic vinegar again and whisk it in a bowl with the rice vinegar, honey, extra-virgin olive oil, and salt. I drained the currants, put them in the bowl, and then added the chopped kale and grated Parmesan cheese (you can also use shavings, but I liked the way the grated cheese mixed in so well with the other ingredients). I also lightly toasted the pine nuts in the toaster oven. (Watch out! Do not turn your back on those little suckers – they’ll go from cream-colored to absolutely burnt black in a matter of seconds.) I added a little salt and pepper, and then got ready for the taste test.

I was glad that I had made the dish early in the day, so the olive oil would have enough time to do its magic and soften the kale, which, when I tasted it right after I made it, was a little bit too chewy. Also, I didn’t think the recipe called for enough oil or honey, by the time I finished altering it, I had tripled the amount of these two. By nightfall the salad ingredients had marvelously intermingled and the kale had wilted to just the right texture.

I know the kale salad was good because not only did I like it, but my friend’s husband had about 10 helpings. I’ve served it several times since and have been repeatedly asked for the recipe, so I think it’s a safe bet that it’s a winner. The great thing is that this kale salad tastes good while also being good for you.

Now the only question is, are you going to make it yourself or run out to the store and buy it (and say you made it)?

Kale Salad with Pinents, Currants and Parmesan
Adapted from Bon Appétit, February 2009
By Dan Barber

Ingredients:

2 tablespons dried currants
7 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar, divided
1 tablespoon unseasoned rice vinegar
1 tablespoon honey (I used 3 Tbs.)
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil (I used 3 Tbs.)
1 teaspoon salt
2 bunches Tuscan kale (about 1 pound), center ribs and stems removed, leaves thinly sliced crosswise (I used a food processor to chop)
2 tablespoons pine nuts, lightly toasted
Parmesan cheese shavings (I used ¼ cup shredded Parmesan)

Preparation:

Place currants in small bowl and add 5 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar. Let soak overnight. Drain currants.

Whisk remaining 2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, honey, oil, and salt in a large bowl. Add kale, currants, and pine nuts; toss to coat. Let marinate 20 minutes at room temperature, tossing occasionally. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle cheese shavings over salad and serve. (Note: I think this salad should sit much longer so I put it in the refrigerator for several hours, then take it out about half an hour before serving. In addition, I mixed in the shredded parmesan cheese with the rest of the salad ingredients.)

Watermelon Gazpacho

2009-06-30T11:52:00.000-07:00

Photo by Kyra Socolof

I have been cooking and baking like crazy, but oddly enough it’s not been for happy occasions. From barbecued chicken, roasted potatoes and corn salad to brownies and biscotti, food has been sailing out of my kitchen and winding up at the homes of various friends, one whose husband just had open heart surgery, and not one, but two whose father-in-laws passed away. Last week, I finally had a chance to whip up something for a celebration. My friend Roberta was having a Father’s Day dinner cum party for her daughter Natasha’s high school graduation.

I decided to prepare watermelon gazpacho, which I hadn’t made since last summer. The first time I tried it out was after taking a hike with my neighbor Lauren and another friend, Jessica. Walking along the windy, wooded paths in Rockefeller Park, Jessica told us about this amazing watermelon gazpacho that she had tasted while on vacation with her husband and two sons. “I ordered it for an appetizer at dinner and it was so good that I insisted everyone try it. But when I got it back there was hardly anything left,” she lamented. “I really wish I had a good recipe for that gazpacho so I could make it at home.” Then she looked at me with a big smile and said, “Hey, since you’re the Inspired Chef, I was hoping maybe you could find one for me."
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I remember thinking that it was so unusual to have watermelon as a base for gazpacho, a culinary term that usually refers to a chilled tomato-based, raw vegetable soup. In fact, I wasn’t so sure I would even like it with watermelon. I have a rule about fruit and that’s that it should be a stand alone. That means no stewed apricots or prunes with my chicken, no fruit jams or jellies in my cake, and certainly, until now, no fruit in my soup. In fact, only in the past few years have I included berry and apple pies in my repertoire (OK, I can also manage some fruit in my sangria).

Yet Jessica had posed a challenge, one that I felt I had to meet. There were a few hurdles that I had to overcome first, however. To begin with, my husband, Bob, only dislikes three foods in the entire world and they are liver, sole and – you guessed it – watermelon!

“I don’t understand, how could you possibly not like watermelon?” I once asked him. “Did your mom force feed it to you as a child?

“No,” he said

“Did you swallow a seed by mistake?”

“No, I just don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry. You probably won’t event taste the watermelon in this gazpacho.”

Bob shrugged his shoulders, which I took to mean “You’re going to make it anyway, so go ahead.”

The next setback happened when I searched the Internet and discovered a recipe on Epicurious.com for “Watermelon and Cucumber Gazpacho.” On the pro side, in addition to the watermelon, there were a lot of fresh vegetables on the list – cucumber, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, jalapeno chili, celery, and red onion – plus mint (which I had growing in a pot on my deck) and limes. The con side was that the veggies all had to be diced into small pieces, the mint needed to be finely chopped, and the limes had to be squeezed, none of it difficult but all very time consuming. I decided to halve the recipe, finally making it for Bob and me at the end of the summer. It turned out great (Bob even conceded so), but I didn’t blog about it at the time because it was too late in the season. You should definitely make this when there are bins of local watermelons for sale in the grocery store.

Roberta was expecting around 30 people at her house, so this time around I had to triple the recipe instead of cutting it in half. You can probably imagine the assorted produce taking over my refrigerator, not to mention the bowling ball-sized watermelon on my counter. Since this was going to be a relatively big task, I decided I would prepare the soup in stages over a three-day period. Coincidentally enough, I was taking another hike with Lauren and told her about my plan. She said to be careful because she had once made tomato-based gazpacho and put it in a glass jar. Driving to visit friends on Long Island, the sun beat down on the gazpacho, and the tomatoes, cucumber and garlic created a mini science experiment gone awry, causing enough expanding gas to break the bottle. “Well, hopefully nothing that exciting will happen here,” I said.

In preparation, I chopped up the vegetables and put them in a Ziploc bag in the fridge (I like to keep the onion and jalapeno in a separate bag so the other vegetables don’t absorb their strong bite). Then I took most of the watermelon and pureed it in the blender. I added in the squeezed lime juice, red wine vinegar and salt, thus making my so-called “broth,” a bright pink liquid bursting with watermelon pulp. Dipping in a spoon for a taste test, I was greeted by a cool sweetness tempered by the acidity of the lime juice and vinegar. I stored the “broth” in plastic containers in the fridge. Finally, I chopped the remaining few cups of watermelon that I hadn’t pureed and packaged that up as well.

The next morning, I pulled the assorted plastic bags and containers out of the refrigerator and poured them into a large pot, stirring well to make sure all the different ingredients were well integrated. The soup smelled so fresh, like it had come straight from the garden. It also looked appealing with its rainbow of colors – pink, red, purple, yellow and green – but would it taste as good as I remembered? I stuck a soup spoon into the pot to sample the goods. I bit into the crunchy veggies, enjoying my “salad in a soup” perfumed by sweet mint. It wasn’t spicy enough though, so I chopped up a little more onion and jalapeno and also decided to puree some more watermelon to increase the liquid to vegetable ratio.

When I arrived at Roberta’s, she poured the soup into a beautiful antique white china punch bowl. It came with about 20 little cups, which were the perfect size for serving the gazpacho. Natasha tried the soup first and said she loved it. It turned out to be a big hit with all the guests.

My oldest son, Sam, almost 20, was the last holdout.

“Just try it for me,” I said.

“Hmm, I’m not quite sure how to approach it,” he said. “Do I use a spoon or a fork? And why is it cold?”

He tentatively put a spoonful into his mouth. “Mmm, it’s good,” he said with a smile on his face. I do admit you have to be a little open-minded to try watermelon gazpacho, but once you do, I guarantee you’ll want more!

WATERMELON AND CUCUMBER GAZPACHO
Bon Appetit, August 2005
By Pat Cora

Ingredients:
1 3-pound seedless watermelon, diced (about 5 cups), divided
1 small cucumber, peeled, seeded, diced (about 1 cup)
1 medium-size red bell pepper, seeded, diced (about 1 cup)
1 medium-size yellow bell pepper, seeded, diced (about 1 cup)
1 small jalapeno chili, seeded, minced
3 pale green inner celery stalks, diced (about ½ cup)
½ small red onion, diced (about 1 cup)
¼ cup finely chopped fresh mint
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
¼ teaspoon salt

Puree 4 cups watermelon in blender until smooth. Transfer puree to large bowl. Add remaining 1 cup diced watermelon and next 10 ingredients; stir to combine. Cover gazpacho and refrigerate until cold.

Carolina Pulled Pork Barbecue

2009-05-16T15:39:00.000-07:00

I flew to Durham, NC a few weeks ago to attend my Duke 25th college reunion. Although I had been a little nervous about going to my first reunion in a quarter of a century, I ended up having a blast. Some of my closest friends and about 20 of my sorority sisters were there, and we reminisced about so many things I had tucked away in my memory for decades.

Alpha Delta Pi's, Duke, Class of 1984, 25th Reunion

Like my first date at college ... A friend of my aunt’s had a son who went to Duke and he invited me to go to his off-campus fraternity party. On the way home he asked his buddy to stop the car and then got out. We waited and waited, and after a while I started to wonder what had happened to my date. After half an hour, he returned. Apparently he had fallen down a steep hill while relieving himself. He had leaves in his hair. His pants were torn and his shoes were covered in mud. Needless to say, that was the last time we ever went out.

Another incident my friends reminded me about took place at the end of my sophomore year when we convinced the college quarterback to steal a six-foot-tall plastic pink flamingo from a putt-putt golf course down at Myrtle Beach. Unfortunately, the flamingo was cemented into the ground and my friends and I must have been a little raucous because the police showed up. We all ran away into the nearby bushes but the quarterback got caught by the cops (Thank God he didn’t get into trouble!).

But all fun and mischief aside, one of the strongest memories that came back to me while at the reunion was that of Carolina Pulled Pork Barbecue. Down south it’s just called barbecue and it’s made with a distinctive vinegar-based sauce that is so lip-smacking flavorful! The reunion caterers served the pulled pork for lunch on the Saturday I was down there. Walking into the 1984 reunion tent with my old friends Cindy and Laura, I detected the unmistakable scent of barbecued pork – that rich and smoky meaty aroma that can only make you picture a whole hog slowly roasting on a spit all night long. To put it lightly, I was salivating. I was so busy the night before catching up with fellow classmates that I had only managed to eat two bites of chicken and then, when I got back to my hotel room, an assortment of about two dozen licorice, cherry and tutti-frutti jelly beans. I awoke the next morning starving, but too lazy to go down for breakfast, therefore having to resort to my vanilla Power Bar and an apple that I pilfered from the hotel gym.

Greedily eyeing the barbecue, I wondered to myself, “Could it ever meet my expectations? Would it be as good as I remembered it being 25 years ago?

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And, most importantly, would I be able to eat it in a lady-like fashion even though I was hungry enough to devour an entire pig at the moment?” The answer was yes on all three accounts. From the first bite, the barbecue delivered the hoped for punch – tender, hand-torn strips of pork packed with a heady taste of meat tinged with the greasy flavor from the marbled fat it was surrounded in, a brightness brought on by the tart acidity from the vinegar, and a rush of heat created by a hearty dose of hot red pepper flakes. Seeing no buns to tuck the barbecue into, I stood by the serving station and ate it slowly and appreciatively with a fork, trying to avoid conversation so I could fully enjoy my meal.

After I had consumed my fill, I deposited my empty plate in the garbage and started looking for my next course – chocolate chip cookies that were piled high on a table on the far side of the tent. It was there that I spotted my sorority sister Katie, who’s now living in Texas. “I forgot how much I love barbeque,” I said to her in between bites of my cookie. Katie, blond and blue-eyed with just as much energy as back in college, was one of my classmates in charge of organizing the reunion, and ever since reconnecting with her, we’ve been chatting on Facebook and I’ve been sending her my cooking blog.

“I’m going to make barbeque when I go back home,” I told her.

“Ooh, with vinegar?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Promise, you’ll send me the recipe?”

“Better yet, I’m going to blog about it,” I answered.

I quickly forgot about barbecue as I finished my cookie and looked around the tent, trying to remember what the men I knew there looked like as boys back in college, that is before they had gained weight and lost their hair. I was also busy sizing myself up with the other women – seeing who was still in shape, who looked like they’d had Restylane and Botox, and who had just let it all go.

I didn’t think about barbecue again until about a week ago. I was putting away some cereal boxes in my pantry when I came across my slow cooker. The lid was covered with dust, emphasizing the fact that it hadn't been used in a long, long time. Inside was a little paper booklet with recipes suggested by the manufacturer. Leafing through the pages, I found the recipe for “Carolina Barbecued Pork.” “OK, it’s time to fire up this old crockpot again,” I said to myself.

The first thing I had to do was buy some pork butt, which, by the way, is not the pig’s rear end. According to the book, “The Barbecue! Bible 10th Anniversary Edition, by Steven Raichlen, “A true pork shoulder includes both the Boston Butt (the upper part of the leg with the shoulder blade) and the picnic ham (the actual foreleg), a cut of meat that weighs fourteen to eighteen pounds in its entirety and is used chiefly at professional barbecue competitions.” Thank God, his recipe called for “Boston butt alone (five to six pounds), which thanks to its generous marbling gives you superb barbecue.”

The pork butt that I purchased from my local butcher (and which I had to order in advance because he doesn’t usually have pork butt lying around), weighed in at 4.5 pounds and was about the size of half a loaf of bread. As mentioned in Raichlen’s book, the reddish brown pork was striped with white layers of fat, which I knew would generously add to the flavor of the meat.

Early the next morning, I made the rub for the barbecue, combining brown sugar, paprika, salt and pepper, then massaging the mixture into the outer surface of the meat. I quartered a couple onions and placed them on the bottom of my crockpot, then sat the pork butt right on top. All that remained was to whip up the vinegar sauce and drizzle some of it over the meat. I decided to use Raichlen’s vinegar sauce because the crockpot recipe didn’t look tomato-ey enough. His recipe called for a healthy dose of ketchup, plus lots of brown sugar, which can never be bad.

The rest his ingredients were: vinegar, salt, red pepper flakes, and ground black and white pepper. As an FYI, I cut the amount of hot red pepper flakes that he called for in half, because four teaspoons sounded a little too hot for my taste! And I added some dry mustard and garlic salt.

As it turns out, Raichlen’s recipe has western Carolina roots. After doing a little online research, I discovered that down in North Carolina, they are quite divided on the issue of sauce. On the eastern side, vinegar is kept pure, and no tomatoes are added. However on the west side barbecue sauces are put together with a hint of tomato and sugar. Clearly, that was the direction I was going in.

After covering the meat with some of the vinegar sauce, I put on the top and set the crockpot to low and the timer to 10 hours. Now here’s the hard part – every time I walked into the house during the day, I had to smell the scent of the barbecued pork cooking, beckoning me, taunting me, making my stomach grumble and my head dizzy with desire, and I couldn’t even take one bite!

Around 5 p.m., I poured a little more vinegar sauce over the meat and let it finish cooking. Did I strip off a little piece of pork and taste it? Of course I did! It was so soft and tender from cooking all day long and it had that piquant, meaty, full-flavored taste that just knocks your socks off. I had to control myself from not eating any more, but it wasn’t easy. At this point, I do want to say that I added a few tablespoons of barbecue sauce (any market brand variety will do). It’s really your choice to doctor up as you choose.

I’m just warning you, the next part requires patience. After you put the meat and onions in a strainer to get rid of all the extra liquid and pick out any remaining big clumps of fat, you need to chop the onions and shred the meat. You could cut the pork up into bite-size bits, but I really recommend using your hands to pull it into small pieces (hence the name "pulled pork"). As Raichlen says, “A human touch is needed to achieve the perfect texture.” (Yes, your hands will be orange and greasy, but some warm soap and water will make you as good as new.) The shreds should be about one to two inches long and 1/8 to 1/4 inch wide.

By this time, my husband, Bob, and younger son, Spencer, were already in the kitchen, almost circling me like hungry wolves. “Stand back,” I said, waving a serving spoon at them in mock-defense. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.” All that was left to do was to spoon the pulled pork on to hamburger buns and top with some onions, which were incredibly soft by now and bursting with flavor from having been cooked so long with the meat. Some people also add coleslaw on top of this, but I put the slaw on the side, along with a big serving of cornbread.

Well, I fed the animals, otherwise known as my family, and they were very happy. I probably could have served 12 other people as well. If you make this, invite company!

Video:

CAROLINA BARBECUED PORK

2 onions, quartered
1 (4-6 pound) boneless pork butt

Rub:
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon paprika
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper

Vinegar Sauce:
2 cups cider vinegar
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons ketchup
¼ cup firmly packed brown sugar, or more to taste
3 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
½ teaspoon dry mustard
½ teaspoon garlic salt

Place quartered onions in crockpot. Combine brown sugar, paprika, salt and pepper; rub over pork butt. Place pork over onions.

Combine vinegar, ketchup, brown sugar, salt, hot red pepper flakes, ground black pepper, ground white pepper, dry mustard and garlic salt; stir to mix well. Drizzle about one third vinegar mixture over pork; cover and refrigerate remaining vinegar mixture.

Cover crockpot and cook low for 10 to 12 hours. Drizzle about one third of the reserved vinegar mixture over the pork during last half hour of cooking (you can also add a little barbecue sauce here, if you like).

Remove meat and onions, drain. Chop or shred meat and chop onions. Serve meat and onions on hamburger buns. Pass remaining vinegar sauce to drizzle over sandwiches.

HOLY MOLE!

2009-03-11T10:51:00.000-07:00

Ever since my older son, Sam, came home from my neighbor’s house raving about the chicken mole he’d had for dinner, I’ve been trying to make the dish myself. I should say I’ve been trying to make an edible version of the dish. It’s been close to a year now and I’ve prepared no less than four putrid renditions of mole sauce, ranging from an über-time-consuming one that sent me on a search for Pasilla chilies and Mexican chocolate, to one so simple that all you had to do was add chicken broth to a bottle of supermarket mole poblano sauce.

You’re probably thinking to yourself, “How bad could they really have been?” Well, pardon my French, but we have a saying in my family when something tastes truly awful, and I can still picture Sam taking one bite of the made-from-the-bottle mole and telling me, “Mom, this tastes like ass.” If ass tastes like spoiled milk interlaced with hot sauce and chunks of bitter chocolate, then he was right.

I was finally successful with my last try, a recipe that I found on the Rachael Ray magazine website, believe it or not.

Bob nearly begged me not to make the mole again. “Laura, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to me?” he asked.

“If, I get the recipe right, you’ll like it,” I promised him.

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“I don’t think I like mole, even at a restaurant,” he said.

“Yes, you do. Remember the time at Guadalajara when you tasted Lauren Fisher’s mole sauce and you said it was so good?”

In case you haven’t figured it out already, not only am I the Inspired Chef but I’m also the Obstinately Determined Chef. Even though I’d had a succession of failures, I wasn’t going to give up because I really wanted to nail this mole sauce. That wasn’t my only reason though. Bob had had some complications from a recent sinus surgery, i.e., major nosebleeds, and we had to cancel our winter vacation to Mexico’s “Mayan Riviera,” just south of Cancun, which we’d planned over a year ago with four other families. I cried the entire day we were supposed to have left, and drank tequila straight from the Patron bottle until I couldn’t see straight.

In my haze, I reminisced about an event that took place back when Bob and I were in college. I was a little sister in his fraternity and they were having a “Let’s Go to Mexico” party. Whereas all the other fraternities had similar bashes where the winning couple would be given two tickets to go away on a vacation to Puerto Vallarta or some Caribbean island, the Sigma Chi version was a little different. In a nutshell, you were supposed to drink so much tequila that you passed out and thought you went to Mexico. If my memory serves me correctly, the “winner” here was the person who fell asleep on the couch and got a Frito Bandito mustache drawn on his upper lip in permanent black marker.

Pulling myself together, I decided that if we couldn’t go to Mexico, I was going to bring Mexico to us. So, that’s where the mole came back into the picture.

Do you know what the history of mole is? According to http://www.mexonline.com/, mole poblano is a “thick rich, chocolate-tinged sauce made famous in the colonial mountain city of Puebla, Mexico.” According to the website, “Some sources say that moles have as many as 100 ingredients, but that’s an exaggeration . . . 30 ingredients are not unheard of, and some mole recipes contain 10 different types of chilies alone. Other ingredients include: peanuts, almonds, fried bread, plantains, lard, sugar, bittersweet chocolate, cinnamon and cloves.”

I had invited our friends, the Peskoes, for dinner. My original plan was to make two different moles, and I figured we could vote on our favorite sauce. That plan came to a halt after I prepared the first recipe, which actually had some of the ingredients I just mentioned. To my horror, it was as terrible as all of its predecessors, tasting heavily of peanut butter and some unidentifiable taste that made me want to be sick. I ended up pouring the entire contents of my Le Creuset iron pot (it was heavy!) down the drain of my kitchen sink.

My heart was heavy too, and I admit I was disappointed. I sat at the kitchen counter and moped as I read over the ingredients for my next mole, the one I had gotten from Rachael Ray. I didn’t have high hopes, as this recipe didn’t actually have any of the ingredients listed on the mexonline.com website, plus it called for Reese’s peanut butter cups. I mean really, how can any decent recipe for mole have peanut butter cups in it? I decided to unwrap a Reese’s cup and eat it while I mulled this over. “Mmmm,” I said out loud. I’d forgotten how good they were, so chocolaty, peanut buttery and sugary sweet! I decided that maybe there was hope for the recipe after all – but not much.

The first thing I did was heat a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil in my pot and sauté some chopped up onions and garlic. Then I added a little allspice and stirred the mixture together. While my other recipe that day had included cinnamon and ground cloves, this one had substituted allspice, which I assumed was a combination of those two and other spices. Later research on the web would prove me wrong. According to Wikipedia, “Allspice is the dried unripe fruit of the Pimenta dioica plant, a tree native to the Greater Antilles, southern Mexico and Central America. The name ‘allspice’ was coined by the English, who thought it combined the flavor of several aromatic spices, such as cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.”

My next step was to add some canned fire-roasted tomatoes, chicken broth, espresso powder, peanut butter cups, raisins, a pinch of salt and, last but not least, half of a chipotle chile in adobo sauce. The recipe called for a whole chile plus a teaspoon of the adobo sauce, but I highly advise against this unless you are into really fiery food. Plus, you can always add more later if you want. The sauce’s faintly sweet smell, hinting at a hidden spiciness, made me believe that I might be heading in the right direction.

After the mixture simmered for a while, I let it cool down and then pureed it in the blender with a little extra broth. The result was a thick, brownish-red sauce that at least looked like mole. The real test would be to taste it. Tentatively, I stuck my wooden spoon in the blender and brought a small amount of the mole to my lips. The sauce actually tasted good, with touches of chocolate and cinnamon, followed by a delayed reaction in the back of my throat when the heat of the chipotle chile kicked in. If not exactly like the restaurant mole, it was close.

Our friends came over for dinner that night, and I served the mole poblano over some grilled chicken cutlets and brown rice, and accompanied it with a salad. I held my breath when everyone lifted up their forks and took their first bites, but to my relief, they seemed to like the mole. Bob even had a second helping. So while there were no sombreros or suntans for us that week, at least we had a little taste of Mexico.

PEANUT BUTTER CUP CHICKEN MOLE
www.rachelraymag.com
From Every Day with Rachael Ray, October 2008

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
3/4 cup fire-roasted diced tomatoes
3/4 cup chicken broth
1 chipotle chile in adobo sauce, chopped, plus 1 teaspoon adobo sauce
1 teaspoon espresso powder
3 peanut butter cups, such as Reese’s, chopped
1/4 cup raisins
Salt and pepper
1 pound chicken cutlets

In a small skillet, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until the onion is soft and the garlic is just beginning to brown, about 5 minutes. Stir in the allspice and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes with some of their juice, 1/2 cup chicken broth, the chile and adobo sauce, espresso powder, peanut butter cups, raisins and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Simmer over low heat for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat the remaining 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat. Season the chicken cutlets with salt and pepper, then cook for 3 minutes per side. Remove from the skillet and cover loosely with foil to keep warm.

Using a food processor, puree the cooled sauce with remaining 1/4 cup chicken broth, scraping down the sides if necessary. Spoon the mole sauce over the chicken.

Serves 4

TEXAS SHEET CAKE

2009-02-06T08:27:00.000-08:00

I started to ponder what dessert I was going to bring to the Super Bowl party about a week before the big event. “What about lemon squares?” I asked myself. “Maybe I could make a chocolate cheesecake, or get fancy and whip up a tiramisu?”

My plan was to make my dessert of choice a few days ahead of time and therefore be able to enjoy my weekend. But that never happened. Not only did I not bake a dessert, I didn’t even go shopping for ingredients, much less finalize my selection. And I can only offer one reason for my delinquency – I joined Facebook. And this is what took place for three days in a row: I typed in my e-mail address and password to access my Facebook page and was instantly sucked into a fifth dimension, where I talked to friends I hadn’t seen or heard from in 25 years, played three simultaneous games of Scrabble, and electronically passed on the Duke Blue Devils Fan Club wave. Then, after what seemed like five minutes but was actually three hours, I returned to reality, horrified that I’d wasted an entire afternoon. All in all, I had managed to accomplish absolutely nothing – although I did get 42 points for spelling out Q-U-E-N-C-H in Scrabble.

Super Bowl Sunday morning I vowed to get to work on dessert. But of course that was after logging onto Facebook and triumphantly spelling out G-O-O-S-E-D for a triple word score of 38. I also scanned my “wall,” only to find a posting from my husband’s colleague, Jeanne, that said, “Check out Bob at our holiday party.” Opening up the photo, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed to discover that it was quite tame. At first I thought about asking Jeanne if she had anything a little more incriminating (I could use some new jewelry), but decided to control myself and just responded with a thank you. Anyway, it seemed Sunday was frittering away, or at least I was frittering away Sunday, so I decided to finally focus on dessert.

“What am I going to make?” I lamented as I walked downstairs from the guest bedroom/office and ran into Bob scrounging for food in the refrigerator I had yet to restock due to my online priorities.

“Can you make that Texas Sheet Cake?” Bob asked with a hopeful look on his face. I thought a saw a little bit of drool on the side of his mouth, but that might have been my imagination.

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“Now that’s an idea,” I said. I had made it for previous Super Bowl parties but in the last few years had given it a break.

I went to my desk, piled high with days of unopened mail, and grabbed my blue plastic accordion file filled with my favorite recipes. I spilled out all the contents from the desserts section across my kitchen table. Hidden among the unkempt and unorganized layers of yellowed newspaper clippings, torn-out magazine pages, and faded faxes and copies was the item I was looking for – two stapled together 3x5 index cards with a recipe for “Texas Sheet Cake” written out in my mother’s loopy, nearly illegible script. The blue ink bled in cloud-like, watercolor splotches across the recipe, a remembrance of times past when I had either dripped milk on the cards or left them on a wet counter, or probably both.

Although my mom had never made the recipe, I had vivid childhood memories of this moist chocolate cake with creamy chocolate frosting. I had often enjoyed it growing up on visits to my Aunt Hope and Uncle Phil’s house, where a brood of five teenagers – four of them boys – plus frequent guests made the large cake, baked in a 11x18-inch jellyroll pan, an attractive choice for my aunt. I don’t know when or why my mom copied down this recipe and mailed it to me, but I think I’ve had it for over 15 years and made it close to a dozen times. Thanks to a note inscribed by my mother in the top right-hand corner of the first index card, one thing I do know is whom to thank for the recipe and that’s Millie Korman, who was once a close friend of my mom’s and Aunt Hope’s before a falling out of sorts resulted in her ouster from their inner circle. While I’ve subsequently seen similar recipes online, none are quite the same as Millie’s.
I decided to go with the Texas Sheet Cake for several reasons. One, Bob asked me to make it and it could serve as payback for neglecting him and the house for a few days of living in an electronic fog. Two, it’s relatively simple to make and takes under 40 minutes start to finish. And three, I had all the ingredients in the house, which was a good thing since I was running short on time, especially if I wanted to squeeze in one more game of Scrabble before leaving for the party.

The first thing you need to do for this recipe is melt butter, water and cocoa in a small pan. I prefer to do this in a double boiler because it allows the ingredients to heat slowly and evenly, thus reducing the risk of burning. I’ve had my same Paul Revere copper-bottomed double boiler since I got married, so 22 years and change. It’s got two fitted saucepans. You put some water in the bottom pan and fill the top one with the ingredients you want to melt via indirect heat. If you don’t have a double boiler, feel free to improvise with two pans separated by a trivet or other heat-resistant spacer.

While the butter and chocolate were melting, I beat the eggs in a small bowl and then whisked in the vanilla, baking soda and sour whole milk, which I made by adding a tablespoon of vinegar to a half cup of milk. In a large bowl, I mixed together the flour, sugar and salt. The next step was to add the first two concoctions to the flour mixture and gently blend together. At this point the deep chocolate color, creamy texture and sweet cocoa smell made me want to stick my finger in the bowl and take a taste, but decided to save myself the salmonella threat and waited for the frosting.

After I poured the batter into the jellyroll pan, I stuck it in the oven and got to work on the frosting. Employing my trusty double boiler again, I brought some butter, cocoa and milk to a boil. In a separate bowl, I poured in a box of confectioner’s sugar and added a little vanilla, then added the cocoa mixture and blended it all together until a velvety chocolate frosting emerged. Now was the time to sample the goods. Since Sam, my older son and counted-on taste tester, was not available (he’s now a freshman in college) and my younger son, Spencer, was in town skateboarding, I offered first dibs to Bob, but he turned it down because he’s on a diet. (Although I must tell you, he was among the flock of guests who had second and even third helpings of the cake that night). Apparently it was up to me to lick the spatula clean and make sure the frosting was OK. And it was. It had the sweet and sugary taste of fudge, but the consistency was just a little softer.

After the timer went off, I opened up the oven and a welcome waft of chocolate perfumed the air. I shook the pan gently and noticed that the cake was jiggling a bit in the center, so I put it back in for another five minutes.

The key with this recipe is slather on the frosting with a knife as soon as the cake comes out of the oven. That way the frosting seeps into the cake and makes it even moister. Plus the heat of the cake makes the frosting easy to spread. All that was left to do was get my blue icing pen out, draw a football and insert XVIII.

With about half an hour to go before the kick-off, the cake was done and I had a few minutes to relax. But that’s not what I did. I ran upstairs to update my profile on Facebook, which read, “Laura is…playing three games of Scrabble and not getting any work done.” What should I write next? Well, I decided to play one more round of Scrabble and think about it.

TEXAS SHEET CAKE
By Millie Korman

Cake
1/2 lb. butter or margarine
1 cup water
4 tbs. cocoa
2 eggs
1/2 cup sour whole milk (add 1/2 tsp. vinegar to 1/2 cup whole milk)
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1/2 tsp. salt

Icing
1/4 lb. butter
4 tbs. cocoa
6 tbs. milk
1 lb. confectioner’s sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup walnuts, chopped (optional)

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Grease 11x18-inch jelly-roll pan.

2. Melt butter, water and cocoa in a double boiler.

3. In a small bowl, beat eggs with sour whole milk, vanilla and baking soda.

4. In a large bowl, mix flour, sugar and salt.

5. Add butter mixture and egg mixture, mixing gently.

6. Pour into prepared pan. Bake 20 minutes or until cake tests done. Spread icing over hot cake when it comes out of the oven.

7. To make icing: Melt butter, cocoa and milk in a double boiler. In a separate bowl, combine confectioner’s sugar and vanilla (walnuts are optional). Add butter mixture and blend thoroughly.

Spaghetti Squash Casserole/Vegan Sweet Potato Latkes

2009-01-22T14:21:00.000-08:00

I am starting to worry that my husband and I might become the only carnivores left among our circle of friends. Not only are the children of many of my closest acquaintances turning vegetarian, but now a growing number of my contemporaries are also heading in that direction (with the exception of R., who sneaks red meat when her husband isn’t looking). I’m wondering if soon we will have no one to go with to tear into T-bones at our annual outing to the Peter Luger Steak House.

While I’m not planning to give up meat any time in the near future, I thought I’d like to try to make a healthy vegetarian dish for dinner. My friend Hillary told me about a recipe for spaghetti squash casserole that she had found in the Moosewood Cookbook, but when I mentioned it to Bob, he asked me what I was going to serve with it, like it was some sort of side dish.

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“That’s the whole meal,” I explained.

“Well, I’m not sure if it will fill me up,” he said, a look of concern on his face.

Instead of getting frustrated, I got inspired (you know I am the Inspired Chef!). I recalled a recent Saturday night when Bob and I were out to dinner with our friend Peter and his new girlfriend, Susan. She told us her daughter was a vegetarian and also had many friends who were vegan, and didn’t even eat fish, milk products or eggs. Susan was saying how hard it was to make sweet potato latkes for her daughter and her friends because she couldn’t use eggs to make them stick together when frying.

This made my ears perk up. Bored with traditional potato latkes (fried potato pancakes that are the traditional hallmarks of Chanukah), I had been making sweet potato latkes for years, and had just added a carrot and parsnip batch to my repertoire. Always up for a new challenge, I told Susan, “I’m going to research this and find out what to substitute for the eggs.”
So, given Bob’s request for a side dish, I had my menu planned: spaghetti squash casserole, salad, and vegan sweet potato latkes for an appetizer. Now all I had to do was find a recipe that had an egg substitute. And this is why Google is so great – all I did was type “vegan sweet potato latkes” into the search engine and dozens of choices popped up. I worked by process of elimination, first cutting out all the recipes that called for baking (in my mind a true latke must be fried). Then I dropped the ones that looked too complicated or called for ingredients I didn’t have and didn’t want to buy, like xantham gum and agave nectar. The winning recipe came from http://www.vegweb.com/ and was mostly chosen because I had the flax seeds and water (obviously!) needed to make the egg substitute, plus the requisite sweet potatoes, onion, baking powder and flour. I also jotted down a note from someone who’s screen name was “oktokrewl” about adding cornstarch to the flax seed mixture to make the pancakes hold together better.

I made the sweet potatoes the night before I served them. First, I scrubbed and peeled two large potatoes and threw them into the food processor. The onion was the next item dropped in. Then I poured the chopped up mixture into a glass bowl and soaked up the extra water with a handful of paper towels (regular potatoes have much more moisture to absorb and usually require a cheesecloth).

After cleaning up the food processor, I added some flax seeds into its basin and started the machine. Let me save you some time and dishwashing duty right here. This did not work, nor did the blender that the recipe suggested. I was about to give up when I spied my coffee grinder on the kitchen counter and thought I’d give it a shot. I was pleasantly surprised when it grinded the seeds down to the consistency of fine cornmeal. (You can also buy them ground up, I later discovered.)

I returned the ground flax seeds to the food processor and added some water and about a teaspoon of cornstarch (thank you, oktokrewl!), then blended them together. The mixture was brown and gooey, and though the recipe said it should have a “milk shake-like consistency,” it didn’t look like any milkshake I’d ever drink. Ignoring its appearance, I poured my “flax eggs” into the chopped sweet potato and onion mixture, and then added the other ingredients. I also threw in some extra spices – nutmeg, allspice and curry – to bring up the flavor level a notch.

All that was left to do was fry. But have you ever fried latkes? Here are some tips: 1) Wear clothing you don’t like because you will most likely get splattered. 2) Use a large pan you’re not particularly attached to. I use the same pan every year and it’s covered with battle scars of dark brown grease that no amount of Ajax can remove. 3) Put on your exhaust and crack open some windows. You and your entire house are going to smell like French fries, but at least this well help a little bit.

For the next step, I poured a hearty amount of canola oil into my pan. Don’t skimp here. It should be about an 1/8 inch high. After the oil was good and hot, I started adding tablespoon-sized heaps of the sweet potato mixture into the pan, about six or seven at a time. Soon the pancakes were sizzling and the heavy scent of fried food filled the air. After I could see that the bottoms were browning (3 or 4 minutes), I flipped them over with a spatula to finish them off. Another note: don’t turn your back or make a phone call here; the latkes can go from perfect to burnt in about 30 seconds, so stay focused. When both sides were nicely fried, I put each finished latke on my spatula and then slipped it off onto a pile of paper towels. I also put paper towels on top of the latkes to soak up the extra oil. Happily, most of them didn’t break, so the “flax eggs” seemed to have done the trick as far as serving as the glue to hold the pancakes together. The couple that broke didn’t go to waste. Since I wanted to taste-test the recipe anyway, I took this as my chance to sample my experiment. I must say the latkes tasted like the real thing – oily, salty, and a little bit crunchy, with a hint of Middle Eastern spices. I did detect a little extra sweetness compared with previous batches made with eggs, but that was the only difference.

When I was done frying all the latkes (the recipe makes about 15, but you can double if you’ve got the time and energy), I let them cool off, put them in a Tupperware container with layers of wax paper between them, and stored them in the fridge. By that time I felt my pores were oozing oil, so I threw my clothes in the washer and went upstairs to shower.

By the next afternoon I had recuperated from my adventures in frying and decided to proceed with the spaghetti squash casserole. I pulled out the squash from my garage refrigerator and lugged it upstairs. Probably weighing in at three or four pounds and measuring about eight inches long, the squash looked like a medium-sized pumpkin, only it was yellow and more oval shaped. I cut it in half lengthwise and scooped out all the seeds, then put it in the oven (skin side up) for about 40 minutes to soften its flesh. While the squash was baking, I sautéed onions, garlic and mushrooms in a large pan, then added chopped tomatoes and dried oregano, thyme and basil. By the way, if your spices are more than a year old, don’t even bother using them. Their flavor is faded and they probably smell musty. Toss them out and buy a new batch; you’ll be much happier.

You’re supposed to cook this mixture until most of the liquid evaporates. For some reason this was not happening, so I had to use a baster to get rid of the excess. When this was done, I spooned the contents of the pan into a large bowl.

Then came the fun part. I’ve never cooked spaghetti squash before so I was excited to see what would happen. After the squash halves were done softening in the oven, I pulled out the pan they were on and set it on top of my oven range. I was planning to wait for them to cool off, but I soon got impatient so I grabbed my white silicone Orca oven mitt and cradled the half piece of squash in my covered left hand while I held a fork in my right hand to scrape out the flesh. Amazingly, it came out like springy yellow strands of spaghetti. “This is so cool,” I said to myself with a big smile on my face, like I had just discovered the secret to the fountain of youth.

All that was left to do was add the rest of the ingredients – the squash, ricotta cheese, fresh chopped parsley and breadcrumbs – to the bowl and stir them all together, then pour the mixture into a buttered casserole dish and top with grated parmesan cheese. I stuck it in the oven and that was it.

When I opened up the oven door to pull out the casserole, I was greeted by a gush of hot air and the enticing aroma of baked vegetables and cheese. I personally couldn’t wait to try it, but I can tell you that when Bob got home from work he was less than enthusiastic.

“What did you say was in this?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I also made some latkes,” I tried to assure him.

“The ones with the fake eggs? Why do you do this to me, Laura?”

“Bob, you know that anything fried in oil tastes good. Remember when you said that about the carrot and parsnip latkes and then you liked them?”

As it turned out Bob contentedly ate the sweet potato latkes with some applesauce. He even took a second helping of the spaghetti squash casserole. I liked the casserole, too. Creamy and rich in taste, it reminded me of a vegetable lasagna, but it had no real pasta in it. I sat at the table, pleased that I had gotten Bob to accept a no-meat meal. Of course, I had patted myself on the back too soon. As we were clearing the dishes, he said, “I think I could go for a hamburger tomorrow night.”

GEOFF’S VEGAN SWEET POTATO LATKES
www.vegweb.com

2 large sweet potatoes (yams)
1 large sweet onion
1 teaspoon baking powder
3 tablespoons flour
3 flax eggs*
Salt and pepper to taste (approx. 1/2 teaspoon salt)
1/3 cup of whole flax seeds
1 cup water
(I also added 1/4 tsp. each of nutmeg, allspice and curry powder)

Using a mandolin or wide vegan cheese grater (I used a food processor), grate the sweet potatoes and onion into a bowl.

Add baking powder, flour, flax eggs, salt and pepper. Stir/mix very well. Cover a pan with a layer of oil. Form cookie-sized pancakes and fry them up

*Flax Eggs (from How It All Vegan): 1/3 cup of whole flax seeds, 1 cup water

In a food processor or blender (I used a coffee grinder), grind the flax seeds until they are a fine flax meal (or you can buy the flax seeds ground up). Slowly add the water (I also added 1 teaspoon of cornstarch) until the mixture has a thick milkshake-like consistency. 3 tablespoons = 1 egg. Mix makes a total of 6 egg equivalents.

Makes 15 latkes

Spaghetti Squash
Moosewood Cookbook

1 8-inch spaghetti squash
1 cup chopped onion
2 medium cloves crushed garlic
2 fresh tomatoes (medium- sized)
1/2 lb. fresh, sliced mushrooms
1/2 tsp. oregano
Salt and pepper
1 cup cottage or ricotta cheese
1 cup grated mozzarella
1/4 cup freshly-chopped parsley
1 tsp. basil
Dash of thyme
1 cup fine bread crumbs
Parmesan for the top
Butter for sauté

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Slice the squash in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Bake it, face down, on a buttered tray for about 30 minutes, or until easily pierced by a fork. Cool until handleable. Scoop out insides (use a fork).

While the squash bakes, sauté the onions and garlic with salt, pepper, mushrooms and herbs. When onions are soft, add freshly chopped tomatoes. Cook until most of the liquid evaporates.

Combine all ingredients (I added the fresh parsley here). Pour into a buttered 2-quart casserole. Top with lots of grated parmesan. Bake uncovered about 40 minutes.

4-6 servings

KALE: THREE TIMES A CHARM

2008-11-16T14:31:00.000-08:00

My first encounter with kale took place two weeks ago and I’ve been traumatized ever since. While I promise you a wonderful recipe in the end, please enjoy my foibles on my road to kale soup perfection. Between careless mistakes and bad luck, it took me three times to get the soup nailed down, but I hope you’ll agree, it was well worth it.

The trouble all started on my bi-monthly excursion to pick up produce from my local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), which distributes food from upstate Roxbury Farm out of a garage of a house in Pleasantville. The way the CSA works is that you pay to get a share of what’s been harvested from the farm each week, with a chalkboard telling you the specific quantities of fruit and vegetables to take from the bins. Reading the board, I piled my fall harvest bounty into my eco-friendly canvas bags (I’m always trying to minimize my carbon footprint, even though I drove over in my Audi Q7 that I think gets negative-two miles per gallon). Following the instructions, I packed up a head of ivory white cauliflower, a pair of orange and dark green acorn squash, a pint of ripe red apples, a bunch of dark green broccoli rabe, and a bag filled with several sweet potatoes heavily caked with the mud that they were buried in until earlier that morning. Last but not least was a rubber-banded bundle of kale, so large that its giant green-black leaves, rubbery in feel and highly textured and curly, jutted out of my bag. I carefully placed it in the front passenger seat of my car so that it wouldn’t pick up any dust or dirt from being tossed in the trunk with the other bags.

I was immediately intrigued by the kale because I’d never bought or cooked it before. Feeling my alter ego of The Inspired Chef emerge (it’s been in hiding lately), I decided that I had to make a dish with the kale that very evening. Back at home, I threw all the other produce into my garage refrigerator but brought the bag with the kale into the kitchen. What was I going to do with this ridiculously large leafy vegetable?

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First I decided to educate myself, so I went upstairs to do some research on my computer. Do you know anything about kale? Well, just in case you’re wondering, I looked up some information on wikipedia.com, which informed me that “Kale or Borecole is a form of cabbage (Brassica oleracea Acephala Group), green in color, in which the central leaves do not form a head.” Apparently, it’s related to broccoli, cauliflower, collard greens and Brussels sprouts. It’s also very high in a lot of vitamins and minerals, including beta carotene, vitamin K, vitamin C, lutein, zeaxanthin (whatever that is), and “reasonably rich in calcium.” Because I’m anemic, I checked to see kale’s iron content and took note that one serving provided about seven percent of a person’s daily requirements. Oh, and here’s a little extra bit of random information I found on the wikipedia site: “A whole culture around kale has developed in north-western Germany… There, most social clubs of any kind will have a “Grunkohlfahrt” (“kale tour”) sometime in January, visiting a country inn to consume large quantities of kale, sausage and schnapps.” But what really caught my eye was the following entry about a traditional Portuguese soup called caldo verde, which combines pureed potatoes, diced kale, olive oil, broth, and sliced, cooked spicy sausage. Since I had all those ingredients in my refrigerator, freezer or pantry, I decided to explore this option further.

On epicurious.com, I came across a recipe for “Potato Soup with Kale and Chorizo” from the March 2008 issue of Bon Appétit. In addition to the ingredients listed in the title, I also needed olive oil, a yellow onion, smoked paprika (I used regular), chicken broth and some rustic bread for croutons (which I passed on the first two times I tried this, but made the third and it was worth the effort). What can I say? I was inspired. I couldn’t wait for my chorizo, the spicy sausage, to defrost, so I ran out to the grocery store and bought some more so I could make the dish right away.

Back at home again, I rinsed off the kale and patted the leaves dry with paper towels. After cutting out the thick stems with a sharp knife, I chopped the kale into small pieces. Next, I cut up the onion, then skinned and diced a couple of large russet potatoes that had been hiding in the bottom of one of my refrigerator bins for close to a month. I was happy to be cooking them before they started sprouting weird green buds like the last time I’d forgotten to use them. Finishing up my sous chef duties, I pulled the reddish-brown colored chorizos from their plastic wrap and placed them on my cutting board. I cut off three links and took a knife to the first one, running it down the side of the sausage. Then I gently dug in my thumb nail and started prying loose the thin, filmy skin that surrounded the link. The casing easily slid off leaving the “naked” sausage, which I cut into thick slices, exposing the greasy, marbled, fatty meat inside. After quartering the slices, I was ready to start cooking.

First, I cooked the onion, making sure it was translucent before adding the paprika and chorizo, followed by the potatoes and what I thought (we’ll return to this, I assure you) was the one cup of chicken broth the soup called for. Finally, I threw in the bowl full of kale. While it looked like a lot when it was in the bowl, the kale wilted and shriveled when added to the pot. All that remained was to let the soup simmer for an hour. I remember thinking that it didn’t look like there was enough broth, but I said to myself, “The kale must release a lot of liquid when it’s cooking.”

Just as I was finishing up the prep work, my neighbor Lauren called. Since the soup didn’t require any more attention (or so I thought), I decided to run over to her house for a little bit. The couple of minutes I was planning to spend over there quickly turned into a half hour. Strolling back to my house in the cool evening air, I thought I smelled a faint aroma of burnt sausage. As I walked into my garage the smoky scent grew thicker and by the time I entered the kitchen, I knew I was in trouble. My soup was burning. A look inside the pot revealed that all the liquid had dried up and there was a thick, burnt layer of kale, potato and sausage caked to the pan’s enamel.

Panicking, I filled up a glass of water from the sink and poured it on top of the charred remains. I tried to scoop out the unburnt portions, thinking maybe I could still salvage part of the soup. Running down to the pantry, I grabbed a couple cans of College Inn broth and poured them into a new pot, adding the sorry mixture that I’d been able to recoup. Stirring the new soup, I started to think about what had gone wrong. Why had the soup burned? Then I looked over at the recipe and realized that I had misread the chicken broth measurement: it said eight cups, not eight ounces. Why didn’t I question that more when I saw there was so little liquid in the pot? I really had no answer. I decided to heat up the new soup, picking through it and pulling out any blackened bits I spotted, which pretty much seemed like every piece.

I really didn’t have much else to serve at dinner, except for some leftover chicken, so I decided to test the soup out on my husband, Bob. “I overcooked this a little bit, but just try it,” I said as I set a bowl in front of him. I looked at him from across the table as he lifted the spoon to his lips and waited for a reaction. I have to say he was rather gentlemanly about it. “I think it would have been really good if it wasn’t burnt,” he said, and then pushed the bowl aside. “Let’s order in some Chinese.”

I was determined to make the soup again and get it right. Only I was out of kale, so I had to go to the supermarket the next day to restock. Walking up and down the produce aisles I couldn’t locate any kale. Then I saw the produce manger, Jerry, who gives me all my insider information.

“Are you all out of kale?” I asked him.
“Come back tomorrow morning, we’re getting a delivery.”
“What time?” I wanted to know.
“It’ll be here by 10 a.m.,” he said.

I picked up the kale the next day and made the soup that evening. Bob was out at a dinner meeting, but I figured I would leave it for him to have for dinner the following night because I was going to be out. Everything was going just right. I had chopped all the ingredients, added the right amount of broth and was letting it simmer. I decided I would dip in my cooking spoon and try a taste. I can tell you I was not expecting to be greeted by a fiery sensation that stabbed at my tongue and made me cough uncontrollably. “The chorizo couldn’t have been that spicy,” I thought. “What did I do wrong this time?”

Then I looked over at the little clear plastic bag of bright red powder — what I thought was the paprika. “Oh no,” I said to myself. I licked my finger, stuck it inside the bag and then put it in my mouth. This time the heat was even more extreme. Apparently, I had put in two teaspoons of cayenne pepper instead of paprika. I guess that’s what I get for not labeling my spices!

After all that prep work, I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe I had put so much time into cooking the soup and had made such a careless mistake. Was there anything I could do to correct it? I stomped upstairs and searched the internet to find information on reducing the heat of a dish. Most of the advice centered on adding more ingredients and liquid to counteract the spice and someone suggested adding honey. Back in the kitchen, I put all of the ingredients in a strainer and ran water over them for a minute or so. Then I put the mixture back in the pot and poured in a couple more large cans of chicken broth. I tasted the soup again and it was still on fire so I went to step two, adding the honey. It helped a little but I still thought the soup was too spicy. I probably should have tossed the whole thing down the disposal, but I just didn’t have the heart. I let it cool off and put it in the refrigerator.

I must have forgotten to tell Bob about my debacle. The following evening, as I was drinking wine with my friends, my cell phone started buzzing. The text from Bob read: “What’s the deal with the soup? Are you trying to kill me?” Oops!

After I nursed by bruised ego for a couple days, I once again had an uncontrollable urge to make the soup and get it right.

“I’m not going to eat it if you make it again,” Bob said, seeming to have finally lost his patience.
“I am going to make it and you’re going to like it,” I told him. He glared at me. “I’m going to get it right this time, I promise!”

And I did. I made sure to use the real paprika, I made sure to add the right amount of broth, and I even made the suggested homemade croutons by sautéing some rustic bread in olive oil. I was almost afraid to taste it when it was done simmering. Tentatively, I dipped in my spoon and took a sip. “Nice,” I thought.

The soup had just the right amount of spice from the chorizo, and the potatoes and kale added extra flavoring and texture. No ugly surprises this time. When Bob got home from work he refused to try the soup at first, but I finally convinced him. I have to admit I had a huge smile on my face when he got up and got seconds!

POTATO SOUP WITH KALE AND CHORIZO
Bon Appétit, March 2008
By Roy Finamore

5 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 large onion, chopped (about 2 cups)
8 ounces fully cooked smoked Spanish chorizo or hot Calabrese salami, casing removed if necessary, chopped
2 teaspoons smoke paprika*
1 ½ pounds russet potatoes, peeled, cut into ¼ -inch-thick slices
8 cups low-salt chicken broth
1 ½ pounds kale, stemmed, torn into small pieces (about 16 cups lightly packed)
3 cups ½-inch cubes rustic bread

Heat 3 tablespoons oil in large pot over medium heat.

Add onion; cook until translucent, about 8 minutes. Add chorizo and paprika; stir 1 minute. Add potatoes and broth. Increase heat and bring to a boil. Add kale; stir until wilted and soup returns to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 1 hour, stirring occasionally. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Refrigerate uncovered until cool, then cover and chill. Rewarm before serving.

Meanwhile, heat 2 tablespoons oil in large skillet over medium heat.

Add bread cubes and sauté until golden, about 10 minutes. Sprinkle croutons with salt and pepper. DO AHEAD: Can be made 4 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature.

Divide soup among bowls. Top with croutons and serve.

*Sometimes labeled Pimenton Dulce or Pimenton de La Vera Dulce; available at some supermarkets, at specialty food stores, and from tienda.com.

Makes 6 servings

Apricot Season

2008-08-25T05:51:00.000-07:00

I have apricots on the brain. I think the reason why is that I just finished reading a book called The Man in a White Sharkskin Suit. It’s a memoir written by Lucette Lagnado about growing up in a wealthy Jewish family in Egypt in the mid-20th century and then immigrating to America because of mounting anti-Semitism in her homeland. The book is amazing in its ability to recreate the sights, sounds and even tastes from the narrator’s privileged young life on Malaka Nazli, the street where she lived in Cairo.

It seemed like apricots were mentioned on every page of the book. There were Lagnado’s accounts of looking out her apartment window and watching vendors pushing wheelbarrows full of fresh apricots, figs, grapes and other fruits. There were also tales of Zarifa, Lagnado’s paternal grandmother, who was convinced of the magical healing powers of apricots, causing her to slip them into just about every dish she prepared – from rice to meat to chicken -- so that each meal was infused with a sweetly tart flavor.

With the book on my mind and apricots currently in season, I opened up a recent New York Times Dining In/Out section (August 6, 2008) and discovered Melissa Clark’s “A Good Appetite” column, featuring a recipe for “Honey-Apricot Parfait with Greek Yogurt, Walnuts and Cinnamon.”

My mouth was watering before I finished reading the column. I tore out the recipe and promised myself I would go early the following Saturday morning to the farmers’ market and pick up a pint of these luscious little fruits, which have a subtle citrusy fragrance and soft velvety orange skin. I did indeed get to the farmers’ market but all of my apricots didn’t make it home because I decided to eat two of them in the car, and, of course, dripped yellow juice all over my white t-shirt.

I also went over to the health food store and bought some Greek yogurt. I like the Fage (pronounced Fa-yeh) brand with zero percent fat because it’s really rich and creamy, plus full of calcium and protein -- and only 90 calories to boot. I had the other items in my kitchen: sugar, cinnamon, a lemon, good honey to drizzle on top (go for something like lavender, orange blossom or wildflower), and some walnuts.

Once I had gathered all the ingredients, I went to work. Halving the recipe (since I was only making it for myself), I cubed a cup of apricots, put them in a small bowl and then tossed them with lemon zest, cinnamon and sugar. While I let the mixture rest for a few minutes to draw out the juices, I toasted the walnuts in the oven to release more of their flavor and make them crispier.

Next, I stirred the yogurt in its container until it looked nice and thick. At this point, I wanted to lick my spoon because the white fluffy yogurt looked so much like ice cream. Beware, this is a mirage. If you do choose to give in to the urge and taste it, be forewarned that you will get a rather tart surprise. A better decision is to sample the marinated apricots cubes, which is exactly what I did. Savoring each juicy sweet bite, I had to force myself to stop eating the fruit so there would be enough left for the recipe.

The directions say to put half of the yogurt into a parfait glass or bowl. I put mine in a coffee mug the first time and a wine glass the second go-round, but if I ever served this for company I’d hop over to Pottery Barn or Pier 1 and pick up something a little nicer!

The next step is to drizzle a little of the honey on the yogurt, followed by a layer of the walnuts (think baklava). I spooned the cubed apricots on top, saving a few pieces for garnish. I repeated the yogurt, honey and nuts one more time, then sprinkled the reserved apricots on top.

I have to tell you that this turned out to be the best breakfast I have ever made for myself, although it would also be a perfectly delightful (and healthy) snack or dessert. With its colorful layers of white, brown and orange, it not only looked great but also tasted terrific, boasting an incredible combination of tart and sweet flavors and crunchy and creamy textures. Taking a big bite, I closed my eyes and could almost transport myself to Lagnado’s cherished Middle Eastern childhood.

Honey-Apricot Parfait with Greek Yogurt, Walnuts and Cinnamon
The New York Times, Wednesday, August 6, 2008
By Melissa Clark

10 ounces apricots, pitted and cubed (about 2 cups)
1 to 2 tablespoons sugar, depending on sweetness of apricots
¼ teaspoon lemon zest, optional
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup Greek yogurt
Good honey for drizzling
½ cup chopped toasted walnuts

Toss apricots with sugar, lemon zest (if using), and cinnamon. Let rest for a few minutes to bring juices out in apricots.

Stir yogurt until creamy. Divide half of it between two bowls or parfait glasses. Drizzle with a little honey and sprinkle with nuts. Spoon apricots into each glass, saving a few cubes to garnish tops. Repeat layering of yogurt, honey and nuts, then garnish with reserved apricot cubes. Serve immediately.

Yield: 2 servings

Trifecta of Garden Greens

2008-07-01T15:57:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, I woke up a little before 8 a.m. and the first thing that came to my mind was that the local farmers’ markets were now open for business. It had been a long winter and spring of having to go to the supermarket for my “fresh” produce and I started to get excited as I visualized a kaleidoscope of locally grown vegetables – bright orange carrots, leafy green lettuces, ruby red beets, and crimson radishes. I looked over at my husband, Bob, who was still asleep. That is, he was asleep until I poked him a couple times and repeatedly asked, “Are you awake?” He finally stirred and, before he was totally alert and able to think clearly, I convinced him to come with me to the Pleasantville Farmers’ Market, throwing in an enticing incentive of getting breakfast afterward at the adjacent diner.

We parked in Pleasantville’s train station lot and headed down to the long row of tented stalls lining the sidewalk by the platform. At 8:30 in the morning, the place was already hopping! From young parents pushing their babies in strollers to elderly couples lugging their eco-friendly cloth grocery bags, it was all so healthy and wholesome. (With our matching hangovers from the night before, I wasn’t sure if Bob and I belonged in this picture.)

My attention was drawn to the long line of customers forming behind the Bobolink Dairy stall – and proprietors Nina and Jonathan White hadn’t even finished unloading their van full of artisanal cheeses and wood-fired breads. I got at the end of the queue for my weekly requirement of cave-aged cheddar cheese and crusty cranberry walnut bread, while Bob walked over to the Pickle Licious booth to buy our allotment of sour dills.

Finished with our initial purchases, we passed by the fresh fish and organic meat vendors and the stalls full of homemade quiches, soups and pies, then headed over to one of the larger produce stands, stacked with overflowing bins of lettuces, radishes, beets, cherries and strawberries.

Donning my alter ego of the Inspired Chef, I decided that it was the perfect time to experiment with some seasonal produce. I picked out several leafy heads of bok choy and tatsoi for a recipe of sautéed Asian greens that I wanted to try out, plus a bag of sugar snap peas for another dish, and a handful of scapes for a third.

Now you might be saying, “Back up! What are scapes?” I only know the answer because I read the Dining In section of The New York Times on Wednesday, June 18. In case you missed it, the writer Melissa Clark described scapes as being “pencil thin and exuberantly loopy” with a “tightly closed but bulging bud” at the top of each stem. According to Clark, scapes are the flower shoot of the garlic bulb and are cut off by farmers to encourage bulbs to grow bigger. Happily, scapes made their way to the market when growers realized they could make money from something they had been throwing away.

The curvy form and vivid green color of scapes reminded me of thin garden snakes. Picking up a handful in the stall, I immediately detected a mild, garlicky scent and got excited about the opportunity to use them in a recipe for “White Bean and Garlic Scapes Dip” that I had saved from the Times article.

That evening, burned out from an afternoon of graduation parties (my older son, Sam, just finished high school), Bob and I decided to stay home and have a quiet evening. I decided it would be a perfect time to test the dip. Heading to the refrigerator, I pulled out the bag of scapes. After rinsing them in the sink and chopping them coarsely, I threw the scapes into the food processor with some freshly squeezed lemon juice, a can of drained cannellini beans, some sea salt and ground pepper. After creating a rough puree, I got out my trustee EVOO (extra virgin olive oil, thank you Rachael Ray!) and drizzled it through the top of the processor until the dip was smooth (a couple tablespoons of water was also needed).

Wanting to test the recipe, I pulled out a box of Wheat Thins from our snack drawer and grabbed a cracker to scoop the dip. It had a wonderful garden-fresh taste and a mildly spicy kick, but lacked a little something in the flavor department. I decided to add a pinch of ground Cayenne red pepper and ¼ teaspoon ground cumin. Another sampling proved the two additions were good choices, bringing a little extra bite to the picture. I spooned the dip into a serving bowl and brought it out to our deck to serve with some more of the crackers and a bottle of Malbec wine. Good food, good wine, beautiful sunset – what more could you ask for? (Oh, maybe I’d like a housekeeper 24/7 to clean up the chronic mess in my sink!)

Feeling that healthy vibe, I decided to continue with my garden green experiments. Next in line were the sugar snap peas, which I decided to use in a recipe I found in The Barefoot Contessa cookbook. After a little online research, the only change I made was to steam the snap peas instead of blanching them because I read that would keep them crisp.

At this point, I want to give you a heads up. If you want to serve snap peas, you have to be willing to do some prep work. It will take you a good ten minutes to remove the stem from each of the pods along with the string that runs along the top of the snap pea. However, the sweet, fresh taste should be enough reward for a bit of grunt work.

After I steamed the snap peas for several minutes, I put them in a bowl and mixed them with sesame oil, black sesame seeds, and kosher salt to taste. Everyone, and I mean even the kids, downed them at last Sunday’s dinner, and I noticed the next day that Sam had raided the refrigerator sometime after I had gone to bed and demolished the scant leftovers.

Last but not least, I had to use my bok choy and tatsoi. Luckily for me, I had saved a recipe card from the farmers’ market for “Asian Style Greens with Sesame, Ginger and Soy Sauce.” Making this dish last Monday afternoon, the first thing I did was rinse off the vegetables’ dark green leaves because, at least in my case, they were dirty as can be, looking like they had been pulled from the earth and brought directly to the farm stand. I cut off the bottoms and threw all the leaves in my salad spinner. After they were cleaned and dried, I chopped them coarsely and set them aside in a bowl.

Tatsoi

Bok Choy

Next in line for my sous chef duties was mincing the garlic and ginger. Regarding the ginger – buy this knobby condiment fresh, peel off the outer skin and dice finely. (I’ve tried chopping it in my food processor and it did not work well.)

I heated up some olive oil in a wok and added a mixture of white and black sesame seeds. As soon as they started popping, I poured in my minced garlic and ginger and sautéed for a minute or so, while the rich, fragrant smell of the cooking greens enveloped the kitchen. For the finishing touches, I used some naturally brewed soy sauce (San-J Premium Tamari Soy Sauce is a good choice) and rice vinegar, stirring until all the ingredients were combined. Taking a taste, I knew this was going to be a winner with its perfect combination of crunchy greens and tangy flavor.

Does this all sound too healthy? Three days in a row of garden greens? Well, it did to me. The only solution was to raid the fridge and finish up that pint of Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream I had hidden away. And yes, I did add chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles!

White Bean and Garlic Scapes Dip
The New York Times, June 18, 2008
By Melissa Clark

1/3 cup sliced garlic scapes (3 to 4)
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice, more to taste
½ teaspoon coarse sea salt, more to taste
Ground black pepper
1 can (15 ounces) cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil, more for drizzling

My suggested additions:
Pinch Cayenne red pepper
¼ teaspoon cumin

1. In a food processor, process garlic scapes with lemon juice, salt and pepper until finely chopped. Add cannellini beans and process to a rough puree.
2. With motor running, slowly drizzle olive oil through feed tube and process until fairly smooth. Pulse in 2 or 3 tablespoons water, or more, until mixture is the consistency of a dip. Add more salt, pepper and/or lemon juice, if desired. Add Cayenne red pepper and cumin (per my suggestion).
3. Spread out dip on a plate, drizzle with olive oil, and sprinkle with more salt.

Yield: 1 ½ cups

Sugar Snap Peas with Sesame
Barefoot Contessa Cookbook

1 pound sugar snap peas
Dark sesame oil
Black sesame seeds
Kosher salt

Pick through the sugar snap peas to remove any that aren’t perfect. Remove and discard the stem end and the string from each pod. Toss the snap peas (see note below about preparing) in a bowl with sesame oil, sesame seeds, and kosher salt, to taste. Serve at room temperature.

Note: While the Barefoot Contessa cookbook recommends blanching the snap peas in boiling salted water for 5 minutes if they are too tough to eat raw, I chose to steam mine for 3 minutes and then ran them under cold water and they turned out perfectly.

Asian-Style Greens with Sesame, Ginger, and Soy Sauce
4 servings
http://www.communitymarkets.biz/

4 tablespoons sesame oil or olive oil
2 tablespoons white hulled sesame seeds
2 tablespoons black sesame seeds (optional)
2 garlic cloves, minced
4 teaspoons ginger, minced
2 pounds tender Asian greens, such as baby bok choy, watercress, tatsoi or mizuna, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons naturally brewed soy sauce
4 tablespoons rice vinegar

1. Warm the oil inn a wide heavy sauté pan or wok over medium heat. Add the sesame seeds and stir until they pop and become fragrant. Add the ginger and garlic and sauté for one more minute.
2. Add the greens and one tablespoon soy sauce, raise the heat, and cook, covered for one minute. Uncover and sauté for one to two minutes more, until the greens are tender but still bright green. Stir in more soy sauce and vinegar to taste and serve immediately.

Jamaican Jerk Chicken, Tropical Fruit Salsa and Corn Bread

2008-05-17T15:15:00.000-07:00

It all started with an avocado. I woke up on a recent Sunday, two weeks and a day after my father passed away and decided I was ready to cook again. I just hadn’t had the will to make anything creative in the kitchen since my father’s death. That morning, however, I was starting to feel a little less despondent and a little more like my old self again.

As I lay in bed with a million thoughts whizzing through my head like wayward comets, the image of the ripening avocado sitting by itself on my black-and-white-speckled granite kitchen counter jumped out and begged for priority attention. The aforementioned avocado -- pear shaped with bumpy, blackish-green skin -- was part of the fruit basket my husband Bob’s office had sent over to our house to express their condolences. “What can I do with that avocado?” I said to myself. “By tomorrow it will be overripe.”

I considered guacamole, but then remembered the papaya, mango, kiwi and pineapple that were also in the fruit basket and had been relegated to my garage refrigerator due to the overwhelming amount of leftovers from the previous week’s shiva (like a Jewish wake, but with lots more food). Energy began to surge through my brain and body, as if I were possessed, and the drive to concoct some type of delicious dish took over and forced me out of my comfortable bed.

Throwing on a pair of slippers, I headed downstairs to the kitchen and started rummaging through the refrigerator. Upon discovering that I also had cilantro and red onion on hand, I decided that a tropical fruit salsa was the ideal recipe to use up all the leftover items lying around the house. Even though I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee, I was totally awake, prodded on by the thrill of discovering a new recipe to try out. I ran up the stairs to my office, turned on my computer, and logged on to Epicurious.com. On the site’s search engine, I entered my available ingredients, and about 11 entries appeared, the most appetizing being “Avocado and Tropical-Fruit Salsa” from the February 2000 issue of Gourmet magazine.

That recipe alone might have been ambitious enough, but I was on a roll. I immediately asked myself, “What am I going to serve the salsa with?” At first, I thought about red snapper or swordfish, but then vetoed those two ideas because my kids don’t eat fish. “Hmmm, how about jerk chicken?” Sticking with the tried-and-true Epicurious.com I did a search and came up with a recipe for “Jamaican Jerk Chicken” from Bon Appétit’s May 2006 issue. A quick run back down to the kitchen (who needs a Stairmaster anyway?) proved I had most of the spices – dried thyme, allspice, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg – plus a number of the other ingredients, including dark brown sugar, ketchup, soy sauce, dark rum, and garlic.

My creative juices were now in full throttle, almost as if trying to make up for time lost while mourning my father. On total overdrive, I thought to myself, “There’s still something missing. What else can I make to go with the jerk chicken and fruit salsa?” Then I remembered that I had been cleaning out the kitchen the other day and had found a bag of stone ground corn meal I had bought at the farmer’s market last summer. I had put the bag aside with the hopes of using it sometime soon for cornbread. Clearly, this was going to be the day.

Looking out the window and seeing it had stopped raining, I decided I'd hit upon the perfect menu because I was going to the ballet with my friend Claudia and her daughter in the afternoon, and if I prepared everything in advance, Bob could start grilling the chicken while I was still out. Taking it one step further, I thought I'd even invite Claudia’s family for dinner since the jerk chicken recipe said it would serve eight.

Now, a normal person might have dumped all the recipes in the trash, gone to the supermarket and bought fruit salsa in a prepackaged container, picked up a couple of chicken breasts and drumsticks along with a bottle of jerk chicken sauce, and opted for an aluminum tray of store-made corn bread. But let me remind you, I am not quite normal. And even though this blog is called the Inspired Chef, I am seriously thinking about changing the name. Bob has readily suggested the Demented Chef, the Deranged Chef, and the Obsessive-Compulsive Chef. He says I’m like “Martha Stewart… on crack.” It’s like I’m a sane person one minute, happy to throw together fajitas or tacos or, better yet, order in Chinese for dinner. But then I’ll read a recipe in The New York Times or see something in the grocery store, or in this case, wake up and become fixated on an avocado, and I spiral out of control. And like Clark Kent becoming Superman or Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk, I don my alter ego of the Inspired Chef, and can’t return to my normal self until I have saved the world (or at least fed my family and friends) with some type of kitchen creation.

All this and it was only 8 in the morning. I decided to go to my yoga class (trying hard not to think of my shopping list during meditation) and then headed straight to the grocery store in my exercise clothes to get the rest of the required ingredients. I bought two cut-up chickens and some extra breasts; for the jerk sauce, all I needed was malt vinegar, green onions, limes and some chile peppers, the last two of which could also be used to complete my salsa.

As for the chile peppers, the jerk chicken recipe called for Scotch bonnets, but I got nervous about the hotness of this choice and opted instead for a jalapeño, especially since I was serving this dish to children. (I read on Fiery-foods.com that the Scotch bonnet is said to be 50 times hotter than the jalapeño). If you can tolerate the heat, then be my guest and up the ante on your own, but don’t blame me if you’re breathing fire for a few days.

Back at home, I unloaded all the groceries onto the kitchen counter and got to work. It was around 10:30 a.m., and I figured I had a couple of hours to get everything ready and still have time to shower and dress for the ballet. Since the chicken recipe suggested that the marinade be made at least four hours (and up to a day) in advance, I started there. First I added a few tablespoons of rum to a little bit of water in a small saucepan. It said to let it boil for three minutes, but I have to tell you there was nothing left after that time span except for a scorched pan. I had to start all over again, the second time making sure to keep my eyes on the pot and removing it from the heat as soon as I saw the liquid starting to reduce. The marinade is made by pouring this reduction into a blender, then adding on the recipe’s next 13 jerk seasoning ingredients. After blending, I transferred a couple tablespoons of the resulting mixture into a small bowl and combined it with ketchup and soy sauce to make a barbeque-style sauce that can be served on the side. Dipping my finger into the bowl for a little taste confirmed my suspicions that I had indeed concocted a spicy, tangy sauce that was bound to please.

Finishing up, I put the chicken pieces in a 9x13-inch roasting pan, used a fork to poke some holes into them (so the seasoning would soak in), and poured fresh limejuice over the top. Then I spooned the remaining jerk seasoning over the chicken and rubbed it in with my hands -- that’s right, remove your rings and get down and dirty! All that was left was to put it in the refrigerator for Bob to pull out and grill later on. FYI, bake the bone-in breasts in the oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes before grilling so that the inner flesh gets thoroughly cooked by the time you're done.

By the way, are you wondering about the history of jerk? (There is no Earl of Jerk.) According to Fiery-foods.com, Carib and Arawak Indians, who inhabited the Caribbean islands before the arrival of the Spanish explorers in the fifteenth century, slow-cooked their meat with citrus and spices in order to preserve it. The site said, “Most Jamaicans now believe that the technique was perfected by the Maroons, former slaves brought to Jamaica from West Africa, where they had used a process of cooking and preserving meat by heavily seasoning it with peppers and slow cooking over smoke.”

But, back to the present time. Next on my list was the cornbread. I got the recipe off the back of a package of Indian Head corn meal years ago, and it has been one of my family’s favorites. I started by combining the corn meal, flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a bowl. Then I went into the pantry and pulled out a log of Crisco shortening, another item that had been wasting away and begging to be used since I bought a six-pack in bulk at Sam’s Club last year when I went on a pie baking bender. Make sure the shortening is room temperature and soft, then cut it into little pieces and knead with your fingers through all the other ingredients until it looks like small crumbs. If you don’t want to get your hands dirty, you could probably do this in a mixer, but I didn’t feel like cleaning any extra bowls. The next step is to mix an egg and a cup of milk together and add them to the dry ingredients, using a few strokes of your whisker until everything’s blended.

After I poured the pale-yellow, gooey mixture into a greased cooking pan and stuck it in the oven, I had the next 20 minutes or so to focus on the third and final item, which was the fruit salsa. As far as advice, I say use any tropical fruit you can get your hands on that’s ripe. Also, make sure you remove all the seeds from the jalapeño pepper to reduce excess heat. Other than that, chop up the fruit, pepper and red onion into small pieces, use real limejuice and fresh cilantro, and you’re set. As I put the bowl of salsa in the refrigerator to chill, I couldn't help but admire its colorful palette of yellow, orange, green and red.

By the time I got back from the ballet, Bob was heating up the grill. Soon, the smoky scent of grilled chicken filled the air, complemented by the warm, sweet aroma of the cornbread that I had put in the oven to reheat. I have to say, this meal was a huge success. Even Claudia’s daughter, Clare, a tiny, 9-year old ballerina of a girl, had three helpings of the chicken.

Here’s the ironic part, I promised my friend Jan I would bring her over some of the leftover fruit salsa. It didn’t seem like it would be a problem, until, in the middle of dinner, Claudia said, “Where’s that salsa, could you bring it to the table please?” I watched helplessly as the bowl was passed around, everyone taking a second helping, even the kids, for God’s sake! In addition to the chicken and cornbread, the salsa was a goner by the end of the dinner.

What could I do? Even though I had been basking in the glow all day long from an extreme satisfaction derived from using up all the stray ingredients in my refrigerators and pantry, I decided, in a bout of extreme devotion to Jan (or acute dementia), that I had to go out to the grocery store again the next day and buy all the fruits to remake the salsa for her. Oh well, I guess the work of the Inspired Chef is never done!

AVOCADO AND TROPICAL FRUIT SALSA
Gourmet, February 2000
Lisa Ahier, Cibolo Creek Ranch, Shafter, TX

Ingredients:

2 cups finely diced tropical fruit such as kiwi, pineapple, mango, and papaya

2 California avocados, pitted, peeled, and cut into 1/4-inch dice

1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

1/4 cup finely chopped red onion

1 fresh serrano or jalapeño chile, seeded and finely chopped

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice, or to taste

Preparation:
Gently toss all ingredients with salt and pepper to taste.

Makes about 3 cups.

JAMAICAN JERK CHICKEN
Bon Appétit, May 2006
Virginia Burke

Ingredients:
3 tablespoons dark rum

2 tablespoons water

1/2 cup malt vinegar

10 green onions, chopped

4 garlic cloves, peeled, chopped

2 tablespoons dried thyme

2 Scotch bonnet chiles or habañero chiles with seeds, chopped (I used 1 jalapeño)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

4 teaspoons ground allspice

4 teaspoons ground ginger

4 teaspoons ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

2 teaspoons salt

2 teaspoons ground black pepper

2 teaspoons dark brown sugar

1 cup ketchup

3 tablespoons soy sauce

2 3- to 3 1/2-pound chickens, halved lengthwise, rinsed, patted dry

1/2 cup fresh lime juice

Preparation:
Boil rum and 2 tablespoons water in small saucepan for 3 minutes. (Keep a watchful eye on pan.)Transfer rum mixture to blender; add vinegar and next 12 ingredients and blend until almost smooth. Transfer 2 tablespoons jerk seasoning to small bowl; mix in ketchup and soy sauce to make sauce. (Jerk seasoning and sauce can be made 1 day ahead; cover separately and refrigerate.)

Arrange chicken in large roasting pan or baking dish. Pourlime juice over; turn to coat. Spoon jerk seasoning over chicken and rub in. Cover and refrigerate at least 4 hours, turning occasionally. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Preheat oven to 350°F or prepare barbecue (medium heat). Remove chicken from jerk seasoning marinade; sprinkle with salt and pepper. If roasting chicken in oven, arrange chicken, skin side up, on rimmed baking sheet. Roast until chicken is cooked through and juices run clear when thickest part of thigh is pierced with fork, about 50 minutes. If grilling chicken, place chicken, skin side down, on grill rack, cover, and grill until chicken is cooked through, turning occasionally and adjusting heat if browning too quickly, about 50 minutes. (Bake bone-in breasts for 20 minutes at 350°F before grilling.)Cut each chicken half into pieces and serve with sauce.

Makes 8 servings.

GOLDEN YELLOW CORNBREAD
Indian Head Corn Meal Recipe

Ingredients:
1 cup yellow corn meal
1 cup sifted flour
¼ cup sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
¼ cup soft shortening
1 cup milk
1 egg, beaten

Preparation:
Combine corn meal, flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a bowl. Cut in shortening. Mix egg and milk together and add to dry ingredients with a few swift strokes. Bake in a greased 9x9x2- inch pan for 20 to 25 minutes.

SHORT RIBS

2008-03-22T12:39:00.000-07:00

As you might recall, the last two recipes I blogged about were focused on healthy foods -- root vegetables and whole wheat blueberry muffins. Well, I’m not in the mood for that anymore. I need comfort food! I recently returned from several days in Cleveland, and that alone is enough to warrant gobbling down an entire serving bowl of mac and cheese by yourself. On top of that, the reason for my visit is that both my parents are sick. My brother and I need to sell their home, move them into assisted living, and tackle all the finances involved. This made me want to cook something that would fill me up, warm my body, and make me feel so sublime and satiated that I’d have no more room left in my brain to think about whether I’m doing the right thing for my mom and dad. This was a situation that called for only one thing: short ribs -- plus a really good bottle of red wine, preferably one I could drink all by myself!

As of last Saturday, I had never made short ribs, although I had enjoyed eating them at several restaurants in New York City. The spark of the idea to try cooking them myself came when I read the “Dining In/Out” section of The New York Times in mid-February, and came across a recipe by Mark Bittman (aka The Minimalist) for “Short Ribs with Coffee and Chilies.” “Coffee in short ribs?” I asked myself. At first that didn’t seem right, but Mr. Bittman claimed “There’s a tradition in Alsace and elsewhere of using leftover coffee as a braising liquid. When you combine that with a couple of types of chilies and a little red wine, the result is an exotic yet old-fashioned dish that seems to please everyone.” OK, he had my attention. I tore out the recipe and vowed to make it one day when the time was right.

I decided last Sunday was that day. And being the Inspired Chef that I am, one recipe for short ribs was just not enough. I wanted to try two, so I could see which one I liked better. My husband, Bob, on the other hand, said he wasn’t prepared to eat short ribs on multiple nights of the week and beseeched me to cook both recipes on one night.

“How are we going to eat all those short ribs? It will be too much food for the four of us,” I told him. “Why don’t you invite some people over?” he asked.

That seemed like a reasonable idea, combined with the fact that we owed our friends, Andy and Julie, a dinner invitation and wanted to share a bottle of fantastic Bordeaux they had given Bob as a birthday gift. They accepted, and my short rib saga was set into motion.

The second recipe I chose to make was also inspired by the Bittman article in the Times. In it, the Minimalist mentions a Korean version of short ribs called kalbi-jim, which he said is “made with soy, sugar, sesame seeds, oil, garlic and ginger.” The mouthwatering combination of ingredients was enough to make me go upstairs to my computer and surf the web for kalbi-jim sitings. After examining several recipes, I printed out the one on the Global Gourmet web site because it sounded the tastiest and, perhaps more importantly, didn’t require thee days to make.

With recipes in hand, I started on the next phase of my “journey toward short ribs,” which was to gather all the ingredients. The most critical thing, of course, is to buy good meat.* Ask the butcher to cut your ribs into three-inch long pieces. The meat should be marbled with fat but not overwhelmed by it.

For the “Short Ribs with Coffee and Chilies,” I bought the required pasilla and chipotle chilies at a nearby grocery story that caters to a large Hispanic population. They have a row of about fifteen different kinds of dried chilies, from anchos to arbols and costeños to guajillos (I’d never heard of half of them before!), hanging in bags above the produce aisle. I also got the garlic and onions while I was there, and then dropped by Starbucks to acquire the desired “one cup strong coffee” because I didn’t feel like brewing it at home. The last stop was the liquor store to purchase a bottle of reasonably priced (under $10) bottle of dry red wine.

I made the recipe the day before I served the ribs, which is perfectly fine to do. The part that requires the most attention is at the beginning, when you brown the meat. I watched Bittman’s video on his blog to get some extra tips, and a couple things he mentioned in the video fleshed out the newspaper recipe. Bittman says to heat the oil in a heavy pot until it’s “nice and thin and you can see it shimmering.” Score the meat in a diamond pattern to tenderize, then add the short ribs to the pot and cook them on medium heat for five to eight minutes per side. He also suggests browning at least four of the six sides until you see a nice dark crust forming.

In his video, Bittman says to remove the short ribs from the pot and let the fat cool down a bit before adding the onions and garlic, which he omitted to mention in the newspaper article, so once again I was glad I had gone onto his blog. He also says the chilies do not have to be diced; you just remove the stem and the seeds and put them into the mix, making it easier to take them out afterward. I liked this suggestion, for the main reason that it cut back on my chopping chores. After slicing open the three-inch long, brownish chipotle chili, which smelled smoky (chipotles are smoked jalapenos), and the half-foot long, blackish-red pasilla chili, which had a mild peppery scent, I added them to the pot. FYI, make sure you wash your hands with warm soapy water after handling the peppers so that they don’t burn your eyes, mouth or anything else you touch.

After the mixture has been sautéing for about 15 minutes, you can add the wine and coffee and cook until the contents have been reduced by about half, then return the ribs to the pot and cover. The recipe says to cook them on low heat or in the oven for two to three hours. I chose the oven because my range does not always provide even heat. Turn the meat every hour or so and cook until it’s so tender that it’s falling off the bone.

Now, in addition to his leaving important notes out of the written recipe, I also have another bone with Bittman. What do you do with the drippings that the short ribs have been cooking in? Since he didn’t tell me, I did nothing with them. However, I did go back on his blog and e-mail him that very question, saying: “Can you cool the sauce, skim off the fat, reheat and reduce it and then serve it with the short ribs?” If I ever get an answer back, I will let you know.

Onto the kalbi-jim. Most of the ingredients (see recipe below) need no explanation. However, I find that some of the soy sauces sold at the regular grocery store just won’t cut it, so go for a good brand like San-J Tamari Premium Soy Sauce. You’ll be much happier with the results.

I began preparations for the kalbi-jim that Saturday night, shortly after I had finished the first batch of short ribs. After mixing the marinade ingredients together in a Ziploc bag, I added the ribs and let them soak in the flavoring overnight. I could already tell this one was going to be a hit because I loved the mixture’s sweet and salty smell punctuated by the fresh, biting scent of the garlic and ginger.

The next afternoon I scored then browned the ribs in the requested peanut oil the same way that I had done the day before with the other recipe. Then I pushed the meat to the sides of the pot, placed some chopped onion and carrots in the middle, and kept cooking them until they softened. The next step was to add the marinade and some water and let the mixture come to a boil. While the recipe called for simmering with the lid slightly ajar, I stuck my pot in the oven to cook at a low temperature like the coffee/chili short ribs.

To finish the dish, take it out of the oven and put it back on the range with the lid off. Remove the ribs and let the sauce come to a boil. After it takes on a glistening syrup-like consistency, dark reddish-brown in color, toss on some toasted sesame seeds and you’re done.

As I was re-warming both batches of ribs on the stovetop before our guests arrived, I called my dad, who is recuperating in a rehab center after falling on his head several weeks ago. “Laura, why are you calling me so early in the morning?” he asked me. “Dad, it’s five o’clock at night,” I told him. “Well, they just served me breakfast,” he said. “I hope it tasted good,” I replied, feeling sad for my Dad and not wanting to add to his confusion. Hanging up the phone after our short conversation, I started gently stirring the meat, remembering again why I was making the short ribs in the first place.

I have to admit, I cut off little pieces of each type of rib to try, mainly from immense fear of serving my guests anything that would be considered inedible. I was relieved that both finished products featured rich, tender meat that was, just as described in the recipes, “falling off the bone.” While I preferred the kalbi-jim, which has a sauce with an amazing Asian flavoring that can definitely be served with the ribs, I decided to let Bob, my two teenage boys, Sam and Spencer, and our guests cast the final vote. In a 4-2 final count, the kalbi-jim was declared the winner. Most felt that the other short ribs didn’t have as much flavor.

Of course, now that I replayed Bittman’s video one more time, I noticed that at the very end he said to sprinkle on some course salt and parsley before serving. I think that would have helped a lot and I don’t know why it wasn’t in his Times piece. I guess that’s why he calls himself the Minimalist.

I also made what I call “sweet potato fries,” but the way I make them they are not fried at all. I microwave some sweet potatoes for about five minutes (make sure you poke some holes in them so they don’t explode!), then cut them into small slivers and arrange on a baking sheet that has been coated with a light amount of oil. After I sprinkle the sweet potatoes with parmesan cheese, I stick them in the oven at 400 degrees for 20 minutes, turning them at the half-way point. Also, a green salad with lots of cut up veggies is a nice, light side dish to go with this heavy meal. For me, the best accompaniment was the wonderful, full red wine that our friends had given us. The only problem was that I had to share it!

*LOCAL BUTCHERS: I’ve called a couple friends of mine who cook a lot and asked them for their favorite places to purchase meat. Here are the top six for local purchases: Zeytinia in Croton-on-Hudson (that’s where I went), Cole’s Market in Montrose, The Village Market in Chappaqua, Stew Leonard’s in Yonkers, Turco’s in Yorktown Heights, or follow my friend Doreen’s suggestions and head down to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx and “get a bunch of stuff and freeze it.”

Korean Kalbi-Jim
www.globalgourmet.com
Serves 4

Ingredients
4 pounds beef short ribs
4 cloves garlic minced
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and minced
5 green onions, chopped
4 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
¼ cup dry sherry
½ cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons sesame oil
¼ cup brown sugar, packed
fresh cracked pepper
1 tablespoon peanut oil
1 onion, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
2 ½ cups water

Preparation
Trim the ribs of excess fat. Score the top surface of the ribs in a diamond pattern.

In a container or plastic bag large enough to hold the ribs, mix together the garlic, ginger, green onions, 3 tablespoons of the sesame seeds, sherry, soy sauce, sesame oil, brown sugar and a generous grating of pepper. Add the ribs and coat thoroughly with the marinade. Refrigerate for at least 5 hours, preferably overnight.

To cook the ribs, heat the peanut oil in a heavy pot or flameproof casserole large enough to accommodate the ribs. Brown the ribs, then push them to one side and brown the onions and carrots in the same pot. Stir in the marinade and the water. Bring the mixture to a boil, then simmer, with the lid slightly ajar, for 1 ½ hours, stirring occasionally. (Editor’s note: 2 hours is better)

To finish the ribs, remove the lid and boil until the sauce gets a syrup-like consistency. Serve the ribs with the glazed sauce and the remaining sesame seeds on top.

Short Ribs with Coffee and Chilies
By Mark Bittman, The New York Times
February 13, 2008
Serves 4 to 8 (Editor’s note: This will only serve 4 for a main course)

Ingredients
1 tablespoon oil
4 large or 8 small short ribs
salt and pepper
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 dried pasilla chili, stemmed, seeded and minced (mincing is optional, see blog above)
1 dried chipotle chili, stemmed, seeded and minced (mincing is optional, see blog above)
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup strong coffee

Directions
In a heavy pot that can later be covered, drizzle oil. Over medium heat, brown ribs well, adjusting heat when necessary to get a dark crust. Take your time, and season with salt and pepper as they cook. Remove them to a plate and turn heat to low.

(Editors’ note: let grease in pot cool down a bit.) In the same pot, cook onions, garlic and chilies, stirring occasionally, until onions are soft, about 15 minutes. Add wine and coffee and reduce over high heat by about half. Return the ribs to the pot, cover, cook over low heat (or in a 300-degree oven) for 2 to 3 hours. Cook until very tender -- beyond when meat falls off the bone -- turning every hour or so. Taste and adjust seasoning and serve. (Editor’s note: add coarse salt and parsley on top.)

WHOLE WHEAT BLUEBERRY MUFFINS

2008-02-15T04:49:00.000-08:00

When I got my first job in New York City right after college, I used to buy a cup of coffee and a big blueberry muffin every morning to bring to my desk. Thinking it was a healthy breakfast, I usually ate every last crumb. Not surprising, I managed to gain about 15 pounds in less than a year. Looking back, that’s not so hard to believe when you consider that those muffins probably contained more than 500 calories each!

I love blueberry muffins, but now I rarely eat them. However, last week I had a major craving and decided to start searching for a low fat, low calorie version that would allow me to continue to fit into my jeans. I began by browsing through the pages of “Betty Crocker’s New Choices Cookbook,” which promised “more than 500 great tasting easy recipes for eating right.” Page 63’s “Whole Wheat Blueberry Muffins” looked promising so I decided to give it a try.

Scanning through the ingredients, I looked to see what diet-conscious, heart-healthy options had been included. Right off the bat, I noticed that the recipe called for skim milk instead of regular, whole wheat flour in addition to the usual request for the all-purpose variety, honey instead of sugar, and one-quarter cup oil where other recipes demand a whopping half cup. Plus, it used only a half teaspoon of salt and omitted egg yolks, substituting the whites or cholesterol-free egg product. The other key ingredients provided the major taste elements -- fresh blueberries and a topping made from a combination of brown sugar and cinnamon. The damage? Only 170 calories. Baker beware though, these muffins are also about half of the size (maybe even less) of what you see at the bakery or deli, but that’s what they say about watching your weight – it’s all about portion control.

I made the muffins right after dinner one night last week. They came out of the oven accompanied by the heavenly, fresh-baked smell of cinnamon, brown sugar and bubbling blueberries. So, how were they? Pretty darn delicious, although maybe not as cake-like and a little lighter in taste and texture than their commercial counterparts. The blueberries were still hot and syrupy, adding a perfect blend of sweet and tart flavors to the muffins. I made my husband, Bob, try one as well, promising him it was a healthy dessert. He offered his vote of approval between bites, saying, “These are really good.”

Being the Inspired Chef that I am, I wanted to try some other recipes to see if I could cut back on the oil to reduce the calories even further and still keep the taste. The following night I turned to “Canyon Ranch Cooks” for my next recipe, “Fruit Muffins.” In this version, you get to use two percent milk, sugar and a whole egg, but instead of a quarter cup oil, you only use two tablespoons, then add 1/3 cup nonfat plain yogurt. This brings the count down to 135 calories each. The most interesting find here was that the cookbook advised using whole wheat pastry flour, which it said “is finer textured than regular whole wheat flour and results in a more tender muffin.” The results? Another excellent muffin, however I didn’t like the topping, a combination of regular sugar and cinnamon, which was added after baking. I recommend going with the brown sugar and cinnamon topping from the first recipe and adding it before sticking the muffins in the oven.

Doing just that, I gave Bob a sample of the new and improved Canyon Ranch muffin. “You just made muffins last night,” was his initial response when I put the muffin on a plate and set it in front of him in the TV room as he was intently watching American Idol. Blocking his view of Simon, Randy and Paula, I implored, “Please, I need your help.” Being the good-natured sport that he is (or just to get me to move), he gulped) down muffin #2 while watching the latest contestant mutilate Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary.” “So, what do you think?” I asked. “This one’s good, too,” he told me. “Do you like one better than the other?” I wanted to know, but he had no favorite and was back to watching his show.

For muffin #3 on night #3, I went online and downloaded a recipe from www.calorieking.com that was supplied by the American Institute for Cancer Research (so it’s got to be healthy!). The big change here was substituting applesauce for most of the oil; again only two tablespoons was required. Even though it didn’t call for it, I used the whole wheat pastry flour recommended by the Canyon Ranch recipe. This recipe also added a little more flavor with some allspice, cinnamon and brown sugar in the batter. In this version, you use nonfat buttermilk (which I made by adding a tablespoon of vinegar to sour a cup of nonfat milk), and cut back on most of the oil by substituting unsweetened applesauce. You don’t get a topping in this recipe but I added the one from the first recipe on half of the muffins. I think it’s worth it because the calorie count on this one is only 112, although it seems too good to be true.

Bob was fighting me on this third muffin, balking at the idea that a taste test was absolutely necessary, which I assured him it was. He finally relented, saying, “I’ll have it at breakfast.” The next morning he ate two of the muffins, one with the sugar topping and one without. “What do you think?” “I’ll only tell you if you promise to stop making any more muffins,” he replied. “OK, this is it, I swear,” I promised him. “I like the one with the topping better, but the other one tasted good, too.” He said he had liked all the muffins I’d made. “I think the fresh fruit is what makes them all taste so good,” he noted.

It gets even better. All three of these whole wheat blueberry muffin recipes freeze well. Just throw your leftover muffins in a zipper-lock storage bag and they will keep for up to a month. To reheat the frozen muffins, wrap them in a paper towel and microwave them on high for 30 seconds or on defrost for one minute and 20 seconds. I was thinking about heating some up for Bob, but on second thought, I’d better not.

WHOLE WHEAT BLUEBERRY MUFFINS
Betty Crocker’s New Choices Cookbook

¼ cup packed brown sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¾ cup skim milk
¼ cup vegetable oil
¼ cup honey
2 egg whites or ¼ cup cholesterol-free egg product
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup fresh or frozen (thawed and well drained) blueberries

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Spray bottoms only of 12 medium muffin cups, 2 ½ x 1 ¼ inches, with nonstick baking spray (I poured a little bit of canola oil on a paper towel and wiped the bottoms of the tins instead), or line with paper baking cups. Mix brown sugar and cinnamon; reserve. Beat milk, oil, honey and egg whites in a large bowl. Stir in flours, baking powder and salt just until flours are moistened (batter will be lumpy). Fold in blueberries. Divide batter evenly among muffin cups (cups will be full). Sprinkle with brown sugar mixture. Bake about 20 minutes or until golden brown. Immediately remove from pan. 12 muffins

Calories: 170

Fruit Muffins
Canyon Ranch Cooks

1 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup whole wheat pastry flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 whole egg
1/3 cup 2% milk
2 tablespoons canola oil
1/3 cup sugar
1 cup peeled and chopped fresh fruit, or fresh berries

Topping:
Pinch cinnamon
2 tablespoons sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly coat cups of a 12-cup muffin tin with canola oil. In a large bowl, combine flours, baking powder and salt. In a medium bowl, combine egg, milk, yogurt and oil. Add sugar and mix well. Pour egg mixture into dry ingredients and stir until all ingredients are moistened. Add fruit and stir until just mixed. Place ¼ cup batter in each muffin cup and bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until muffins are golden brown and toothpick inserted into center comes out clean.

Cook’s Note: Whole wheat pastry flour is finer textured than regular whole wheat flour and results in a more tender muffin.

Whole Wheat Blueberry Muffins
www.calorieking.com
From the American Institute for Cancer Research

1 cup whole wheat flour
¾ cup all-purpose flour
½ cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground allspice
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup nonfat buttermilk*
2 tablespoons canola oil
2 tablespoons unsweetened applesauce
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly spray a muffin tin with cooking spray (or lightly coat with canola oil).

In a large bowl, combine the flours, brown sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, allspice and salt. In another bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, oil, applesauce and egg. Pour the buttermilk mixture into the dry mixture, stirring until it is just combined (do not over mix). Lightly stir in the blueberries.

Spoon the batter evenly into the prepared muffin cups. Bake until the tops are golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool slightly.

*Buttermilk can be replaced with one cup of nonfat yogurt or make your own buttermilk by mixing one cup of nonfat milk with one tablespoon of lemon juice or vinegar.

Root Vegetables

2008-01-21T16:30:00.000-08:00

OK, the holiday season is officially over. Way over. I have finally eaten my way through all the fattening food gifts we received last month, including the giant container of Poppycock, deluxe box of Godiva truffles, tin of Williams-Sonoma peppermint bark, and carton of Cheryl & Co. sugar cookies, not to mention an entire sampler of butter, white cheddar, and caramel popcorn. Putting on my official Inspired Chef uniform – which is feeling more than a little snug around my hips and midriff, I might add – I’ve decided it’s time to start eating healthy.

Last week I went to the A & P grocery store with the mission of stocking up on grapefruits, oranges and bran cereal for breakfast; salad for lunch; grapes and almonds to snack on during the day; and for dinner, lean meats and vegetables. Since it is winter, I opted to go for root vegetables, the most local and seasonal produce available at the moment.

Maybe you’re wondering what a root vegetable is? As http://www.wikipedia.org/ explains, they are “underground plant parts used as vegetables.” The site goes on to say, “Root vegetables are generally storage organs, enlarged to store energy in the form of carbohydrates.” Surfing the web, I also found out that root vegetables are high in nutrition while low in cost and calories (with about 10 to 60 calories per half-cup serving).

With the help of a recipe I’d found online at http://www.epicurious.com/ for "Roasted Root Vegetables with Rosemary” from the December 2001 issue of Bon Appétit, I started filling my cart with the required produce -- red-skinned potatoes, parsnips, carrots, red onions, leeks and garlic. Wanting to try out all the root vegetables I could get my hands on, I also bought a couple sweet potatoes and turnips to add to the mix even though they weren’t called for in the recipe. For flavoring, I tossed in a package of fresh rosemary.

Alas, the A & P didn’t have all of my called-for ingredients. Being the Obsessive-Compulsive Chef as well as the Inspired Chef that I am, I could settle for no less than every item listed so I had no other option but to make an additional trip to Zeytinia, a local gourmet store in Croton-on-Hudson, to pick up the requisite rutabaga and celeriac (celery root). Back in the car, a quick look at my two receipts revealed I’d indeed found an inexpensive side dish, with most of my vegetables ranging from $.75 to $2 a pound.

At home I spilled out all of the produce on the kitchen table. Like a demented food stylist, I arranged them in a compact pile so that I could get my “before” picture – a composition of raw vegetables in a variety of shapes and sizes with a rainbow of colors ranging from purple and red to orange, green and brown. So maybe I hadn’t harvested my own vegetables like Barbara Kingsolver, whose book, “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,” details her family’s year of living off the food they grew in their own backyard (with the addition of select items from local farms), but I still felt pretty good about the bounty of healthy winter crops amassed so attractively on my table.

The next step was preparing all the vegetables, specifically peeling and then chopping them into one-inch diced pieces, a daunting task and one I’d be happy to pass on to my full-time sous chef/clean-up crew should I ever win the lottery. I started with the celeriac, a knobby beige and light green ball-shaped vegetable about five inches in diameter, which, when I held it to my nose, actually smelled like celery. After peeling it, you have to make sure to cut the dirt-filled crevices from the greenish-white interior. Next was the parsnip, which looked like a thick carrot and had a light brown skin outside and a creamy colored inside, almost the shade of a banana. The bulblike turnips, about the size of tennis balls, had a purple and white exterior and white interior, plus a sharp, bitter, radish-like aroma. The rutabaga was the size and shape of a large orange and featured a mottled beige and violet surface. I ended up having to cut it into thick circles and then slicing off the hard and dense skin with a sharp knife. Inside, the peach-colored flesh had a pungent smell similar to the turnip (FYI, the rutabaga originated as a cross between a turnip and cabbage and is also known as a Swedish turnip).

Also on the “peel and dice” list were orange sweet potatoes and carrots, purply-colored red onions (cut it lengthwise into 6 sections, each with a piece of the heart intact so they don’t fall apart when roasting), and green leeks (use only the pale and light green parts). Happily the red-skinned potatoes required only scrubbing and slicing.

After chopping the rosemary, I divided it between two plastic, gallon-sized Ziploc bags and added half of the vegetables to each bag along with some olive oil, salt and pepper. I shook the bags vigorously and flipped them over and over again on the kitchen counter so that all the ingredients were mixed well. (You could toss the ingredients together in a bowl, but I like having one less item to clean up.) Then I spread the vegetables onto two heavy, large baking sheets. The recipe calls for the pans to be coated with a non-stick spray. Since I have an aversion to Pam (it’s my belief that there are no natural ingredients in the canister), I sprayed the pans with olive oil using my handy Misto bottle – a stainless steel container with a pump that allows you to spray a fine mist of any oil you fill it with.

The hard part was over. Now all I had to do was roast the vegetables in the oven, turning them several times and adding the peeled garlic halfway through. Soon they started to blister and brown. By the time the mixture had finished cooking, a tantalizing, earthy aroma had permeated the entire kitchen, making me wish it was time for dinner, still a couple of hours away.

When mealtime did approach I reheated the multicolored root veggies in a hot oven and brought them straight to the table, serving them alongside braised chicken I had started that morning in my crock pot. My kids were a little wary about some of the vegetable choices, but Sam said, “I’ll take the potatoes and carrots,” and Spencer also agreed to these two more familiar options. Bob and I tried all the vegetables, and the combination of hearty and rich flavors was delicious. I’d have to say the red onion slices were the sweetest, followed by the carrots and sweet potatoes, while the rutabaga and turnip cubes had the strongest, tangiest flavors. The celeriac, parsnips, potatoes and leeks rounded out the dish perfectly, and the salt and rosemary pumped up the taste even further. The only thing that didn’t appeal to me was the garlic, which, even after roasting, was a little too jarring for my taste buds.

This is a recipe that you can play around with. I’ve subsequently added beets, but given their nature to imbue everything they come close to with their brilliant magenta color, I suggest scrubbing (no need to peel) and chopping them, then coating the pieces with oil and salt (I passed on the rosemary) in their own plastic bag and separating them on the baking sheet so they don’t touch the other vegetables. I’ve also added non-root vegetables, such as Brussels sprouts and butternut squash, both delicious companions, and substituted thyme for rosemary. One last idea – you can throw all the leftover vegetables into a blender and add some chicken stock for a tasty winter soup.

I feel so healthy now that I think I’m going to have to scour the kitchen for that candy bar I hid away. Also, is it possible that an Entenmann’s sprinkle-covered donut hole can be considered a root vegetable?

ROASTED ROOT VEGETABLES WITH ROSEMARY
http://www.epicurious.com/
Bon Appétit, December 2001
8 servings

Ingredients
1 pound red-skinned potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound celery root (celeriac), peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound rutabagas, peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound carrots, peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 pound parsnips, peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 onions, cut into 1-inch pieces (I used red onions because they’re so sweet)
2 leeks (white and pale green parts only), cut into 1-inch-thick rounds
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
½ cup olive oil
10 garlic cloves, peeled

Preparation
Position one rack in bottom third of oven and one rack in center of oven and preheat to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Spray two heavy large baking sheets with nonstick spray (I used olive oil from my Misto sprayer). Combine all remaining ingredients except garlic in very large bowl (I used two plastic bags); toss to coat. Season generously with salt and pepper. Divide vegetable mixture between prepared sheets. Place one sheet on each oven rack. Roast 30 minutes. Add five garlic cloves to each baking sheet.

Continue to roast until all vegetables are tender and brown in spots, stirring and turning vegetables occasionally, about 45 minutes longer (check much earlier!).

Can be prepared four hours ahead. Let stand on baking sheets at room temperature. Rewarm in 450 degree Fahrenheit oven until heated through, about 15 minutes.

Transfer vegetables to large bowl and then serve.

Dark Chocolate Truffles

2007-12-20T09:04:00.001-08:00

Let me paint a picture for you of what my house looks like. There are dirty dishes in the sink, unopened mail on my kitchen counter, a mountainous pile of laundry on my upstairs landing that’s waiting to be washed, a master bedroom with an unmade bed and clothing strewn across the carpet, and I don’t even want to think of looking in the kids’ rooms. Just in case you don’t know me, this is a highly unusual state of affairs in my house. I’m one of those “there’s a place for everything and everything in its place,” classic Type A personalities, and I can’t stand a mess. Nonetheless, earlier tonight, right after dinner, was my one and only chance to finish making my annual holiday food gifts. A clean house would just have to wait.

This year I decided to make dark chocolate truffles. I had found a great recipe last month for “Chocolate Espresso Sambuca Truffles” on epicurious.com from the February 1996 issue of Gourmet magazine. Since Sambuca is not my favorite liqueur (bad college experience involving a night of worshiping the porcelain goddess, if you must know), I decided to follow a suggestion made by an online reviewer to substitute Kahlua instead. I made the truffles for a party I hosted in late November and also brought them to a friend’s house for a Sunday night family dinner. In both cases, the candies were a big hit so I decided last year’s “Double Chocolate Walnut Biscotti” (recipe in the blog index) would be replaced in their favor.

Earlier in the day I ran around the county gathering my ingredients. At Chef Central in Hartsdale I bought Scharffen Berger bittersweet chocolate with 70 percent cacao. (Don’t skimp on the chocolate; get the good stuff and make sure it’s high in cacao -- at least 65 percent, but try to find 70.) While I was there I also picked up a couple bags of coated paper candy/party cups to hold the truffles, just like when you buy them in a chocolate store.

My next stop was the Container Store in White Plains, where I chose adorable red paper boxes with bows on top, the smaller ones able to hold three truffles, and the larger ones, six. After stopping off at the grocery store to pick up some heavy cream and butter, I came home and got to work on phase one of my truffle escapades.

First, I used a sharp knife to chop the bars of bittersweet chocolate into little chunks and slice the butter into small pieces so they would both melt more quickly in my double boiler (if you don’t have one, simply set a metal bowl over a pan of simmering water). I put the chocolate and butter, along with the heavy cream and some espresso powder dissolved in hot water, in the top pan, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon as the boiling water below melted the mixture into a smooth, dark brown cream. Of course, it smelled so rich and sweet that I had to dip my index finger in -- just to make sure it tasted okay!

After removing the top of the double boiler from the heat, I added a couple of tablespoons of Kahlua and then let the mixture cool. In the late afternoon, right before I left to take my younger son, Spencer, to get his haircut, I covered the bowl and followed the advice of the online reviewer known only as “Chris from Toronto, ONT.” According to Chris, “Covering the cooling mixture requires sealing the plastic wrap against the chocolate mixture. Otherwise the exterior hardens substantially vs. the softer mix below, and they become difficult to roll.”

When we got back home, it was as if my prayers had been answered. I had been so busy thinking about the truffles that I had forgotten about getting dinner ready for my family. But there, right in front of the garage, was a brown cardboard box with a return address label from The HoneyBaked Ham Company. God had answered my prayers and delivered dinner right to my front door! (Well, at least to the garage door.) What else could a nice Jewish girl ask for?

After our “gourmet” ham dinner, I set to work on phase two of the truffles. I pulled out the ganache (combined chocolate and cream), which had been chilling for several hours in the refrigerator. The directions said to “form rounded teaspoons of mixture into balls,” but this was not as easy as it sounds. While some bakers use a pastry bag to pipe the ganache out (after it’s cooled to pudding consistency), I found scooping out the chocolate with a melon baller was the way to go. I also followed the advice of Jacques Torres from his book, Dessert Circus at Home. He said to wear surgical gloves when rolling the chocolate into balls. You can buy these disposable gloves at your local supermarket (or beg your local deli to give you a couple, as I’ve been known to do). I loved this because my hands didn’t get all messy and coated in chocolaty “goo.”

I felt like I was rolling chocolate balls for an eternity, but in reality it took 20 to 25 minutes to make the 40 truffles (the recipe promised 50 but I guess mine were big). I laid them out on a sheet of wax paper on top of a cookie sheet. For the grand finale, I filled a small bowl full of chocolate sprinkles and another with a mixture of half unsweetened cocoa powder and half powdered sugar. Then I picked up each ball and rolled it in the mixtures, the first 20 in the sprinkles and the second batch in the cocoa powder/powdered sugar combo. The last time, I managed to convince my husband, Bob, and Spencer to help me out (try this with your family at your own risk), but on this go around I was on my own. I've got to say, the truffles turned out beautifully, and I was extremely proud as I enrobed each one in its little white candy cup.

OK, so what are you waiting for? Get going and you, too, can be delivering chocolate truffles to your favorite friends, family, the kids’ teachers, your manicurist, your hairdresser, your personal trainer… HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!

Chocolate Espresso Sambuca Truffles (or my version, Chocolate Espresso Kahlua Truffles)
Adapted from www.epicurious.com
Gourmet, February 1996
Makes 50 truffles

Ingredients
12 ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped
½ stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
¼ cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon instant espresso powder dissolved in 1 tablespoon boiling water
2 tablespoons Sambuca or other anise liqueur (I used Kahlua)
About 1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder for coating truffles (I used ½ cocoa powder to ½ powdered sugar and also used chocolate sprinkles)

Preparation
In a double boiler or in a metal bowl over a pan of barely simmering water, melt chocolate and butter with cream and espresso, stirring until smooth. Remove top of double boiler or bowl from heat and stir in liqueur. Cool mixture and chill, covered (read my notes about this above), at least three hours, or until firm.

Form rounded teaspoons of mixture into balls (I suggest using a melon baller and wearing surgical gloves) and roll balls in cocoa powder or other suggested toppings, to coat them. Truffles keep, layered between sheets of wax paper and chilled in airtight containers, for two weeks.

Brussel Sprouts

2007-11-16T13:06:00.000-08:00

My friend Hillary has a cookbook called Everything Tastes Better with Bacon. (As you might guess, it's not published by the American Heart Association.) While I try not to eat these savory little strips on a regular basis and question the inclusion in the book of a recipe for ice cream sundaes with hazelnut-bacon candy crunch, I would probably agree that bacon does add what the author, Sara Perry, calls a “shadowy richness” and “earthy fragrance” to a dish. She also says that bacon has “two humble but charismatic ingredients that transform every food it touches: salt and fat. Salt brings out flavor, and fat carries it to our taste buds.”

That cookbook was on mind when I opened up the November issue of Westchester Magazine and spotted the Thanksgiving recipe for “Pan Roasted Baby Brussels Sprouts with Smoked Bacon, Dried Cranberries, and Pecans,” contributed by Dan Magill, the executive chef at One in Irvington, NY. Could Brussels sprouts -- my least favorite vegetable -- possible taste good with bacon? I had my doubts, but I felt that as The Inspired Chef, I had to give it a try.

When I was a kid, the sight of Brussels sprouts on my dinner plate was instant cause for alarm. The bitter taste and mushy texture of what I thought looked like mini iceberg lettuce heads was not something I enjoyed, so I used to sneak the sprouts into the palm of my hand while my parents weren’t looking. Then I’d excuse myself from the table to go to the bathroom and flush the offensive produce down the toilet. Since being traumatized as a child, I’ve tried to avoid eating Brussels sprouts throughout my adult life.

That’s why it was even harder to believe that I found myself at the local supermarket shopping for my former arch nemesis. I couldn’t find baby Brussels sprouts, so I got an extra container of the regular ones instead and later picked out the smaller sprouts to use in the recipe. I also bought the required brown sugar, dried cranberries, pecans, and slab bacon (thicker than regular bacon). The only other ingredients needed -- butter, canola oil, salt, and ground white pepper -- I had at home.

I made the sprouts last week as a trial run for Thanksgiving dinner at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. I first cooked the sprouts in a pot of salted boiling water. The recipe says to “blanch the sprouts for a minute or two,” and I did it for five minutes because I didn’t have the baby sprouts. However, that wasn’t enough time and my sprouts ended up being a little too crunchy for my taste. I don’t recommend removing the sprouts from the boiling water until you’ve sampled one that is cooked to your desired state of firmness/softness. Two nights ago when I went to Hillary’s house for some wine and cheese before going out to dinner with my husband, she was making the same recipe for her family. I told her, “You’d better cook the heck out of those Brussels sprouts because the recipe is definitely off on the timing.” She listened to my advice and boiled them about 10 minutes. I sampled the completed dish, and they had a much better consistency.

After the sprouts are blanched, you throw them in some ice-cold water to stop the cooking process entirely. The next step is to toast the pecan pieces (400 degrees for ten minutes should do it). Then you brown the cubed slab bacon in a little canola oil -- the recipe called for 1 ½ tablespoons but I added just a little splash. After the bacon gets crispy, add the sprouts and cook them until their outer green leaves turn a golden brown. For the finishing touches, add butter, brown sugar, the toasted pecan pieces, and dried cranberries, and then season with salt and white pepper to your liking.

You’re probably wondering if I liked it? The answer is yes, at least when the sprouts were cooked long enough. Enhanced by the salty, fatty bacon, creamy butter, sweet brown sugar and dried cranberries, and crunchy, nutty pecans, the sprouts actually appealed to my demanding palate (which might have matured over the past several decades). So, if you are looking for a green to make for your Thanksgiving meal, this is a real winner. Even if you think you don’t like Brussels sprouts, remember -- everything tastes better with bacon!

Pan Roasted Baby Brussels Sprouts with Smoked Bacon, Dried Cranberries, and Pecans

Courtesy of Don Magill, executive chef, One

Westchester Magazine, November 2007
Serves 10

1 ½ Tbs. canola oil

1 cup toasted pecan pieces

¾ cup dried cranberries, halved

8 oz. smoked slab bacon, cut into small cubes

1 Tbs. brown sugar

1/8 cup salt, plus more to season

Freshly ground white pepper

Trim Brussels sprouts, removing any brown or yellow leaves. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, add the salt, and then blanch the sprouts for a minute or two (my note: more like 10 if you can't find baby sprouts and are using regular ones). They should still be crunchy. Removed and shock in ice-cold water. Once cool, remove sprouts and drain. (The recipe can be prepared up to this point in advance.) In another large pan, add the oil and cubed bacon. If you don’t have a large enough pan, this can be done in batches. Cook bacon until crisp, but not burnt. Then add the blanched Brussels sprouts, and, stirring occasionally, pan-roast until golden brown. Add butter. When melted, add brown sugar, stirring again to evenly coat the sprouts. Add pecans and dried cranberries. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve.

Pumpkin Pie

2007-10-26T14:04:00.000-07:00

We are having food wars at our house. It all began last week when my 17-year-old, Sam, brought home a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream (for those of you Chubby Hubby virgins, that’s fudge-covered, peanut butter-filled pretzels in vanilla malt with extra fudge and peanut butter). He made an announcement at the dinner table that he had bought the ice cream with his own money and no one was to lay a finger on it. To make his point, Sam took a Sharpie marker and wrote his name in bold on top of the container.

Several evenings later, my husband, Bob, and my 13-year-old, Spencer, were sitting around watching television. I was reading a book in bed and heard Sam come downstairs from his room. “I’m hungry for dessert,” he said as he passed my door. This was followed several moments later by shouts of furry. “Who ate my ice cream? It’s half gone!” he bellowed. Then Sam came stomping up the stairs and into my room. “Mom, did you eat my ice cream?”

“I haven’t even looked at your ice cream,” I told him. “Dad said it wasn’t him and so did Spencer,” Sam told me. I smelled a rat so I decided to go downstairs and confront who I thought was the culprit -- namely, Bob. “I can’t believe you’re trying to lay the blame on me. Be a man and admit you ate that ice cream,” I said to him. At first he tried to deny it but then a guilty smile crept across his face. “OK, I had a couple of spoonfuls, but I didn’t eat it all, I swear.”

This made me flash back to the time when the boys were little and Bob’s mother had bought them chocolate Easter bunnies. The kids had a few bites of their bunnies and put them back, headless, in the snack drawer. A couple of days later Bob and I, in probably our worst joint parenting moment ever, ate the leftover bunny bodies. We were just going to have a few bites, but the bunnies were hollow and we were hungry. “They probably forgot about them already,” Bob said, licking a fleck of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. The next day, when Sam and Spencer discovered their treats were gone, they both started to cry hysterically. “Who ate our bunnies?” they wailed as tears streamed down their cherubic red cheeks. It was a classic case of “stealing candy from a baby,” and I’ve tried never to touch their treats since then.

“Sam, I’ll make it up to you. I’m going to bake a pumpkin pie for book club and I’ll make an extra one for the house,” I promised. “I’m still really mad,” he said, but it seemed he had calmed down a bit.

That night I went to my computer to check out recipes for pumpkin pie at http://www.epicurious.com/. I sorted recipes by rating and began scanning through the ones that came up with the top-scoring four forks. I first opened the link to “Citrus Pumpkin Pie with Grand Marnier Cream,” but wasn’t crazy about having orange and lemon peels in my pie, plus I prefer to use some Crisco (aka lard) in my crust to help it hold its shape, which this all-butter recipe was lacking. I also passed on “Maple Pumpkin Pie” because I didn’t feel like making an egg wash and pastry leaves, not to mention having to boil maple syrup to 210 degrees.

I did, however, make a note about the importance of using Grade B maple syrup, which “A cook from Boston, MA” said in the reviews “adds a bit more bite.” Further research led me to the Massachusetts Maple Producers Association website, http://www.massmaple.org/, which said while Grade A syrup was light and delicate, “Grade B, sometimes called Cooking Syrup, is made late in the season, and is very dark, with a very strong maple flavor, as well as some caramel flavor…Because of its strong flavor, it’s often used for cooking and baking.”

As they say, the third one’s the charm, and I knew I had found my dream dessert when I clicked on the link to “Pumpkin Spice Pie” from the pages of Bon Appétit magazine back in November 1999. I scanned the whopping 43 online reviews and took a few notes. “A cook from Columbia, MO” recommended “adding an additional half teaspoon of ginger to make it really spicy,” while a Chicago reviewer said to “use canned organic pumpkin.”

After I printed out the recipe, I went downstairs to see what I had in stock and what I would have to buy the next day. The good thing was I already had a number of items on the ingredients list, and all I needed to purchase was the Grade B maple syrup and canned organic pumpkin along with some whipping cream.

A note about the Grade B maple syrup: First of all, I couldn’t find it at the regular grocery store and ended up having to go to Mrs. Green’s, my local health food store, (where I also picked up the canned organic pumpkin). In addition, nobody gave me the heads up that this does not come in a small bottle, but rather a giant half-gallon jug. I almost got the Grade A, which came in a smaller size, because I was reluctant to pay the whopping $30 for the Grade B syrup. In the end, I bit the bullet and bought the B, although I grumbled under my breath at the checkout counter and all the way home. The only thing that kept me from returning the bottle was a phone call that night from my brother David, who’s a big-time cook and baker. “Grade B is the only way to go,” he told me. He called it “unfiltered” and “murkier” (not exactly appealing), then added, “You have to use the Grade B to get that dark, rich color and fuller flavor.” If you should decide to use Grade A, then use Grade A, but whatever you do, don’t substitute Aunt Jemima’s syrup, which, if you read the label, doesn’t even have maple syrup in it (scary!).

First things first. You have to decide whether you are going to bake your own pie crust or not. If you’re going to buy it, you can skim the next few paragraphs. For those of you who are going to go for it, and I recommend this, you will be highly appreciated by your guests for the few extra minutes it takes you to make this simple crust. This is how it goes down: you mix flour, sugar and salt in a food processor, then add 6 tablespoons unsalted butter and 2 tablespoons solid vegetable shortening (that’s not too much, and it’s just the ticket for a great crust!). After you pulse the combined ingredients until the point the mixture resembles course meal, you add a little bit of ice water and process until moist clumps form. In my case, the mixture turned itself into a perfect ball in a matter of seconds. I dipped my hands into a little bit of flour so the dough wouldn’t stick to my fingers, removed the ball, and patted it into a disc. Then I covered it in Saran Wrap and let it chill in the refrigerator.

In the meantime, I blended together the ingredients for the pie filling -- maple syrup, whipping cream, eggs, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and salt. It smelled just like one of those pumpkin spice candles that they sell in mall candle shops, only better and more natural.

When the pie crust was chilled, I pulled the disc out of the refrigerator and stuck it in my handy-dandy pie crust bag, made out of two 14-inch plastic circles that are connected by a zipper going around their circumferences *(see information below). You need to buy one of these $5 numbers; it's fantastic. You just throw some flour in there, insert your dough disk in between the sheets of plastic, and pull out your rolling pin. Then you roll out your dough into a perfect circle, unzip the bag and put your nine-inch pie plate on top, turn it over and, voilà!, the perfect crust slips perfectly into place. You can trim the edges and crimp them anyway you’d like; I used the tines of a fork for mine.

I’ve spared you the task of pre-baking the crust, but if you want to add that extra step (which I can tell you is unnecessary in this case), then refer to my earlier blog on making apple pie. All you really have to do for the pie is to pour the pumpkin mixture inside the crust and stick it in the oven. If the rim of the crust starts turning dark, cover it with tinfoil or splurge and buy a metal pie crust shield.*

While the cake is baking, now is the time to create the pièce de résistance, the whipped cream topping. This was so good that I kept sticking my finger in the bowl to have yet another taste of the sweet, spiced cream. It’s made of a simple list of ingredients -- whipped cream, powdered sugar, cinnamon and vanilla -- but it’s amazing how good they taste when they’re combined. FYI, it’s also about the best thing you can ever add to your coffee.

OK, back to the food wars. I served the pumpkin pie to my family at dinner the other night and then brought a second pie to my book club; both were practically devoured. I managed to bring one slice home for moi, plus there was another large piece left over from dinner. The following morning I went to yoga and told my friend D. about the pie. Never one to be shy, she asked, “Can I follow you home and have a slice?” “Of course,” I answered. Driving back to the house, I fantasized about biting into my own piece of creamy pie.

We walked into my kitchen and I opened the refrigerator. “Where’s the pie?” I asked. All that was left was a sliver, about the size of my thumb. Apparently, the food wars are still on. (Sam, if you’re reading this, I know it was you!)

*Shopping Tips:

Pie Crust Bag and Pie Crust Shield are both available at http://www.sugarcraft.com/catalog/misc/pies.htm

PUMPKIN SPICE PIE
http://www.epicurious.com/, Bon Appétit, November 1999
By Elinor Klivans

Ingredients:

Pie:
1 15-ounce can pure pumpkin (I used canned organic pumpkin)
¾ cup pure maple syrup (I used Grade B)
¾ cup whipping cream
3 large eggs
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
¼ teaspoon salt
Pinch ground ginger (not in original recipe)

1 Flaky Pie Crust (see below)

Whipped Cream:
1 cup chilled whipping cream
3 tablespoons powdered sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation
For pie: Position rack in bottom third of oven and preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whisk pumpkin, maple syrup, whipping cream, eggs, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, salt and ginger in large bowl and blend well.

Pour pumpkin mixture into prepared pie crust. Bake until filling is just set in center and crust is golden, about 1 hour. Transfer pie to rack and cool completely. Cover pie and refrigerate until cold. (Can be prepared one day ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

For whipped cream: Using electric mixer, beat 1 cup chilled whipping cream, 3 tablespoons powdered sugar, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract in large bowl until soft peaks form.

Flaky Pie Crust
http://www.epicurious.com/, Bon Appétit, 2000
By Elinor Klivans

Makes one 9-inch pie crust.

Ingredients:
1 1/3 cup all purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces
2 tablespoons chilled solid vegetable shortening, cut into ½-inch pieces
3 tablespoons (or more) ice water

Preparation:
Mix flour, sugar and salt in processor. Add butter and shortening. Using on/off turns, process until mixture resembles course meal. Drizzle 3 tablespoons ice water over mixture. Process just until moist clumps form, adding more ice water by teaspoonfuls if dough is dry. Gather dough into ball; flatten into disk. Wrap in plastic; chill until dough is firm enough to roll out, about 30 minutes.

Roll out dough on lightly floured work surface (or in your floured pie crust bag) to 12-inch round. Transfer dough to 9-inch diameter glass pie dish. Fold overhang under. Crimp edges decoratively. (Can be prepared two days ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Suzy's Ski Smoothie

2007-10-11T11:46:00.000-07:00

There’s a reason why I’m sitting here right now with blackberry seeds stuck between my teeth. It all started several weeks ago when Harriet, one of the women in my writers’ group, asked me if I’d consider turning my Inspired Chef blog into a book. “You never know,” I answered.

The following week Harriet brought me a copy of the cookbook Aspen Potpourri to look over for inspiration. Written by a college friend of hers, who’s a former editor and current writer for The Aspen Times, the book is chock-full of recipes along with photos and interesting asides about the Aspen celebrities, socialites, athletes, chefs, and everyday people who contributed them.

I spent one recent afternoon leafing through the pages of this charming collection of recipes, which was first published in 1968 and was reprinted four more times, the last edition being in 2002. While the recipes don’t specify in which edition they first appeared, you can spot some of older ones by the accompanying outdated photos, such as the one of Mary Lou Trentaz, who contributed a recipe for scalloped corn. In her picture, she’s wearing a bob haircut and those cat glasses that were so popular back in the 60s and 70s. The caption underneath reads, “Active in 4-H, Mary Lou can sew almost anything.” This was amusing to me, because if I were in the photo, it would read, “Laura Mogil can’t sew s#$%!”

Recipes fall into an array of categories, from former actress and Playboy bunny Barbi Benton’s “Apricot Liqueur” to food critic Gail Greene’s “Potluck Frittata.” There’s “Ensalada de Nochebuena” (Chirstmas Eve Salad) – a combination of beets, radishes, apples, bananas, limes, oranges and pomegranates – contributed by lady bullfighter Edith Evans; plus “Buckaroo Stew” with sizzling bacon, potatoes, and onions, from Indian trader Jerry Hill, who promised it would “warm your gizzard.” Tucked among the 327 pages is a section on helpful hints from local Aspenites, including how to dry flowers, refinish wood furniture, make a mousetrap, and wash lederhosen.

Now back to the blackberry seeds… Among the hundreds of recipes in the cookbook, the one that “spoke” to me was “Suzy’s Ski Smoothie,” contributed by former Olympic downhill skier Suzy Chafee (whom you may remember as Suzy Chapstick). I’ve been looking for a fruit smoothie that wasn’t too sugary sweet, like the horrible one I recently ordered at Coldstone Creamery and tossed in the garbage. I also wanted one that wasn’t overly fattening, like the smoothies at my health club, where the frozen yogurt and juice added to the fruit make the calorie count soar.

“Suzy’s Ski Smoothie,” which I calculated has approximately 250 calories per serving, called for frozen mixed berries and a banana (both preferably organic), rice milk, soft tofu, and molasses (which the book says is for arthritis prevention). You can pick up all of these items in one fell swoop at your local health food store.

Now if the tofu is worrying you, I can honestly say that you won’t be able to detect it in the finished product. Adding protein and thickness to the smoothie, the tofu gets thoroughly blended in and disappears among the other ingredients. The berries – I used a mix of blueberries, blackberries, strawberries, and raspberries – impart a pleasant-looking purple color and a nice fruity flavor, while the rice milk, banana and molasses enhance the drink’s subtle sweetness. One important note here, make sure to check your mirror after downing one of these shakes because I usually end up with a violet mustache and the aforementioned blackberry seeds in my teeth after imbibing.

The first time I concocted the smoothies for the kids’ breakfast, I got up early so that they wouldn’t see the ingredients on the kitchen counter when they came downstairs. I whipped up a batch in the blender in a matter of minutes and poured the kids each a cold, frothy glass. Taking his first sip, Sam said, “This is good. What’s in it?” Of course, I didn’t tell him or his brother, Spencer, until after they’d finished and I’d gotten their votes of approval. “Interesting” was their joint reply, but they asked for more so that was a good sign.

For the more adventuresome and/or health conscious, you can add what Suzy calls the “optional ski longevity additives”: spirulina powder, Ultimate Meal, ground flax seed, and Knox gelatin. On the plus side, these items add highly beneficial protein, minerals, vitamins, Omega-3 fatty acids, and anti-oxidants, not to mention their assistance in promoting healthy joints and lowering cholesterol. However, in my mind, they also contribute a powdery taste to the drink. Plus, I felt the ground flax seed gave the smoothie an added texture that was unappealing to me.

That being said, I decided to whip up two batches, one with and the second without the “ski longevity additives,” and brought them to my writing group to see what my fellow classmates had to say. There were five of us sitting around our teacher Susan’s wooden dining room table, and I poured each person a Dixie cup-full of the two samples.

My classmates devoured both cups, so they either loved the smoothies or were totally starving and would have downed paint thinner if I had put it in front of them. Surprisingly, they preferred the second version with the healthy add-ins better. Here’s the low down: Cathy thought batch number two tasted sweeter and said, “I see it as a dessert.” Judy agreed and said she’d drink it as “a late morning snack or as a fill-in if I had to have a late lunch.” Susan said the flax-laced version had “more substance” and made it seem like she was “eating not just drinking a meal.” And Harriet liked both but said she would probably never make them because she “doesn’t step a foot into the kitchen.”

Well, there you go. If you want to make “Suzy’s Ski Smoothie,” I suggest starting with the original, then adding the spirulina and Ulimate Meal (I recently substituted vanilla flavored Spiru-Tein, a soy protein powder with spirulina) along with the Knox gelatin as a second step. For the adventuresome and those who like a little crunch in their smoothies, go all the way and add the flax. You never know, you might be downhill skiing until you’re 100 – with blackberry seeds in your teeth!

SUZY’S SKI SMOOTHIE
From Aspen Potpourri by Mary Eshbaugh Hayes

Serves 2

1 cup frozen mixed berries of your choice, organic if possible
1 cup rice milk
1 banana, organic if possible
2 tablespoons soft tofu
1 teaspoon molasses (for arthritis prevention)

Blend in blender.
Can add more rice milk to taste.

Optional ski longevity additives:
½ teaspoon spirulina powder
2 tablespoons Ultimate Meal
2 tablespoons ground flax seed
1 tablespoon Knox gelatin (for joints)

To purchase cookbook, go to: http://aspenhistory.org/giftvid.html

PASTA SALAD AND PEACHES

2007-09-20T12:24:00.000-07:00

I just read an article in New York magazine about a guy who turned his 400-square-foot backyard in Brooklyn into a farm, where he raised enough produce and poultry to feed himself for a month. No, it did not inspire me to get a backhoe and start tilling the soil behind my own house – that might alarm the neighbors. However, I did get one step closer to the land by joining a CSA this summer.

What is a CSA? It stands for Community Supported Agriculture and as http://www.localharvest.org/ says, it’s “a way for the food buying public to create a relationship with a farm and to receive a weekly basket of produce.” I became a card-carrying member this year after my friend Donna asked me to take a half-share of her CSA subscription. Agreeing to join, I paid the fee and started my bi-monthly visits to the garage of a house in Pleasantville, where Roxbury Farm (in upstate New York) distributes their food. The way the CSA works, at least the one I go to, is that you get a share of what’s been harvested from the farm that week, with a chalkboard telling you to take a specific quantity of the fruit and vegetables set out in bins.

At first things were going well. I came home with bags of produce and vowed I would find ways to serve it all to my family. I sautéed my bok choy in olive oil and garlic, tore up my field greens to make a salad, and chopped up my broccoli in a stir-fried chicken dish. I also used my strawberries in a summer sangria, my eggplants in a ratatouille, and my mint in some home-brewed ice tea. However, soon the fruit and vegetables seemed to start multiplying in my refrigerator, which was bursting with bags of as yet unused squash, zucchini, potatoes, corn, arugula, and green peppers. I felt like I had to cook each and every one of them, even turning down Bob’s invitation to take me out to dinner. I couldn’t believe my ears, when I heard myself say, “Not tonight, we have to eat the broccoli rabe before it wilts.”

Finally, I was down to a bunch of basil and a pint-sized basket filled with Brandywine heirloom tomatoes, which were large, ripe and purply red. As luck would have it, I had just torn out a recipe for a pasta salad from The New York Times Magazine that said, “unless you can get great local tomatoes you should probably skip this one.”

With the tomatoes and basil taken care of, plus olive oil and sea salt in my cupboard, all I needed to buy was a garlic bulb, rigatoni, and some fresh, lightly salted mozzarella. For the record, I urge you not to buy the cheese from the grocery store. Instead, head over to your local Italian deli where they make it fresh every day. I also recommend picking up a loaf of bread while you’re there to mop up the puddle of tasty tomato broth that forms at the bottom of the bowl after you make this recipe.

The day I made the pasta I got up early in the morning and combined the chopped garlic, olive oil and torn up pieces of basil. The headily perfumed mixture smelled so good that I wished I’d had a chunk of bread to dip in the oil right then and there. However, I told myself that it was only 8 a.m. and I should probably pour myself a cup of coffee and a bowl of bran flakes instead.

Coming home in the mid-afternoon, I was once again intoxicated by the garlicky aroma that had by now permeated the house. I went into the kitchen and pulled out a chopping board, then started cutting the tomatoes and adding them to the bowl. My hunger already piqued, I decided to nibble on a few of the cubes. They were so ripe and sweet that I kept slipping more of them into my mouth, sighing as I thought about how hard it would be to go back to supermarket tomatoes after their season is over. I can’t imagine that I’ll be able to tolerate their bland taste after being spoiled all summer.

I let the tomatoes soak up the flavored olive oil for a couple of hours. A little while before I was going to call my husband and the boys to dinner, I brought a large pot of salted water to a boil and cooked the rigatoni until it was al dente. As the article said, “The pasta is done when it feels like biting into a piece of gum – you want some resistance when you eat it.”

While the rigatoni was boiling, I cut the mozzarella into small, bite-sized squares. When the pasta was done cooking, I drained it and poured it over the tomato mixture. I made sure not to stir, as directed by the recipe. Then I spread the mozzarella on top and tossed only the rigatoni and cheese until the mozzarella softened slightly and the pasta was covered in a glaze of fat. Finally, I stirred up the mixture from the bottom, bringing the tomatoes into the picture. I added a little bit of salt and a splash of extra olive oil as the finishing touches, and served it to my anxiously awaiting family for our Friday night dinner.

That’s not the end of the story though. It seems that I have a weakness for fresh fruit and vegetables, and in addition to joining the food co-op, I have also developed an addiction to farmers’ markets. So no sooner had I depleted my CSA bounty than I had the urge to make a beeline to the Saturday Pleasantville Farmers’ Market, where I couldn’t keep my eyes off the colorful fresh produce, ranging from dark purple beets to bright orange carrots and pearly-white cauliflower. As a result of my trip, I opened the refrigerator early Sunday morning to find an overflowing basket of peaches, perfectly plump and covered in dappled shades of red and yellow. I bit into one and was greeted by the tartly sweet pulp that slid down my throat and a splash of juice that dribbled down my chin. I pulled out the other peaches and decided that I had to make a pie.

Still dressed in my nightgown and slippers, I plodded upstairs to my computer and went online to http://www.epicurious.com/. When I typed in my search, the web site came up with a delicious and simple sounding recipe for peach cobbler. I had all of the ingredients in my house: six large peaches, sugar, lemons, cornstarch, flour, baking powder, salt, and butter.

Now a regular to the website, I knew to scan the reader recommendations for reviews and suggestions. I particularly liked what “A Cook from Durham, NC” had to say: “Great recipe! For the topping I substituted brown sugar for white and added 1/3 cup oatmeal, cinnamon and fresh nutmeg. I also added one tablespoon buttermilk powder to the hot water.”

Making the cobbler couldn’t have been easier. I sliced the peaches into thin wedges and tossed them with the sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a round ceramic baking dish (one less bowl to clean!). After placing the peaches in the oven, I started working on the biscuit topping. First I stirred together the flour, brown sugar, oatmeal, baking powder and salt. Pulling the cold butter out of the refrigerator, I cut it into small pieces, added it to the bowl, and stuck my fingers into the mixture, kneading it with my hands, to turn the contents into thick, sticky crumbs. Then I added some boiling water mixed with the suggested buttermilk powder and stirred it gently.

After the peaches had gotten soft and warm in the oven, I pulled the baking dish out and dropped spoonfuls of the topping over them. Then I put the cobbler back in the oven to bake until the crust was golden brown. As it cooked, the kitchen was engulfed by the sweet smell of cinnamon and peaches. “Hmmm, peach cobbler for breakfast?” I asked myself. You bet! And it was delicious.

PAMELAS SHERRID’S SUMMER PASTA
The New York Times Magazine, August 29, 2007 (originally published in 1996)

5 large cloves garlic, finely chopped
½ to ¾ cup of your favorite olive oil
12 basil leaves
7 large ripe tomatoes
Salt
1 pound dried rigatoni
1 pound fresh, lightly salted mozzarella
Country bread

Take out your largest bowl. Add the garlic. Pour in ½ cup olive oil. With the scissors, snip basil leaves into shreds over the garlic mixture. Let sit all day.

About 2 hours before serving, chop the tomatoes and add them to the bowl.

When you’re ready to eat, bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook until al dente. Meanwhile, cut the mozzarella into small cubes.

Drain the pasta and pour it on top of the tomato mixture. Do not stir. Spread the mozzarella on top of the pasta and toss only the pasta and cheese; the cheese will soften slightly, and the pasta will get coated with fat. Then stir up from the bottom, incorporating the tomato mixture. Season with salt and add the remaining olive oil, if desired. Serve with bread. Serves 6.

PEACH COBBLER
Adapted from Epicurious.com: Gourmet Magazine, September 1999

6 large peaches, cut into thin wedges
¼ cup sugar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon cornstarch

For biscuit topping:
1 cup all purpose flour
½ cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup oatmeal
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
¾ stick cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
¼ cup boiling water
1 tablespoon buttermilk powder added

Cook peaches:
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Toss peaches with sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a two-quart, nonreactive baking dish and bake in middle of oven for 10 minutes.

Make topping while peaches bake:
Stir together flour, brown sugar, backing powder, salt, oatmeal, nutmeg and cinnamon. Blend in butter with your fingertips or a pastry blender until mixture resembles course meal. Combine boiling water and buttermilk powder, stir in until just combined.

Remove peaches from oven and drop spoonfuls of topping over them. Bake in middle of oven until topping is golden, about 25 minutes. (Topping will spread as it bakes.)

Trifle

2007-07-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

My trifle story begins the week before July 4th when my friend Hillary called to invite Bob and me to her house for a party. “What can I bring? I asked her. “Hmmm, do you want to bring a dessert?” she inquired. Readily agreeing to my assignment, my alter-ego of The Inspired Chef took over and I started obsessing about what kind of tasty treat I could whip up to satisfy a patriotic sweet tooth.

I went upstairs to my office and Googled “July 4 desserts.” Of all the websites I searched, http://www.fabulousfoods.com/ had the best suggestions. I passed on their “Red, White and Blueberry Cheesecake Pie” and the “4th of July Lemon Bar Flags (although those looked darn good), choosing, in the end, trifle with fresh berries.

Now you might ask — and you’d be totally justified: Isn’t trifle a British dessert and isn’t it usually served at Christmastime? The answer is yes and yes. But this special adaptation seemed so promising in print that I decided to call it “Independence Day Trifle" and serve it in America on July 4. (My sincere apologies to any Anglophiles reading this).

You also might be wondering exactly what a trifle is, so I looked it up for you online. According to http://www.whatscookingamerica.net/:

The word "trifle" comes from the old French term "trufle," and literally means something whimsical or of little consequence. A proper English trifle is made with real egg custard poured over sponge cake soaked in fruit and sherry and topped with whipped cream.

Trifles are traditionally made with canned fruit but the version I chose called for fresh strawberries, raspberries and blueberries – much more appealing to me, especially when local produce is available in abundance in the summertime. I went to the grocery store, picked up a few pints of the berries, then added a quart of heavy cream. Next on the list was a box of cake mix. I got white cake but a lower-fat option is angel food cake – Betty Crocker sells mixes for both. I also bought Jell-O vanilla pudding, but that’s only because I couldn’t find Bird’s Custard, which got rave reviews in several of the online trifle recipes I looked up. Back at home, I had sugar and cooking sherry — no need to buy anything over $6, seriously!

The day before Hillary’s party, I made the white cake according to the directions on the box (make sure you’ve got three eggs and some vegetable oil) and the pudding (OK, also add a quart of whole or two percent milk to your grocery list; you’ll need it to make the pudding). Trifles are often prepared with stale or oven-dried cake so making it a day or two ahead is a good thing because the sherry and fruit juices might make the fresh cake too soggy. The flip side is that you have to be on constant watch to make sure your spouse or kids don’t try to eat the cake before you get a chance to make your trifle. I caught my older son, Sam, with knife in hand, about to cut himself a piece of cake for a late-night treat.

The morning of the party, I went to work assembling the trifle. The first thing you need is a trifle bowl or something similar. I happen to have one that I bought to serve fruit salad. I’m not even sure I knew it was a trifle bowl until I saw the picture online, used as an illustration for the recipe I printed out. Mine is a clear glass, flat-bottomed bowl adorned with some whimsically painted strawberries. Sitting on a pedestal, it’s got straight sides and is about six inches high, which is perfect for the layering (and the clear glass is great to admire the effect!).

First, I rinsed the fruit in a colander, then hulled the strawberries and cut them in half, After I set aside about a cup of the fruit to use to garnish the top of the trifle, I added the sherry to the remaining fruit and let it soak while I went on to the next step.

Cutting the white cake into large rectangular chunks, I used several of them to line the bottom of my trifle bowl. Next, I topped the cake with a layer of the sherry-soaked fruit followed by a layer of custard. I repeated the three layers one more time, which left me with about an inch at the top of the bowl, the perfect amount of space for the whipped cream topping.

Taking the heavy cream out of the refrigerator, I whipped it to a stiff consistency in my KitchenAid standing mixer, which, if you’re a frequent reader of my blog, you know I like to pull out and use at any time of the day or night, it being my absolute favorite kitchen appliance ever invented. Once the perfect white peaks started forming in the whipped cream, I carried the mixer bowl over to the kitchen counter and spooned the contents onto the top of the trifle. And yes, I did dip my index finger in to scoop out a big dollop of the sweet cream and plopped it in my mouth.

For the finishing touch, I took the reserved strawberry halves and made a circle around the border of the trifle bowl. In the center, I put the remaining strawberries, plus a small mound of the blueberries and raspberries.

That night, Hillary and her husband, Eric, put on quite the party. There were about ten couples and we all brought dishes to add to the feast. Everything was delicious, from the roasted eggplant, chickpea, goat cheese and mint salad to the grilled lamb marinated in sherry, soy sauce, garlic, rosemary and thyme (recipes included below). In addition, Eric made a drink called Lynchburg lemonade that was an amazing blend of whisky, Fresca and fresh lemons. Even though everyone filled their plates high with food, when dessert came along, the trifle was totally devoured, not a crumb in site. All that remained was the toothpick with a paper American flag that Hillary had put atop the trifle when I walked in the door. As I looked at the discarded miniature flag sitting on her kitchen counter, I said to myself, “'Independence Day Trifle' – I think it might be a new summer holiday tradition.”

Independence Day Trifle
http://www.fabulousfoods.com/

1 cake mix (white cake or Angel Food cake)
2 packets of custard or pudding mix (Bird’s custard is preferred)
3-4 pints fresh strawberries, raspberries and blueberries (mixture)
1/3 cup sugar
1 ½ cups heavy cream
1/3 cup sherry

Prepare cake according to directions on package. Let cool completely

Prepare custard or pudding mix according to package instructions. Let cool completely.

Reserve a cup of the fruit for garnish. Mix remaining fruit with sherry.

Whip the cream.

To assemble: Cut the cake into large chunks and cover bottom of a trifle bowl with a layer of cake. Top with a layer of prepared fruit, then a layer of custard. Repeat the process until you are out of ingredients or the bowl is full. Top with whipped cream and garnish with fresh fruit. Chill until serving time.

To serve: Simply scoop out servings with a large spoon.

Butterflied Leg of Lamb
The Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook

1 cup dry red wine
3/4 cup soy sauce
4 large cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup chopped fresh mint
2 Tbs. bruised fresh rosemary or 1 Tbs. dried
1 Tbs. coarsely ground black pepper
1 butterflied leg of lamb (4-5 lbs.)

1. Combine the wine, soy sauce, garlic, mint, rosemary, and pepper and pour over the lamb in a noncorrodible shallow baking pan. Refrigerate covered 6 hours, turning the lamb frequently.

2. Prepare hot coals for grilling.

3. Drain the meat but reserve the marinade. Grill lamb 4 inches above the hot coals about 20 minutes on each side, basting frequently with the marinade. Check the lamb for doneness frequently after 30 minutes' grilling. Cut into very thin slices and serve immediately.

Eggplant Salad with Chickpeas and Feta
http://www.marthastewart.com/ (provided by Susie Mordoh)

3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice (1 lemon)
2 tablespoons olive oil
½ teaspoon coarse salt
¼ teaspoon ground pepper
1 recipe Basic Roasted Eggplant*
1 can (15.5 ounces) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 cup (4 ounces) crumbled feta cheese
¼ cup chopped fresh mint leaves

In a large bowl, whisk together lemon juice, olive oil, coarse salt, and ground pepper. Add roasted eggplant, chickpeas, crumbled feta, and mint leaves; toss to combine.

*Basic Roasted Eggplant
3 medium eggplants (about 1 pound each)
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon coarse salt
½ teaspoon ground pepper

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Cut eggplants into 1-inch cubes; divide between two rimmed baking sheets. Dividing evenly, drizzle with olive oil, coarse salt, and ground pepper; toss to coat. Spread in a single layer; roast, turning once, until golden and tender, 25 to 30 minutes. Cool on sheets.

Roasted Corn Salad
Metropolitan Home July/August 2002 (provided by Roberta Socolof)

8 ears sweet corn
Juice of 2 limes
1/4 cup olive oil
Coarse salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 ripe mango, peeled and chopped
1 small red onion, chopped
1 bunch green onions, chopped
1 large cucumber, chopped
1/3 cup chopped cilantro

1. Remove silk from corn; leave husks intact and smooth back over cobs.
2. Light grill. When heated to medium, or when coals are covered with a light ash, place corn on grill and cook until it's tender and slightly charred, about 10 minutes. Don't let it turn black.
3. Remove corn from grill. While corn is cooling, prepare dressing: Whisk together lime juice and olive oil, add salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
4. Slice corn off the cob into a serving bowl. Combine corn kernels with mango, red and green onions, cucumber and cilantro. Add dressing and mix.
Serves 8 to 10.

Lynchburg Lemonade
Courtesy of Eric Messer

1 1/2 ounces Jack Daniels whiskey
1 oz. Cointreau
1 oz. fresh-squeezed lemon juice
Fresca
Lemon wedge
Cherry
(makes one drink)

Pour all ingredients, except Fresca, into a shaker with ice. Shake. Strain into a highball filled with ice. Top up with Fresca and garnish with a lemon wedge and a cherry.

Sangria

2007-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

Here’s the scenario: It’s a hot summer night, you’ve got friends coming over, and you can’t decide what type of refreshing drink (alcoholic, of course) to serve them. Let me make a suggestion. How about a nice and fruity, but not too sweet, sangria?

I started thinking about sangria a couple of weeks ago when I went out to dinner with my husband, Bob, to celebrate our 21st anniversary. While last year we dined at a four-star hotel outside of Florence, this year we had to settle for Umami Café in Croton-on-Hudson. Alas, no Super Tuscans or Chianti Classicos were in the stars for us, but Bob did order a pitcher of sangria to accompany our meal, and I have to say I really enjoyed it. The combination of red wine with apples, oranges and lemons (plus a healthy dose of sugar, I’m sure) resulted in a quite pleasant, sweet and citrusy taste. “Hmm, this might be something the Inspired Chef needs to learn how to make,” I said to Bob.

The next day Bob mentioned my “sangria quest” to Jeanne, a colleague in his insurance office who loves to cook and entertain. She e-mailed me her favorite sangria recipe, which has a Yellow Tail Shiraz as its base. Doing my due diligence, I cornered my friend Emily Haft Bloom, a cookbook author and food writer, while we were taking a break on the tennis court and convinced her to forward me her recipe for strawberry peach sangria (made with white wine). She also told me about an article she had recently read on Spanish red wine sangria in the Weekend Section of The Wall Street Journal, which I was easily able to track down online.

Which one was the best? There was only one way to find out and that was to host an official sangria tasting. I decided to hold it on the night we were having a going away party for Xin Long, our exchange student from China, who had been with us for the past five months. I figured that all the adults who came by the house could toast our departing student with a glass (well, three glasses) of sangria, and then they could vote for which one they liked best. And yes, I did make a ballot sheet – don’t forget my other hat as the “Obsessive-Compulsive Chef!”

Unfortunately for me, the going away party was scheduled the day after a Bar Mitzvah bash where I had one or two vodka tonics too many. (If there’s any videotape of me dancing like Elaine on Seinfeld, I vow that I will stalk it down and burn it!) So there I was, hung-over in my kitchen at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, preparing not one but three sangria recipes. My kitchen smelled like a distillery, with an array of chopped up fruits – apples, oranges, pears, peaches, lemons, limes, nectarines, blackberries, raspberries and strawberries – soaking in bowls filled with various combinations of tequila, Muscat, Grand Marnier, Cointreau, Spanish brandy, and peach liqueur. The biting scent of alcohol was so strong that you probably could have gotten drunk just by inhaling the vapors.

Miraculously, I managed to make it through the preparation process without getting ill. After sealing the liquor-laced containers and sticking them in the refrigerator, I decided to take a shower before going to the gym, lest anyone smell me and think I had started hitting the bottle early in the morning.

I let my concoctions “brew” all day and just before our guests arrived that evening, I added the various wines, juices, sodas and seltzers to the “drunken fruits” and set the sangrias out on the kitchen counter for the taste test. As our friends arrived, they were each given three Dixie cups (I picked small cups so no one would get smashed) filled with ice and a ballot sheet to vote for their favorite drink.

I’ll report on the results by starting with the second runner up, which was The Wall Street Journal sangria (apparently it offended some people because of its “cinnamony” taste). Jeanne’s came in a close second, and I think it would have had a better chance at winning if I had realized her instructions to “sprinkle the fruit with raw sugar” meant add about a 1/4 cup instead of the scant amount I used. (Once I added some extra sugar, the approval ratings soared). The victor was Emily’s recipe for strawberry peach sangria. Among the voters who marked it number one, comments ranged from “light taste and good, sweet mix” to “delicious” and “yummy, eat with blackened fish.” One person even took the time to write, “The fruity flavor was perfectly mixed with the alcohol to create a flavor similar to a fruit pop.”

Have I sold you yet? If so, let me tell you how I made the winning drink. First, I headed to the liquor store to pick out the alcohol. For the strawberry peach sangria, the store recommended a crisp Spanish white wine with hints of citrus, peach and pear, namely a Martin Codax Albarino from Rias Baixas in Spain. According to the sales associate, Mike, I was promised this wine would make “a real kick-ass sangria.” I also got a peach liqueur called Crème de Peche by G.E. Massenez as well as a bottle of Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise by Paul Jaboulet Aine, which hails from the Rhone Valley. According to http://www.americaswineshop.com/, this pale gold dessert wine has an “exceptionally intense bouquet, with aromas of peach, grape, apricot, mango and lychee.” Have you gotten the peach theme yet?

My next stop was the grocery store, where I picked up the required peaches, orange, lemon and bottle of plain seltzer. I’m happy to report that I was able to buy the strawberries at the local farmers’ market in Pleasantville, as it’s always great to be able to add fresh local fruit whenever possible.

The day before I had the party, I made the strawberry syrup that you need to prepare in advance for this recipe. Don’t let this scare you. It’s easy to make and takes less than 10 minutes. First, I hulled five strawberries and placed them in a saucepan with a little sugar and water. After the liquid started to simmer, I crushed the mixture coarsely with a fork. When it had a dark red, syrupy consistency that looked like jam, I removed it from the heat and let it cool.

The morning of the party, I mixed the strawberry syrup with the white wine, peach liqueur, Muscat, and chopped up strawberries and peaches in a large pitcher. I cut up an orange and a lemon, gently squeezed the thin slices over the pitcher, and then dropped them inside. Right before I served the sangria, I added a couple of cups of the plain seltzer to give it some fizz. Lastly, I filled the serving glasses up with ice to make the drinks nice and cold. Now, that’s the way to serve sangria!

STRAWBERRY PEACH SUMMER SANGRIA
From Emily Haft Bloom

1 750 ml. bottle dry white wine
1 ½ cups Muscat
1 cup peach liqueur
1 ½ cups strawberries, tops removed and sliced
3 firm ripe peaches, pitted and sliced
¼ cup strawberry syrup (see below)
1 large orange, cut crosswise into 4-6 slices
1 large lemon, cut crosswise into 4-6 slices
2 cups plain seltzer water
4 cups ice cubes

Strawberry syrup:
5 large strawberries, hulled and sliced
1 tbsp. granulated sugar
1 tbsp. warm water

Mix white wine, Muscat, peach liqueur, strawberries, peaches, and strawberry syrup in a large pitcher. Gently squeeze citrus slices over pitcher to juice and then drop into pitcher. Chill up to four hours, add seltzer, and serve sangria in tall ice-filled glasses.

Strawberry syrup: Place five hulled strawberries, one tablespoon of sugar, and one tablespoon of warm water in a small saucepan and simmer, crushing strawberries coarsely with a fork. When liquid is syrupy and red in color, remove from heat, allow to cool, and use as above.

JEANNE’S RED WINE SANGRIA
From Jeanne Newman

2 cups fruit (raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, crisp tart apples, pears, peaches, and nectarines are good choices)
1 - 1 ½ cups Tequila
¼ cup Grand Marnier or TripleSec
¼ cup raw sugar
1 quart fresh lemonade
½ quart fresh orange juice
1 bottle Yellow Tail Shiraz
1 cup plain seltzer
1 bag frozen berries

Cut up your favorite fruits into small squares and soak them in Tequila (no need for Patron, but use at least Gold Label Jose Cuervo) and Grand Marnier or TripleSec. Sprinkle the fruit with raw sugar and let it soak in a covered container in the refrigerator for at least an hour, preferably 3+ hours.

For the base of the sangria, add a quart of fresh lemonade, ½ quart of fresh orange juice and a large bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz, plus a little seltzer for some bubble. Add the marinated fruit (along with the alcohol it’s been soaking in), a bag of frozen berries, and serve over ice.

SANGRIA
(Adapted from Taberna del Alabardero and Josefina Clara Alberti)
From The Wall Street Journal, June 2, 2007, article by Eric Felten

1 bottle Spanish Grenache wine
2 oz. Spanish brandy
2 oz. Cointreau
2 oz. peach liqueur
1 peach, 1 green apple, 1 orange, all peeled and diced
1 pinch ground cinnamon
6 oz. orange juice
4 oz. Sprite or 7UP

Soak the fruit in the liquors for up to a day. When ready to serve, add wine, cinnamon, orange juice and soda. Pour over ice into tumblers.

Lamb Chops

2007-05-10T09:32:00.000-07:00

As of two weeks ago, I had never prepared lamb chops for my family, and now that I’ve made them twice in that time span – the first occasion a failure and the second a smashing success – I might not serve them again any time soon. The fact is I’ve decided that lamb chops should be reserved for special occasions, and it’s not because they’re hard to make, but rather because the meat is incredibly rich and the rib chops are costly to the point that I’ve calculated at $90 minimum for enough lamb to feed five people, it’s about $2 a bite — ka-ching! Nevertheless, I believe they’re worth making for family or close friends because when you serve lamb chops, it’s like saying, “I really care about you so I made you this special meal.”

And I swear those were the loving thoughts I was thinking when I came across a recipe in one of my cooking magazines for rack of lamb with a Dijon and grainy mustard crust. Deciding I must immediately make this culinary treat for my husband and kids, I turned into my alter persona of The Inspired Chef. I earmarked the page and then picked up the phone to call the local butcher. “Do you have any lamb chops?” I asked Joe, the owner. He said he didn’t have any in the shop but he could special order them for me and I’d have them by the next day. “OK, I’ve got five people, how much should I order?” I wanted to know. Joe told me that if each person had three chops, then I should order two full racks. That sounded right to me, so I said to go ahead and place the order. My last words to him were, “Could you trim off all the extra fat, please?” Looking back, maybe his ears were clogged and he thought I said, “I love extra fat, don’t trim any off, please.”

The following day I drove over to the shop in the late afternoon to pick up my order, but Joe had already left for the day. I told the girl behind the counter what I was picking up and she went into the back of the shop, returning with a heavy bundle wrapped in white wax paper. The bill looked like it said $38 so I paid it, thinking to myself, “Hmm, it’s pricey but not as much money as I thought it would be.” And, wouldn’t you know, just as I was unlocking my car and preparing to put my purchase in the backseat, I heard someone shouting, “Miss, Miss, there’s been a mistake! You owe $138, not $38.”

“That can’t be right,” I said as I marched back into the store. Jose, one the guys who works in store, came up to the counter and pointed to the hidden number one lurking next to the dollar sign on the invoice. He told me that there were over seven pounds of lamb and that was definitely what I owed. “That seems like way too much meat. Are you sure you trimmed off all of the fat?” I asked. “Yes ma’am,” he assured me. I was on the verge of saying I didn’t want the lamb anymore, but I felt bad because I had special ordered it. I decided to pay the extra hundred, but informed Jose I’d be back the next day to go over the cost with the owner.

Already disgruntled, I opened my package at home only to find the pink fleshy meat covered in a solid half-inch-thick layer of slick white fat. Trying to be positive, I thought, “Maybe they left this on to add flavor.” I remembered eating broiled lamb chops as a young girl. After we had carved off what lamb we could with a knife and fork, my brother and I would gnaw at the thin layer of crunchy broiled fat mixed with meat that clung to the bone, savoring the salty, flavorful taste.

I spread the mustard mix over the chops and stuck them in the oven, praying for a miracle. After half an hour, a hearty scented aroma filled the kitchen, giving me hope, but that quickly faded as I opened the oven door to find the fat still there, hardly browning at all. I decided to pull the tray out and make a cut into the lamb to see how it was cooking. According to the directions, the meat should have been close to done, but it was still a raw, red color. I started slicing off some of the excess fat, which, as it jiggled around, looked like something you’d see in those documentaries about cellulite removal. I put the offending pieces in a pile, which grew higher and higher on a sheet of tin foil I’d laid out on the kitchen counter. Then I cut each individual chop, removed the remaining fat between the bones, and returned the lamb to the oven. The chops finally cooked to medium rare, but each person’s portion was so meager – about two small bites and even those were marbled with fat – that we were all still hungry after the meal.

As I was sitting at the kitchen table and moping, my eyes started wandering around the room and settled on the mound of fat that was sitting on the counter. “I’m going to put that stuff in a bag and bring it back to the store,” I announced to my family. “They should at least pay me back for the weight in fat!” Spencer, my 13-year-old, rolled his eyes. Sam, 17, patted me on the back and said, “You go for it, Mom.” My husband, Bob, who’s used to my rants by now, didn’t have any objections and even urged me to ask for all my money back. Andrew, our 16-year-old exchange student from China, chose not to make any comments.

The next morning I woke up with a mission. As soon as the kids left for school, I picked up the phone and called the store. “Joe, are you going to be around for a few minutes?” I asked and proceeded to tell him about how fatty the lamb was. “Was it really that bad?” he wanted to know. “Let me come over and show you,” I said. I pulled the Ziploc bag of fat out of my refrigerator, where I’d deposited it overnight for safekeeping, and put it in the car. Pinching the top of the bag between my thumb and forefinger, I walked into the store. “Here’s the fat,” I told Joe as I held the bag up for him to examine. To his credit, he agreed to pay me back for the entire cost.

Immediately, the greasy feeling I had in my stomach from the fatty lamb seemed to go away. With all that cash in my purse I was feeling happy and, believe it or not, ready to think about trying out a new butcher and a new lamb recipe. As luck would have it, I ran into Doreen, who is probably the best cook in Briarcliff Manor.

When I asked her where she buys her lamb, Doreen directed me to the Village Market in Chappaqua. That sounded like a good place to go because A) it was nearby and B) I always like the brisket I buy there when I have Passover at my house. Sure, their prices are steep, but you always know you’re going to get high quality. They’re like the Neiman Marcus (or as my husband calls it, Needless Mark Up) of meats.

After Doreen e-mailed me her favorite recipe for rack of lamb, I called the butcher at the Village Market. I told him about my previous fat fiasco and he assured me the lamb chops would be well trimmed. He also asked me if I wanted the bones “Frenched.” I replied, “I might if I knew what that meant.” He explained that “Frenched” means that the meat and fat has been removed off the top of the bone, usually about two inches down, so you can pick up the chops without getting your fingers messy.

In addition to the lamb, which this time ran me 90 bucks, Doreen’s recipe called for garlic as well as fresh mint, parsley and rosemary, all of which I picked up at the Village Market, although if I made it now, I would pinch the pungent herbs straight from the pots on my back deck. I had olive oil, salt and pepper back at home, so all I needed from the grocery store was some mint jelly and a bottle of herbes de Provence. (FYI, according to Wikipedia, this dried herb mixture “typically contains rosemary, marjoram, basil, bay leaf, thyme, and sometimes lavender flowers and other herbs.”)

Back at home, I unpacked my groceries and laid them out on the counter. I pulled all the leaves off the herbs, measured the correct amounts, and dropped them by the tablespoon into my food processor, along with the garlic and herbes de Provence. After blending until the garlic was finely chopped, I added the olive oil, mixing the contents until it formed a thick, dark green paste that had a fresh, sharp aroma that cleared my nostrils when I inhaled.

After sprinkling the lamb chops with salt, I covered them with half of the paste, rubbing the mixture with my hands onto the top meaty side of the chops, as well as the sides, but sparing the bony bottom. I set the other half of the herb paste aside to make the accompanying sauce. At this point you’re supposed to let the racks sit at room temperature for two hours. I did this a day ahead and refrigerated the meat overnight, which is fine to do, but just remember to bring both the lamb and herb paste to room temperature before continuing.

Finishing up the preparations, I heated a couple of tablespoons of oil in a large, heavy skillet over high heat. Then I seared each rack, meat side down, until it turned a golden brown. I put them both on a baking sheet, meat side up this time, and roasted the lamb until the meat thermometer I stuck in the center read 130 degrees Fahrenheit (that’s for medium rare). While the meat was standing for 15 minutes, I took Doreen’s advice and mixed the remaining herb paste with the bottle of mint jelly to serve alongside the lamb as a condiment. You could also follow the recipe and mix the paste with the pan juices, but I trust Doreen’s cooking, so I went with her suggestion and it tasted great. Last but not least, I cut the lamb between the bones into individual chops. I even served them with the little frilly green paper “booties” that the Village Market butcher had sent me home with. After all, what better way is there to tell your family they’re special?

RACK OF LAMB WITH FRESH HERBS AND GARLIC

10 garlic cloves, peeled
½ cup (packed) fresh mint leaves
¼ cup (packed) fresh parsley leaves
¼ cup fresh rosemary leaves (pulled from sprigs)
2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
2 teaspoons herbes de Provence
6 tablespoons olive oil
3 1- to 1 ¼ -pound well-trimmed racks of lamb (each with 8 bones)

Combine first six ingredients in food processor. Blend until garlic is finely chopped. Add four tablespoons oil and blend until coarse paste forms. Sprinkle each lamb rack generously with garlic and salt. Transfer half of herb paste to small bowl and reserve. Spread remaining half of herb paste over lamb racks. Arrange lamb on rimmed baking sheet. Let stand at room temperature two hours. (Can be made one day ahead). Cover lamb and reserved herb paste separately and chill. Bring both to room temperature before continuing.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Heat remaining two tablespoons of olive oil in heavy large skillet over high heat. Place one lamb rack, meat side down, in skillet. Sear until golden, about two minutes; return to baking sheet, meat side up. Repeat with remaining lamb racks. Roast lamb until meat thermometer inserted into center of lamb registers 130 degrees Fahrenheit for medium-rare, about 20 minutes. Transfer lamb to platter. Let stand 15 minutes. Mix any pan juices into reserved herb paste. Cut lamb between bones into individual chops. Serve with herb sauce.

Bon Appetit
June 2003
Adapted from Colin Cowie
Serves 6

Hummus

2007-03-30T19:22:00.000-07:00

There are some foods I would never attempt to make on my own, always buying them in a can or bottle without giving it a second thought. Pickles, peanut butter, and pumpkin puree are a few examples, and that’s just the Ps. As of this week, however, I have decided to permanently remove one item from my list of pre-made, store-bought goods. And that item is … drum roll, please … hummus.

The Inspired Chef’s decision to make homemade hummus came about after having dinner at my friend Kim’s house. Her husband is from Israel and she told me a story about visiting his family with her mother 18 years ago. “My mom fell in love with the food there, especially the hummus,” she said. A few months after they got back from their trip, her mother found a recipe for this beloved Middle Eastern dish in Gourmet magazine. “What’s great about it is that is has this thin layer of pureed parsley and olive oil on top,” Kim told me.

The recipe sounded terrific and I made her promise to e-mail it to me. All of the ingredients looked pretty easy to find – canned chickpeas, garlic, salt, lemons, fresh parsley, pine nuts, extra virgin olive oil (EVOO, as Rachael Ray says), and that old standby, water. The only thing that I didn’t think I could find at the local supermarket was tahini. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even sure what tahini was, so I looked it up online. At http://www.thatsmyhome.com/, the definition said “an oily paste made from ground sesame seeds.”

When I e-mailed Kim to ask her where to buy the tahini, she sent me a reply that said, “We go to Yaranush in White Plains to get Middle Eastern supplies, like Israeli pickles, falafel, feta, tahini, dried fruits, good pita, etc.” I’ve always wanted to go there, but that day I was busy and didn’t want to take the 20-minute hike down to Central Avenue for just one item. I decided to call my local health food store, Mrs. Green’s, to ask if they had it. As it turned out, they did.

Now for a normal person, that would have been cause enough to hop in the car and head over to Mrs. Green’s. But I never claimed to be normal, and have admitted on frequent occasions that not only am I the Inspired Chef, but I also wear the hat of the Obsessive Compulsive Chef and Raging Type A Personality Chef. So I had to call Kim to ask, “Is the tahini at Yaranush so much better than at Mrs. Green’s that I should make the trip down there to buy it?” She told me that it came in a bottle and that I could get it at the health food store without suffering any major consequences.

Worries assuaged, I headed over to Mrs. Green’s where I was rewarded not only by being able to pick up all the ingredients that I needed for the hummus, but also, because the health food store is next to Starbucks, by buying myself a vente half decaf skim latte, which I think cost almost as much as my cooking supplies!

Back at my house, I unpacked the groceries and laid them out on my counter. The first thing I did was to open the tahini and look inside the bottle. The putty-colored tahini had a peanut butter-like consistency. Curiosity caused me to grab a spoon and dip it into the bottle to retrieve a small dollop of the thick paste. It tasted nutty and a bit oily, not as pleasantly sweet and creamy as peanut butter, yet sticking to the roof of my mouth just like my trusty Jiff would. Definitely not something I would eat as a stand-alone item!

Then I pulled my food processor out from the cabinet and was ready to start on the hummus. The first step is to chop the garlic and mash it into a paste with the salt. You can do this on a cutting board, but I threw the two into the food processor. You want to make sure this is minced well so one of your guests doesn’t bite into a large piece of raw garlic — yuck. The next step is to add the drained chickpeas (save that liquid for later), well-stirred tahini, and olive oil to the food processor basin. You’ll also need lemon juice, and I highly recommend that you make it from real lemons rather than using the bottled variety. After all, you’re going to all this trouble to make the hummus from scratch to begin with, so go for the added flavor and zest of a real lemon. Actually you’ll need two or three to get a quarter cup of juice.

With all the ingredients inside, I ran the food processor, scraping down the sides as I went along. The mixture was a little thick, so the recipe recommended using water to thin the hummus a bit. Instead, I used the reserved chickpea liquid, a helpful tip I found out about on http://www.epicurious.com/.

The next step is to make the parsley oil for the top of the hummus. I love this idea because I think it adds a bit of a spring feeling to the dip, and now is the perfect time to serve it up. After I cleaned the food processor, I added equal amounts of the fresh parsley and olive oil and blended them until the parsley was thoroughly minced and the oil had a bright green sheen.

All that was left was to cut up some pita bread into triangles and put them on a baking sheet to toast in the oven. I also added a handful of pine nuts on a small piece of tin foil to the sheet, sticking them both in the oven to turn a nice toasty shade of light brown.

The only assembly required is to stick the hummus in a bowl, drizzle the parsley oil on top, and sprinkle on the toasted pine nuts. I dug my spoon into the dip and sampled the hummus. It was so much better than the store-bought variety, with its complex flavors, especially the added punch of the fresh garlic and parsley.

The recipe made four cups of hummus, making it great to have at a party. However, since I didn’t have a large number of guests coming over any time soon, I opted for splitting it into several Tupperware bowls, reserving one for my family and bringing the other two over to my friends, Jan and Hillary.

I served the hummus with the pita bread, but you can also put together a crudite bowl with some of your favorite vegetables, like carrots, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes and red peppers. By the way, one other thing you should add to you shopping list when making this recipe is some mints. You’re definitely going to need them after downing this large amount of raw garlic!

Hummus

(Chick-Pea Dip with Parsley and Pine Nuts)

4 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon salt
Two 1-pound 3-ounce cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed*
2/3 cup well stirred tahini
¼ cup fresh lemon juice, or to taste
½ cup olive oil, or to taste
¼ cup fresh parsley leaves
2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted lightly

Serve with: toasted pita thins or crudite

On a cutting board mince and mash the garlic to a paste with the salt. In a food processor puree the chickpeas with the garlic paste, the tahini, the lemon juice, ¼ cup of the oil, and ½ cup water (or reserved chickpea liquid), scraping down the sides, until the hummus is smooth and add salt to taste. Add water (or reserved chickpea liquid), if necessary, to thin the hummus to the desired consistency and transfer the hummus to a bowl. In the cleaned food processor, puree the remaining ¼ cup oil with the parsley until the oil is bright green and the parsley is minced.* Divide the hummus between shallow serving dishes and smooth the tops. Drizzle the hummus with parsley oil and sprinkle it with the pine nuts.

*Reserve the chickpea liquid for use in thinning hummus
*The hummus and the parsley oil may be made 3 days in advance and kept separately covered and chilled.

Makes about 4 cups

Gourmet
October 1988

Authentic Chinese Food

2007-03-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

We have a new addition to our family. No, I didn’t just give birth. Also, despite incessant pleading by my sons and me, Bob has refused to give in to our demands to get a puppy. But while we did not acquire a bug-eyed, wrinkly-skinned baby pug, we do now have a stocky, 16-year-old, five-foot-eight-inch exchange student from China staying with us for the semester.

Xin Long, who prefers to be called by his American name, Andrew, arrived at the end of January and his friendly, outgoing personality has endeared him to our family ever since. We’ve been constantly impressed by his commanding math and science skills as well as his fluent English, but what we didn’t know about Andrew until recently is that he is an excellent cook, passing on some invaluable pointers to The Inspired Chef regarding authentic Chinese cuisine.

For the past month, Andrew has been politely eating the basic American food and pseudo-international fare that I serve at dinner -- everything from steak and hamburgers to tacos and penne a la vodka -- but I knew he must be longing for a home-cooked Chinese meal. I showed him my menu from the local Hunan Palace in hopes that he might find something familiar. It will probably come as no surprise that he’d never heard of General Tso’s chicken and, while he did recognize some of the dishes I pointed out, he said it was nothing close to the food that his mother served him in Shanghai.

Early last week I said to him, “Andrew, why don’t you e-mail your mom for some recipes and we’ll make them for dinner on Friday night. I’ll take you to the Chinese grocery store after school and we can buy everything we need.” I figured there might be a lot of food, and since Bob would be out of town and Spencer at a party, I added, “You can invite a couple of friends if you’d like.” Apparently, this translated to, “Why don’t you invite the other three students and your teacher who’ve come from China, and while you’re at it invite Ms. Lee, the Chinese-American biology teacher at the high school and your teacher’s new friend Kyoko from Japan.” Oh well, there’s always room at the table at The Inspired Chef’s house.

Friday afternoon arrived and I drove my minivan over to the high school to pick up Andrew, the three other exchange students – known to me as Steven, Vicky and Ginny – and their teacher, Helen. Off we headed into nearby White Plains to the Chinese grocery store, Kam Sen Foods, which I’d previously seen in passing because it’s in the same shopping center as the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Descending en masse into the basement of the mall, we entered the grocery store. I was immediately aware of the differences between Kam Sen and the supermarkets I usually frequent. The smallish shop was dimly lit and slightly dreary, with the front fruit and vegetable aisles spaced far apart and produce sparingly spread out on shelves and on cardboard boxes on the grey stained linoleum floor, very unlike the sterile, bright lights and bursting, overstuffed bins encountered at the A & P. While there were the recognizable red peppers, carrots and cucumbers, Kam Sen also boasted leafy Chinese greens such as bok choy, kale and cabbage, every kind of mushroom from shitake to enoki, as well as exotic, earth-colored lotus roots and ivory bamboo shoots.

Helen, who held the grocery list in her hand, led us around the aisles as she examined a long and leafy bunch of Chinese celery here and a fat head of Chinese cabbage there. She and the students spent long intervals talking in staccato Chinese, debating, I can only surmise, the merits of this or that vegetable. I followed them down the center aisles, full of tofu in every shape, size and texture imaginable, dumplings, noodles, rice, sauces, and spices. In the back of the store butchers bustled around behind a glass display case crammed with all different types and cuts of meat, and at the adjacent fish stand I tried to ignore the pungent smell of the sea and instead focused on the rows of whole fish, such as striped bass and perch, that were laid out on ice and looked so fresh that they might have just come in off a boat (in fact, some of the fish were still alive and swimming around in tanks).

After roaming the store for what seemed like hours, I was finally told by Andrew that we could proceed to the checkout counter. We got back to my house around 4 p.m. and the kids and Helen spent the next few hours peeling, cutting, chopping and grating, somehow managing to use just about every dish, bowl, pot, pan and utensil in my kitchen. I pitched in by peeling the hard yellow leaves off the outside of the bamboo shoots and cut up some cauliflower, but basically the students commandeered the kitchen, while my friend Roberta (whom I invited because she is hosting Helen, the teacher) stood back and drank red wine. Andrew oversaw the cooking and soon the fragrant aromas of simmering soup, sautéing vegetables and sizzling pork and chicken began circulating around the kitchen from the various woks and pots in operation.

Coincidently, Roberta and I, along with Helen, Ms. Lee and Kyoko, had been given tickets to an evening of Chinese entertainment that night. Although I had said no, I was going to be too busy tonight, this was apparently lost in translation. We had to be at the Westchester County Center by 8 o’clock, so Andrew began cooking double-time in the kitchen, while the kids brought plate after plate of food into the dining room. Famished, Sam, Helen, Ms. Lee, Kyoko and I dug our chopsticks into the feast.

In the end, I counted 14 dishes. There were “thousand-year-old eggs” (preserved duck eggs) with tofu and scallions; salty soup with cabbage, noodles, and assorted dumplings; sweet soup with mini rice balls; corn, peas and pine nuts; sliced tomato and scrambled eggs; cucumber salad; bok choy with mushrooms; tofu noodles with chopped bamboo and Chinese celery; pan-seared pomfret (a firm white fish from India); chicken with red and green peppers; pork with shitake mushrooms and cauliflower; and spareribs and chicken wings (the only premade items). Add the fruit salad with cut up papaya, oranges, Asian pear and eight-treasure rice cakes for dessert and that makes 14!

We had to eat quickly and rush off to the performance, so I looked forward to enjoying some of the leftovers the next day for lunch. Then, taking my time, I was able to savor a number of the different foods. I decided the pork dish was my favorite, with its tender salty meat, crunchy cauliflower and fragrant, plump mushrooms. I glanced over at the recipe, written in sprawling Chinese letters, which was still sitting on my kitchen counter from the night before. When Andrew came upstairs, I got him to translate the directions so I could try making it myself sometime soon.

Well, I recently got a craving for the pork dish again so I headed back over to Kam Sen. As I entered, I noticed that I didn’t feel the same sense of adventure as when I was first there with Andrew and the others, but at least I wasn’t overwhelmed and knew exactly where to go to get what I needed. I picked up the ingredients on my list -- pork butt, cauliflower, shitake mushrooms, Chinese rice wine (feel free to use sherry), ginger and garlic -- and right before I checked out, threw a bag of baby bok choy into the shopping cart, deciding that the dish could use a little extra color and bite.

Back home, I cut the pork into strips and marinated them with a little bit of the wine, plus some salt and grated ginger, which Andrew says is important to “take the smell out of the meat.” I browned the pork in my wok, stir-frying it for a few minutes before removing the pieces with a slotted spoon. Then I added the mushrooms, which immediately released a heady fragrance as they simmered, and followed them with the cauliflower and baby bok choy leaves. Adhering to Andrew’s instructions, I added some cold water and covered the wok so the vegetables could steam for a bit. Finishing up, I returned the pork to the wok and seasoned it with a little more salt. It smelled so good that I had to make myself a small dish to eat right there and then, even though it was only four in the afternoon. As they say in China, it tastes good – Way dow how jiluh!

PORK WITH CAULIFLOWER AND SHITAKE MUSHROOMS

1 pound pork butt
1 teaspoon grated ginger
1 teaspoon salt
¼ cup white Chinese rice wine
1 head cauliflower, cut into bite size pieces
10 shitake mushrooms, cleaned and cut into quarters
3 tablespoons canola oil

Mix together grated ginger, salt and wine. Cut pork into strips and marinate in wine mixture for 10 minutes.

Heat one tablespoon canola oil in a wok and add pork. Stir fry on medium-high for 4-5 minutes or until pork browns. Remove pork from wok with a slotted spoon.

Clean mushrooms with a damp paper towel, cut off bottoms of stems, and quarter. Heat two tablespoons of oil in the wok and add mushrooms. After mushrooms start to glisten, add cauliflower and bok choy. Stir frequently for 3-4 minutes. Add ½ cup of water and cover wok. Let ingredients simmer on medium-high for 4-5 minutes.

Add pork and season with salt. Stir and then cover again and cook for 3-4 more minutes.

Recipe from the family of Xin Long, Shanghai, China

Walnut Toasts with Fig Jam and Manchego Cheese

2007-03-03T05:36:00.000-08:00

It’s been three days since we stepped off the plane after returning from a week-long vacation on the Riviera Maya, just outside of Cancun. I spent most of my time lying on a lounge chair by the sparkling turquoise waters of the Caribbean reading books and magazines, consuming giant meals, and drinking an unwarranted amount of tequila. And, even though we flew the beleaguered Jet Blue airlines back to JFK, our flights there and back went rather smoothly (as in no nine-hour delays on the tarmac). Needless to say, I am very relaxed and still in vacation mode, finding myself unable to focus on the strenuous duties called upon in my role as The Inspired Chef.

I was thinking there might be a few more of you out there in the same state of mind, still intoxicated by either the tropical breezes of an island resort or the fresh mountain air of a Colorado ski trip, or else maybe you’re frenzied and in desperate need of a vacation. Thus I decided it would be a good time to pass on a simple and easy hors d’oeuvre recipe that requires little or no brain power and even less preparation time. I discovered it while catching up on my back issues of Bon Appétit as I sunbathed by the pool at the Iberostar Paraiso Maya, which, by the way, I highly recommend for a family vacation.

The recipe was for walnut toasts with fig jam and Manchego cheese, and it made my mouth water as soon as I read it. Of course it was about 1 o’clock and I hadn’t yet stuffed my face at the all-you-can-eat buffet lunch. Still, something about the combination of the crunchy nutty bread, the soft salty cheese and the sugary sweet fig jam made me earmark the page.

I was glad that I did because as soon as we got back from the airport last Saturday night, I played back my messages and heard my friend Roberta’s loud, energetic voice asking, “Laura, can you and your family come over for dinner tomorrow night? Call me as soon as you get home.” She also left two messages on my cell phone, so I figured she really wanted to see us. I called her back and accepted, and then I knew I had to ask, “Do you want me to bring anything?” Remembering the walnut toast recipe, I quickly added, “How about an appetizer?”

“Sounds good,” said Roberta and I had my first post-vacation Inspired Chef assignment.

The next morning after going to the gym, I began the three dreaded tasks of post-vacation duties -- opening the mail, loading (and reloading) the laundry machine, and, last but not least, restocking the kitchen refrigerator, left high and dry of all perishable food items before we left on our trip. While I was out grocery shopping, I decided to pick up the ingredients that I would need for my appetizer that night -- walnut bread, Manchego cheese, and fig jam.

Of course, it’s never as easy as it appears. The A & P and Food Emporium didn’t have walnut bread, and I was determined to find something I could use at Mrs. Green’s, my third and decidedly final stop. (A week of R & R had quelled my usual obsessive/compulsive behavior that would have led me to a fourth or even fifth location in search of the elusive ingredient). I ended up buying a couple of different loaves at Mrs. Green’s and taste-tested them at home, choosing what my health food store calls “Yoga Bread,” made of ground whole wheat, cranberries and sunflower, pumpkin, flax and poppy seeds. Although it had no nuts, it still had that crunchy flavor I was looking for. So, if you make this recipe, try to find walnut bread, but it’s OK to be a little flexible.

I was also able to find the Manchego cheese at Mrs. Greens, although many of the higher end grocery stores also sell this light yellow-colored, semi-firm Spanish import. In order to get a little more information, I did a quick Google search and discovered on www.foodreference.com that the cheese “comes from La Mancha, the land of Don Quixote, and was originally made only from the milk of Manchego sheep.” To me, this cheese tastes much better when you shave off very thin slices as opposed to cutting thicker slabs, the former option allowing it to melt in your mouth.

As far as the fig jam goes, I like my bottle of “Fig and Walnut Butter” from Stonewall Kitchen, which you can buy at a local gourmet store or upscale gift shop with food items for sale. (FYI for locals, you can get it at Holbrook Cottage in Briarcliff Manor). It’s a deep, brownish purple color and tastes just like the inside of a Fig Newton, providing the perfect complement to the nutty bread and salty cheese.

OK, you might have to sit down for this. Here are the complicated instructions: Toast the walnut bread and cut it into two-inch squares. Top it was cheese shavings and a dollop of fig jam. Even my tequila-riddled, vacation brain could handle that!

WALNUT TOASTS WITH FIG JAM AND MANCHEGO CHEESE

2-inch squares of toasted walnut brad
Shaved Manchego cheese
Fig jam

*If you can’t find fig jam, a thin slice of dried fig makes a good substitute.

Top walnut bread with cheese shavings and a dollop of fig jam.

Bon Appétit
November 2006

CHOCOLATE SOUFFLE: A VALENTINE’S DAY LOVE STORY

2007-02-08T16:46:00.000-08:00

CHOCOLATE SOUFFLE: A VALENTINE’S DAY LOVE STORY

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner and I promise you a terrific recipe for chocolate soufflé that will definitely impress your spouse, significant other, or someone you would like to become one of the above. However, first I have a love story, in the twisted prose of The Inspired Chef, to pass on to you.

When I was sorting through the mail last week, I came across a circular from Bloomingdale’s that said “One Day Home Sale.” I almost threw it out, but decided to flip through the pages in case I might come across anything of interest to The Inspired Chef.

And there it was on page 10. The object of my affection, the source of my desire, the foundation for my not so secret (if you’ve read my blogs) obsession that I’ve had for over a year -- no mere mortal but rather the culinary equivalent of a Greek Adonis: we’re talking about the KitchenAid 4 1/2-quart Stand Mixer. Regularly priced at over $300, it was now on sale for $199.99.

I was struck by Cupid’s arrow and fell immediately in love, circling the mixer in red and going to my Palm Pilot to mark the sale date in my calendar. I knew my friends Jan and Hillary had promised to get a group together to buy me the mixer for my 45th birthday, but that’s not until May and I had the sudden urge to have my “beloved” in the kitchen with me immediately. Maybe I’m not the Inspired Chef, but rather the Obsessive-Compulsive Chef?

Days seemed like years but finally it was the Friday night before the sale. As we were going to bed, I made my husband, Bob, set the alarm clock for 8 a.m. because the sale started at 9. Bob, who thought this was a little overboard, rolled his eyes and asked, “Do you really think there’s going to be a rush on KitchenAid mixers?”

“Well, there might only be one in stock and I’m going to be the person who gets it,” I answered him and then fell into a deep sleep. The next day I was up at 8 o’clock sharp, quickly showered and ate breakfast, and then headed over to Bloomingdale’s.

If you thought I was the only one there at 8:45, fifteen minutes before the doors opened, then you’re wrong. When, I pulled in, there were at least 20 other cars in the parking lot. “Oh my God, do you think they’re all here for the KitchenAid mixer?” was the first thought that came to my mind. If it wasn’t nearly freezing, I might have gotten out of my car and stood by the store doors so I could be the first one in.

Instead, I stayed in my car, and although I would like to think that I remained calm, I have to admit I was aware of my heart beating loudly and fast inside my winter coat. I kept my eyes locked on the front doors and waited for the salesladies to approach with their keys. Then I walked (OK, maybe I ran) into the store and took the escalator down to the basement level, making a beeline for the appliance department. With a sigh of relief, I spotted five or six KitchenAid mixers stacked up in the corner and no other potential buyers in sight. While there was an adjacent row of the mixers in every color of the rainbow, from citron to mango to surf blue, only the white models were on sale, which was a perfect match for me because my kitchen’s all white.

I lugged the mixer (it was heavy, maybe 20 pounds!) over to the cashier and paid for my purchase in no time at all. In fact, I was back in my kitchen by 9:30. As soon as I got the box onto my granite counter, I tore it open to reveal my kitchen god. It was about a foot tall with a shiny white stand and arm and gleaming silver stainless steel bowl and beaters. I stood there for a while daydreaming about the wonderful times my mixer and I would have together in the future before reality snapped back in. “Laura, did you pick up the dry cleaning?” Bob came downstairs and wanted to know. Oh, who could be troubled with such dreary chores when in the exalted presence of my darling KitchenAid?

A couple days passed and I didn’t dare use the mixer. It was as if it were a piece of art in a museum that should be admired and not touched. Finally, with Valentine’s Day around the corner, I broke down and decided to initiate it with a trial run on a chocolate soufflé that I thought would be a romantic dessert to make for Bob -- and I figured I could also share it with my two sons.

This time, I only tested one soufflé. Usually, when I prepare foods and baked goods for this blog, it takes three or four tries before I hit upon something that I’d like to pass on to my readers, but this soufflé from Epicurious.com was good — very good. Plus, it was fast (20 minutes preparation time max) and easy to make. In addition, I had every one of the ingredients in my cupboards -- unsalted butter, extra-bittersweet chocolate, milk, cornstarch, eggs, and sugar.

I started by rubbing butter onto the bottom and sides of six 6-ounce soufflé ramekins and then sprinkling a little bit of sugar inside these delicate, small white bowls. Then I melted the chocolate in a double boiler over medium heat until it was smooth. Once it was melted, I removed the double boiler from the heat, but kept the top part of the pan with the chocolate in it over the bottom pan with the boiling water so that the chocolate would stay warm while I did the next step, which was combining the milk and cornstarch and bringing it to a boil in another pan. When I mixed these two thick concoctions together I got a brown, pudding-like mixture that smelled so sweet and heavenly that I just had to dip my finger in and give it a little taste.

The next step involved separating the eggs. I added three egg yolks to the chocolate mixture and then dropped six egg whites in the bowl of the mixer. Inaugurating my new appliance was the best part for me. I first beat the egg whites into a foam and then slowly added the sugar. For the next three minutes my KitchenAid mixer took over and whipped its contents into shiny and stiff white peaks while I did absolutely nothing except to stand back and watch with loving admiration. (Of course, you can also use a hand beater; you’ll just have to do some work!)

After adding the egg whites to the chocolate mixture, I spooned the finished concoction into the ramekins, filling each one to the rim, and then put them in the oven. “Would they rise like they were supposed to?” I wondered. I didn’t put on the oven light because I was afraid to watch.

I went into the TV room to watch the latest episode of “American Idol,” and tried to take my mind off the soufflés. Simon, Paula and Randy and the oddball variety of crooning Houston wannabes did the trick and before I knew it, the timer was beeping. I entered the kitchen and, with great apprehension, turned on the oven light. The soufflés had risen perfectly, towering about an inch over the tops of the ramekins. They looked so good that I decided to run upstairs to my bedroom to grab my camera and take a picture, then rushed back down to the kitchen, opened up the oven door, and clicked away. Then I picked up my oven mitts and triumphantly pulled the soufflés out.

I brought them into the TV room so Bob, the boys and I could sample the goods. They were light and fluffy on the outside and delightfully moist in the middle, just the way I had hoped they would be. Sated from the dessert, I returned to the kitchen to clean and polish the bowl and beater of my mixer and give it one last loving look. For now, all I can do is anticipate our next rendezvous.

CHOCOLATE SOUFFLES

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
10 1/2 ounces (10 squares) extra-bittersweet chocolate
1 1/3 cups whole milk
1 tablespoon cornstarch
3 large egg yolks, room temperature, lightly beaten
6 large egg whites, room temperature
1/3 cup sugar; more for soufflé ramekins

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Butter and sugar six 6-ounce soufflé ramekins. Place on a rimmed baking sheet; set aside.

2. In a double boiler over medium heat, melt the chocolate until smooth. Remove from the heat and keep warm.

3. In a medium heavy-bottom saucepan combine milk and cornstarch. Stir well with a wooden spoon. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, stirring continuously until thick.

4. Remove milk mixture from the heat and stir in warm melted chocolate. Let cool slightly. Add lightly beaten egg yolks and stir until well combined.

5. In the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer, whip egg whites on medium speed until foamy. Slowly add sugar and increase speed to high. Whip until shiny and stiff peaks form, about 3 minutes.

6. Using a whisk, lighten the chocolate mixture with about 1/3 of the beaten egg whites. Stir until well-combined. Using a large rubber spatula, fold in remaining egg whites until just incorporated.

7. Spoon mixture into prepared soufflé ramekins; the mixture should come up to the top of the ramekin. Transfer filled soufflé ramekins on rimmed baking sheet to oven. Bake until risen, 12 to 15 minutes. Serve immediately.*

*These soufflés may be made several hours in advance and kept in a refrigerator until just before baking. If refrigerated, bake an additional 2 to 3 minutes. Alternatively, the soufflés may rest at room temperature for up to 1/2 hour before baking with no effect on cooking time.

Makes 6 servings.

Epicurious Television
September 1999
Recipe courtesy of Chef Eric Bedoucha & Chef Thomas Jones

Superbowl Chili

2007-02-01T05:37:00.000-08:00

SUPERBOWL CHILI

My husband and two sons are no longer talking to me. I’m almost positive their silent treatment is due to the fact that I’ve made them eat chili for dinner for the entire past week. We’ve had vegetarian chili, turkey chili with kidney beans, chili made with cubed chunks of beef bottom round, and yesterday I prepared what I thought was the best batch yet, chili with ground beef and crumbled sweet Italian sausages.

In case you were wondering, the reason behind this nonstop chili-fest is not to disturb the digestive systems of my entire family but rather to fulfill my duty as The Inspired Chef and find the best recipe possible to serve on Superbowl Sunday. When I think of this American pastime, visions of chicken wings, pizza bites, pigs in a blanket, and chips and dip come to mind, so I felt justified in turning my back on any health-conscious version of this southwestern dish and going for the heartiest, meatiest and tastiest adaptation I could find. I think I’ve finally discovered it with this last recipe, and I can thank my savvy culinary friend Lisa, who lives down the block and has helped me out with previous Inspired Chef selections.

Telephoning her early yesterday morning, I said, “Lisa, I need your help. I’m looking for a great chili recipe to serve to some friends coming over to watch the Superbowl. Any suggestions?”

She told me to try the one in The Silver Palate Cookbook called “Chili for a Crowd.” I happen to own that cookbook so I pulled my tattered edition off the kitchen shelf and found the recipe. It looked good -- full of flavor from tasty spices that ranged from cumin and chili powder to dried basil and oregano, plus fresh garlic and parsley to boot. The only problem was that the recipe was meant to serve 35 to 40 people so the ingredients were in huge proportions, like eight pounds of ground beef chuck, two pounds of sweet Italian sausages, and five large cans of Italian plum tomatoes.

Because I was only testing it on my family -- and not an entire army regiment -- I was relieved when Lisa said, “I’ll give you the measurements so you can quarter this.” With my amended ingredient list in hand, I headed over to the supermarket to pick up the ground chuck and sausage, plus some other chili prerequisites like tomato paste and red kidney beans along with some surprise additions such as Dijon mustard and lemons. I also had to stop at the liquor store for Burgundy wine.

“Give me your ‘cheapo’ special,” I told the clerk. He looked slightly bewildered so I added, “I’m just using it for cooking.” When he came back with a $4.99 bottle with a screw-off cap, I knew he’d gotten the message.

I headed home to get the chili going in my spanking new 8-quart All-Clad stock pot, which I can’t believe I ever thought was so big that I’d never use it. Once the onions were tender and translucent from sautéing in olive oil, I slipped the sausages from their paper-thin rubbery casings with a slit of the knife down their middles and then cut them into little pieces, which I added, along with the ground chuck, to the pot. They browned nicely but produced an enormous amount of fat, probably a full cup (Yuck!), which I had to drain.

What you pour the fat into is always the big question for me. I get worried about emptying it down the drain and causing a clog, so I save the Styrofoam containers that the meat comes in to pour the hot greasy liquid in. After it cools and congeals, I throw it in the garbage. Even still, I get those bothersome splats and drips of grease that manage to escape from the pot and scatter randomly over my kitchen counters, backsplash and floor like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Once the fat was removed, I added an array of colors to the meat -- the ochre of the mustard, scarlet of the tomato paste and plum tomatoes, ivory of the garlic, burnt orange of the cumin, and slate-grey of the pepper, along with the sangria-toned chili powder and hunter green basil and oregano. Alas, with a stir of the wooden spoon, my lovely palette was turned to solid brown.

I let the mixture cook on low for a while and started to do the dreaded task of cleaning up the dishes. The hearty aroma of the simmering chili was wafting around the first floor by the time Sam walked in at around 1 p.m. He had just finished his mid-terms and was headed up to his room to pack for a school-sponsored trip that was leaving in a couple of hours. Smelling the chili, he said with a big grin, “Looks like I’m not going to be able to have any of your latest creation tonight.” Wrong! I cajoled him into having one last bowl for lunch, telling him his ride to school to catch the bus was dependent on it.

When Bob got home from work, he refused to have the chili outright. He also convinced Spencer to join in the mutiny and the two of them insisted on going out to dinner. “Laura, I don’t want to see another bowl of chili again for a very long time,” Bob said as he walked out to the garage. “Well, you better get ready to see it for dinner at the Superbowl, because….” But he’d already started the car before I could finish my sentence.

So I still have that huge pot of chili in my garage refrigerator. Unfortunately, there’s no room to freeze it because both my kitchen and garage freezers are overflowing with plastic containers from my extensive experimentation while writing my previous blog on lentil soup. I can’t stand to see food go to waste though, so I’ve hatched a plan for dispersing the contents of that pot. I have the carpet cleaner coming later this morning, and my housekeeper will be arriving at noon. You can be assured they are both going home with Tupperware bowls filled with you know what!

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Susan Hodara for her expert editorial assistance.

CHILI FOR A CROWD
The Silver Palate Cookbook
*Quantities inside parentheses are quartered ingredients

½ cup best-quality olive oil (1/8 cup)
1 ¾ pounds yellow onions, coarsely chopped (1/2 lb., approx. 2 small onions)
2 pounds sweet Italian sausage meat, removed from casings (1/2 pound)
8 pounds beef chuck, ground (2 pounds)
1 ½ tablespoons freshly ground black pepper (1 teaspoon)
2 cans, 12 ounces each, tomato paste (6 oz. can)
3 tablespoons minced fresh garlic (3/4 tablespoon)
3 ounces ground cuminseed (slightly less than 1 ounce)
4 ounces chili powder (1 ounce)
½ cup prepared Dijon-style mustard (1/8 cup)
4 tablespoons salt (1 tablespoon)
4 tablespoons dried basil (1 tablespoon)
4 tablespoons dried oregano (1 tablespoon)
6 pounds canned Italian plum tomatoes, drained/5 cans, each 2 pounds, 3 ounces before draining (2 cans, each 1 ½ pounds)
½ cup burgundy wine (1/8 cup)
¼ cup lemon juice (1 tablespoon)
½ cup chopped fresh dill (I left out)
½ cup chopped Italian parsley (2 tablespoons)
3 cans, 16 ounces each, dark red kidney beans, drained (a little less than a can)
4 cans, 5 ½ ounces each, pitted black olives, drained (I left out)

1. Heat olive oil in a very large soup kettle. Add onions and cook over low heat, covered, until tender and translucent, about 10 minutes.

2. Crumble the sausage meat and ground chuck into the kettle and cook over medium-high heat, stirring often, until meats are well browned. Spoon out as much excess fat as possible.

3. Over low heat stir in black pepper, tomato paste, garlic, cuminseed, chili powder, mustard, salt, basil and oregano.

4. Add drained tomatoes, Burgundy, lemon juice, dill (I left this out), parsley and drained kidney beans. Stir well and simmer, uncovered for another 15 minutes.

5. Taste and correct seasoning. Add olives (I also left these out), simmer for another 5 minutes to heat through, and serve immediately.

35-40 portions (if quartered, will serve 8-10)