Toast Home Cooking

May 17, 2012

Rhubarb Caipirinha

I’m a late bloomer. I came to appreciate cocktails only recently and now, a whole new “cooking” landscape has opened up to me. Making drinks is like cooking with liquids. Similar to colorists or alchemists, mixologists deal in essences. Where cooking food is multi-dimensional, combing texture, flavor, color, etc., mixing a drink involves contrasting pure tastes to create a new, sometimes unexpected flavor. Mixology is to cooking what painting is to sculpture.

Basically, I’m a wine person. For one, my low tolerance for alcohol prohibits me from drinking too much. Hard liquor is too strong for me. For another, I worked in the wine business for five years, after living in France for ten, and came to love the complexity and variety of wine. French food purists know that drinking hard liquor before a meal numbs the palette, making it harder to discern delicate flavors. Wine makes food taste better.

These rules go out the window when traveling south of the Mason-Dixon line. I don’t order wine in tropical countries, choosing beer or cocktails (okay, and occasionally water). I like to drink local. Traveling to Brazil this year, I discovered Cachaça, the distilled spirit made from sugar cane. Technically, it’s similar to rum except Cachaça is made from actual cane juice (instead of molasses, for rum). It’s used in the national cocktail, the Caipirinha, which is muddled lime, sugar and Cachaça over ice. The word “caipira” translates as “hillbilly,” possibly referring to the fact that the alcohol originated in slave culture, where fermented cane juice was first consumed by sugar industry workers in the 16th-century. It was a cheap, fast high for generations of exploited people living in the hills. Colonialists tried to ban it, imposing prohibition (failed) in the 18th-century, and taxation (overthrown), until Brazil earned its independence in 1822 and the drink came to symbolize resistance to colonial rule.

Fast-forward to Brooklyn in 2012, with a big bunch of rhubarb in my fridge. Yes, I make tarts and pies and compotes with rhubarb. I crave sour things. Why not a cocktail, to prolong my nostalgia for a wonderful trip to Brazil last month?

Make rhubarb syrup for use in this recipe or mixed with seltzer for a delicious non-alcoholic drink. Use the leftover pulp stirred into yogurt, or spread on toast. Look out for future cocktail postings; in Vieques recently, I made mojitos using wild rosemary and ginger. That’s something a late bloomer can learn to love.

Rhubarb Caipirinha

Serves 2

4 ounces white Cachaça
Juice of 1 lime
4 ounces rhubarb syrup (recipe follows)
Ice
2 lime slices, thin rounds
Mint sprig (optional)

Combine the first four ingredients in a cocktail shaker and shake vigorously. Pour into old-fashioned glasses filled with ice. Garnish with a slice of lime and sprig of mint.

Rhubarb Syrup

Makes about 1 cup

1 1/2 pounds rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1/2″ pieces
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup water

In a medium saucepan, heat all the ingredients to the boiling point. Turn down the heat to a simmer, cover, and cook until the rhubarb falls apart, about 10 minutes. Strain over a bowl, pushing as much liquid as possible through the sieve. Keep strained rhubarb syrup in the refrigerator, covered, for up to one week. Or freeze to keep longer.

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April 19, 2012

Fava Bean, Mint & Pecorino Bruschetta

A quick and tasty spring lunch with all the essentials: seasonal vegetable, bright flavor, protein and starch. Fava beans are fiddly to prepare but so worth it. Like hidden treasure. High in iron, protein and fiber. Low in calories. An elegant workhorse popular the world over in peasant diets.

The flavor is sweeter, nuttier and meatier than lowly lima beans. The texture is firmer and more distinct. Scattered on a spring stew or salad, favas add vivid green color and an appealing shape.

Favas are also called broad beans. Buy a few pounds of unblemished whole beans to yield a little over one cup of shelled beans. Unlike green beans, they are soft to the touch. Shuck the lot of them, opening the squishy, floppy long pods to release the beans inside. Then parboil the beans in salty water for 3 minutes. Put on a good radio program or music and settle in to remove the tender inner beans from the casings. That’s the time-consuming part. What’s left is a mound of pretty green favas ready to be made into a puréed dip or served on garlic-rubbed toast as I did today. You can freeze the shelled beans for later use.

Fava Bean, Mint and Pecorino Bruschetta

Lunch for one – or an appetizer for two

1/2 cup shelled, parboiled fava beans
Large pinch of fresh mint, large leaves torn into pieces
2 tablespoons excellent quality olive oil
Squeeze of lemon juice
Salt and fresh pepper
One slice of good bread, toasted
Small clove of garlic
A few shavings of Pecorino (or Parmesan) cheese, sliced with a vegetable peeler

Stir together favas, mint, olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Rub garlic clove on just-toasted bread, to flavor it. Cut bread into halves or quarters (smaller pieces are better if serving as an appetizer). Spoon fava mixture onto bread and top with cheese shavings. Transported to Italy!

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April 10, 2012

Nettle Pesto

Maybe we should just stop eating. Did you read last week’s op-ed about chicken in the NY Times? Benadryl and Prozac laced drumstick, anyone? News about American agricultural practices will do more than curl your hair. You may run for the hills and take up foraging. In that spirit – and because it’s suddenly in season in the climate-altered northeast – this post is devoted to stinging nettles.

Sorry to sound so doomsday. The good news is that foraging is fun and it takes you for a walk on the wild side. For inspiration, read chef René Redzepi’s newish book, Noma, with sexy photos of pine needles and acorns. Redzepi is the patron saint of foraged foods. I heard him speak at a NY Public Library LIVE event two years ago. On each of the 300 or so seats in the auditorium, attendees found a plain brown paper lunch bag with a handful of edible berries, seaweed and roots. Better than popcorn and a serious conversation starter.

Stinging nettles are those nasty weeds that leave your skin prickly if you brush against them on a hike. A gardener’s enemy. An invasive plant. They’re also a kind of super-food. I found them in the Food Coop this week (my urban existence and work commitments prevented me from foraging, alas). I knew they were a harbinger of spring. You can find them growing in Central Park and abandoned lots in the Bronx.

A quick dash about the Internet taught me that stinging nettles (Urtica dioica) contain high amounts of potassium, iron, sulphur, vitamin C, vitamin A and B complex vitamins. Nettles are also rich in protein and fiber. Whopping nutritional value for a low calorie weed.

Handle with care! Use leather gloves to pick them, clipping only the younger shoots. Blanche nettles in salted boiling water for two minutes to remove the sting and prepare them for cooking. Serve them as a vegetable side. Make nettle pasta dough or a simple soup. Replace any leafy green in a favorite recipe, using nettles instead. I decided to make pesto and shock (if not sting) my nature loving albeit strange-ingredient averse teenagers. Their mother is a witch…

Nettle Pesto

You can find stinging nettles growing wild just about everywhere. Snip the younger shoots – with thick gloves on! – and blanche them – with tongs! – for 2 minutes in salty boiling water. Remove and immediately immerse in an ice bath, to stop the cooking and retain the bright green color. Squeeze the water out in handfuls before using the blanched nettles in cooking. Treat them as you would any leafy green: sautéed in garlic and oil, as an ingredient in risotto or a pasta dish, in an omelet or frittata.

4 ounces stinging nettles, blanched (a heaping cup, once blanched and the water squeezed out)
1.5 ounce/3 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted and divided
2 ounces/ 1 cup finely grated fresh Parmesan cheese, divided
1 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil, best quality, or more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature (optional)

In a food processor, pulse blanched nettles, 2 tablespoons of toasted pine nuts, ½ cup Parmesan, salt, olive oil and pepper. Consistency should be a little rough, not baby food puréed.
Add butter by hand just before serving pesto over pasta, or as a spread on little toasts. Taste and adjust for seasoning. Sprinkle with additional cheese and pine nuts.

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March 15, 2012

Favorite Easy Caesar Salad

This is a time of year when I crave change. Tired of the dark clothes, the winter routine and the root vegetables. Waiting for the first asparagus to appear in the market – and as the temperature hit an unseasonable 72 this week in New York – I made my favorite weekday salad. It’s a citrus bomb on crispy Romaine lettuce with olive oil drenched croutons, garlic and Parmesan curls.

find what you have in the fridge

Make this for lunch (if you bring it to work, carry the dressing in a separate container to keep it from getting soggy). It’s also good for a light supper. This Caesar has all the components to make it interesting and filling. To me, that means crunch, freshness, protein and flavor. It’s not a new twist on the classic, except for its extreme lemon zing. And it doesn’t have raw egg because I find that a bit gluey.

use old bread to make croutons

It’s totally adaptable. Want the Provence vibe of anchovies? Must have bacon on almost everything? Feel like you need a runny poached egg sitting on top? Have spare fresh herbs you can chop and scatter? All of these would be excellent additions.

day-old bread crisped in olive oil

Crouton note: we love bread in this house but often end up with half loaves that are not their freshest. These either get cut into croutons (minus the crusts, to spare our teeth) or thrown in the food processor and shredded into bread crumbs. Our freezer always has a supply of each at the ready. To bring them back to life, heat a little olive oil in a skillet and toast the (frozen) croutons or bread crumbs, both of which can be added to many dishes to bring texture, such as pasta, meat, fish, sauteed vegetables, salads, etc.

first put everything but the oil in a bowl

When I lived in France, I learned to make dressing in the bottom of the salad bowl. Rub a clove of garlic on the inside of a dry, empty bowl. Then add salt, herbs, pepper, lemon juice and vinegar. If you have time, let that sit a while (30 minutes is good). Then whisk in olive oil to emulsify (thicken). No muss, no fuss. Thank you, Bridget Strevens, for teaching me this many years ago!

a lump of garlic in the dressing

The ingredients are all pantry staples, things one should have around for everyday cooking. It’s vegetarian, healthful and quick to assemble. And it makes me feel like I’m sitting in a café terrace, warmed by the first blush of spring.

delicious, fast, healthy

Lemony Caesar Salad

Serves 2

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cups croutons (crustless stale bread cut into cubes)
1 clove of garlic, smashed and peeled
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 teaspoon Champagne or white wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon of salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons parsley, minced
1/4 cup good quality olive oil
4 big fistfuls of chopped Romaine lettuce
1 ounce of Parmesan cheese, peeled into curls with a vegetable peeler
Chives for garnish (optional)

Make the croutons by heating 2 tablespoons of oil over a medium-low heat and crisping the bread slowly, taking care that it doesn’t burn. Turn to brown at least two sides of the bread cubes. Set aside.
Rub the inside of a salad bowl with the smashed garlic clove and throw the garlic into the bowl.
Put all the dressing ingredients in the bottom of a salad bowl (zest, lemon juice, vinegar, salt, pepper, parsley and anchovies if you’re so inclined), except the oil. Let it sit and macerate for about 30 minutes.
Whisk in the oil slowly to emulsify the dressing.
Throw the lettuce on top. Sprinkle with croutons and Parmesan. Scatter chives over the salad. Toss at the table and serve.

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March 12, 2012

Fish Stew

Although my Irish ancestors first landed in New York in 1804, their culinary tastes have been passed down to me… somehow. It must be genetic because I don’t recall a single “Irish-themed” dish or meal from childhood. And no, I don’t eat boiled potatoes. Nor do I much care for the pale, overcooked, cliché-traditional foods of Ireland. But if it’s briny, I’m in. Last week I made a fish stew on a cold day. It’s a little bit New England but its roots are very Irish.

Word of advice: befriend your fishmonger. I learned that fairly recently. Now I have an endless supply of fish bones and heads to make fish stock, when the mood strikes. Actually, it makes itself. Don’t be afraid to steal 30 minutes to throw together a stock with what would otherwise become landfill.

If you’re at all curious about Irish cookery, you must get to know Darina Allen’s books. My favorite new cookbook from this passionate Irish cook is full of lost recipes and ideas. It’s called “Forgotten Skills of Cooking.” You’ll find instructions for smoking foods, making your own butter and dandelion wine. None of which I will be tackling anytime soon. It has all sorts of useful tips, though, such as what to do with leftover egg whites and detailed drawings of cuts of meat. This recipe isn’t hers, but I enjoyed reading the book for inspiration. The pictures are beautiful.

If the stock part of this recipe throws you off, well, then buy it ready-made. I guess. Not to sound self-righteous, but you can make the stock on a rainy Sunday, while folding a load of laundry. Then freeze it for the day you’re in the mood to throw together a fish stew. You’ll be glad you did.

Fish Stew

Serves 4

2 ounces thick-cut bacon, cut into ¼” cubes
1 medium onion, chopped into ¼” pieces
1 tablespoon flour
¼ cup dry white wine
3 cups fish stock (recipe follows)
4 small new potatoes, red skin scrubbed and left on, cut into ½” pieces
1 medium turnip, peeled and cut into ½” pieces
1 branch of celery, cut into small pieces, about ¼” thick
½ teaspoon of fresh thyme, minced
1 bay leaf
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 lb. cod fillets, rinsed, patted dry and cut into 3” chunks (they’ll break up once cooked)
½ cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons parsley, minced
1 tablespoon chives, minced

In a 4-quart heavy-bottomed pot, heat bacon over a medium heat until fat is rendered and bacon is browned. Remove cooked bacon to a small bowl with a slotted spoon, setting aside for later. In the same pot, add chopped onion and cook 5 minutes, until softened, stirring occasionally.

Add flour, stirring for 3 minutes, then add wine and ½ cup of fish stock. Continue stirring as the liquid thickens with the onions and flour. Continue adding the stock in ½ cup increments, stirring occasionally and waiting a few minutes between each addition. This ensures the stew base maintains some thickness.

Once all the stock has been added, bring liquid to the boil and add the potatoes, turnips, celery, thyme and bay leaf. Season with salt and pepper. Lower heat to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes uncovered, or until the vegetables are just tender. Add the big chunks of fish and cook for 5 minutes. Gently stir in the cream and parsley and heat through, just enough until the stew is piping hot and ready to serve. Garnish each serving with a pinch of minced chives.

Fish Stock

This is a haphazard and loose process. Do not fret! It is not fussy or exact. The ingredients are simmered together for about 30 minutes, then strained. What remains is a lusciously flavorful broth. Drink it on its own, use it in seafood risotto or soups and stews, or freeze portioned quantities in plastic zip bags for future use.

Makes about 2 quarts (8 cups)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter or olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
3 dried shitake mushroom (optional but good to keep in your pantry for flavor boosting)
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3 pounds fish heads, bones, fins – or whatever treats your fishmonger gives you… Rinse before using
3 cups dry white wine
6 cups water
1 handful of parsley stems
2 sprigs fresh thyme
5 whole black peppercorns
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon salt

Heat the butter or oil in a large pot over medium-low heat. Add the onion, celery, mushrooms, garlic, and fish bones. Increase the heat to high, cover, and cook about 10 minutes. Stir a few times. The ingredients will release their delicious liquid. Lower the heat to medium and continue to cook, stirring frequently and pressing on the fish bones/heads with a spoon to break them down, until the vegetables and bones are soft and aromatic, about 10 minutes longer.

Add the wine, water, parsley, thyme, peppercorns, bay leaf, and salt, and bring to boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, uncovered, until stock is rich and flavorful, about 30 minutes.

Strain the stock and discard the solids. The stock can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 2 days or frozen for several months.

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February 24, 2012

Meyer Lemon Tart

One of the joys of winter, to brighten the dull days of February, is the plethora of citrus fruits. In my market this week there are no fewer than fifteen varieties: Cara Cara, Blood, Navel, Temple, Honey Tangerines, Mineola, Tangelos, Clementines, and Sumo oranges, along with pink grapefruit, pommelos, kumquats, lemons, limes, and Meyer lemons. The colors! The smells! The flavors!

I use zest in many dishes, savory and sweet. Grate lemon zest over buttered pasta, throw in a handful of arugula and powdery parmesan with lots of ground black pepper, and presto-zing, you have dinner. Zest makes salad dressing sing, brings liveliness to roasted meats, coaxes flavor from simple chicken dishes and vivifies butter sauces for fish. Sprinkle grated zest on quinoa or couscous to give it dimension. Lemons are not just for lemonade.

If you don’t already have one, order yourself a microplane grater today. It costs about 12 bucks. It is in my top ten, must-have, bring-on-every-foreign-travel-experience kitchen tools. Use it to quickly zest citrus, make tiny curls of grated chocolate and to convert Parmesan or other hard cheeses into cloud-like mounds of shavings.

This lemon tart uses the zest and the juice. It’s a mouth puckering blast of citrus in an elegant sliver of tart, threaded with pretty little shards of zest. I love Meyer lemons for their complex taste. Kind of like a hybrid of orange, lemon and grapefruit. Floral and rich. Acidic yet bewitching. If you can get your hands on these babies, snap them up! If not, use whatever lemons (or limes or anything citrus) in this tart.

Thank you to my daughter, Eliza Jane, for helping me this week. She used some of her precious vacation time to shoot the photos in this post. Talented girl.

Meyer Lemon Tart

Based on a recipe from Patricia Wells

Serves 8-10

The beauty of this recipe is time and flavor. Unlike most pastry-making recipes, this one uses melted butter, which means no rolling pin or chilling time needed. Just mix up the dough and press it into the tart pan with your fingers. Bake it and fill with the lemon curd. That’s it. A fancy, winter citrus dessert in about one hour. Plus you can make it in advance. This goes on the “Best Of” list of winter desserts!

For the Pastry Shell

8 tablespoons (4 ounces/120 grams) unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus additional for buttering the tart pan
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon pure almond extract
Grated zest (just the peel) of 1 Meyer lemon, blanched and refreshed*
1/4 cup (30 grams) confectioners’ sugar
A pinch of fine sea salt
1¼ cups (180 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour

For the Lemon Curd

2 large eggs, at room temperature
3 large egg yolks, at room temperature
1 cup (200 grams) sugar
8 tablespoons (4 ounces/120 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into 8 pieces
Grated zest (just the peel) of 2 organic Meyer lemons (or regular lemons), blanched and refreshed
1/2 cup (12.5 centiliters) freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice (from 2-3 lemons), strained

Make the Pastry

Preheat the oven to 350˚F.
Butter the bottom and sides of a 9-10” fluted tart pan with a removable bottom.
In a medium bowl, combine the melted butter, vanilla and almond extracts, grated zest, sugar and salt, and stir with a spoon to blend. Gradually incorporate enough flour to form a smooth, soft dough (The dough will resemble soft cookie dough). Place the dough in the center of the buttered tart pan. With the tips of your fingers, press the pastry evenly on the bottom and sides of the pan. The dough will be quite thin. No need to weight or prick the pastry shell before baking.
Place the shell in the center of the oven and bake until the dough is firm and lightly browned, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool for at least 10 minutes before filling. Do not remove from the pan.

Make the Lemon Curd/Assemble Tart

Bring a large pot of water to boil, lower heat to simmer, and place a large metal bowl (non-reactive, such as stainless steel) over the pot. The water should not touch the bottom of the bowl. Combine the eggs, egg yolks and sugar in the bowl. Whisk frequently until the curd thickens and is pale lemon colored, about 10 minutes.
Add the butter, tablespoon by tablespoon, allowing each tablespoon to melt before adding the next. Add the zest and lemon juice, whisking frequently over the simmering water, until thick and custard-like, about 5 minutes. The mixture should not boil or the curd will break up. Pour the curd into the prebaked and cooled pastry shell. Smooth with a rubber spatula and set aside until set, about 30 minutes. Just before serving sprinkle with a light dusting of confectioners’ sugar. Cut into thin wedges and serve.

* How to blanch and refresh lemon zest:
Bring a small saucepan of water to boil. Drop zest into boiling water and simmer for a few minutes. Strain and submerge strainer filled with blanched zest into a bowl of ice water. This removes some of the bitterness.

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February 16, 2012

Pasta, Sardines & Roasted Cauliflower

Sardines conjure strong feelings. Few people are neutral on the subject. I think of eating them grilled, al fresco under a wisteria pergola in southern France. With a glass of pale pink rosé. I think of being with an old boyfriend in a Portuguese fishing port, watching wizened women wearing all black choose the glistening fish in the market. And I think of cheap tins of sardines, devouring them whole on salted crackers with a squeeze of lemon juice. Yes, I love sardines.

The other day, crossing through Chinatown on my way somewhere, one of the fish vendors had fresh sardines piled high up front. I snapped up a pound ($2.39). That night, I made supper using what we had in the fridge, with these sparkly fish as the centerpiece.

Sardines are an oily fish found in many parts of the world. Called a “super food” for their high nutritional content, they are rich in omega-3 fatty acids, vitamin D, calcium and protein. They are plentiful and inexpensive. The best source of fresh sardines in the USA is wild-caught Pacific, according to the Seafood Watch List.

If you have an outdoor grill, cook the fish there. They kick up a lot of smoke and fumes when cooked, hence their bad reputation. Indoors, they’re best cooked under the broiler. I find the stove contains the cooking smells and our stove hood takes care of the rest. To eliminate cooking odors in the house, my friend Vander told me his 89 year-old mother boils a little sugar, water and a cinnamon stick or cloves. It works!

This recipe is based very loosely on a classic Sicilian recipe. Use a chunky dried pasta, such as fusilli, orecchiette or campanelle. Or use whatever you have. Fresh or tinned sardines can be used. Switch out the cauliflower for something else, if you wish. This is one-pot pantry cooking at its best.

Pasta with Sardines and Roasted Cauliflower
Serves 4-6

1 small head of cauliflower, stem cut away, and broken into bite-sized florets
5 tablespoons olive oil, divided
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 cloves garlic, sliced thinly
½ teaspoon hot pepper flakes
½ cup unflavored bread crumbs, preferably homemade and not powder-fine
(whiz old bread, crusts removed, in the food processor until roughly cut into ¼” pieces and freeze in a plastic bag; they can be used straight from the freezer in this recipe)
2 tablespoons parsley, chopped fine
Zest from one lemon, plus the juice
1 tablespoon capers
2 tablespoons toasted pine nuts
1 pound fresh sardines or 4 small tins of sardines
1 pound dried pasta such as campanelle or fusilli

Preheat the oven to 425˚F. Place the cauliflower florets on a baking sheet, drizzle with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Toss with your hands to distribute the oil and seasonings. Spread out the florets evenly in a single layer on the pan. Roast in the oven for about 10 minutes or until browned on one side. Remove from the oven and turn off the heat.
Meanwhile, in a medium skillet over a medium-low heat, cook the garlic and hot pepper flakes in one tablespoon of oil for about 2 minutes until fragrant. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add another tablespoon of oil and brown the breadcrumbs in the same pan (about 7 minutes, stirring occasionally). Turn off the heat.
Add the garlic and hot pepper to the bread crumbs, as well as the parsley, lemon zest, lemon juice, capers, and salt and pepper to taste.
If using fresh sardines, light the broiler or fire up the outdoor grill. Rinse the gutted, scaled fish (get your fishmonger to do the messy part) under cold water and lay them out on a towel to dry. Pat dry on all sides. Lay fish on a rack set into a baking sheet. Drizzle lightly with the remaining olive oil and season both sides with salt and pepper. Cook under the broiler or on the grill for about 4 minutes on each side. Check for doneness by poking into the thickest part of the fish with a knife and looking to see that the flesh is white (cooked). Let fish cool a little, then remove the flesh (discard skin and bones), and cut into bite-sized pieces.
If using canned sardines, drain off the oil and cut into bit-sized pieces.
Make the pasta in a large pot of well-salted water. Cook until al dente (taste for doneness) and drain.
In a large bowl, stir together the roasted cauliflower, bread crumb mixture and sardine pieces. Taste for seasoning and garnish with pine nuts. Serve hot or room temperature, with a light leafy salad, a lemon vinaigrette and a cold glass of Vermentino (Italian white wine).

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February 8, 2012

Lobster Stew with Pastry Top

Photo by Fred R. Conrad/The New York Times

Oh, I was all set to write about my favorite weeknight Indian chicken dish and then I saw this. To die for. This is what I will be making for my beloved family next week, as part of a Valentine’s feast. I will serve it with floppy, butter lettuce leaves coated lemony-mustard vinaigrette, a crusty, warm baguette with a side of Meursault wine from Burgundy (a half-bottle to make it more affordable). We’ll finish the meal with light and fluffy chocolate soufflé, plucked from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. (If you don’t have this iconic book, get it today. It’s essential.)

Lobster was once considered food for servants. The bottom feeder shellfish. Abundant and cheap. Then it morphed into one of the fancy foods, something you ordered in a restaurant when someone else was paying the tab. Some people are scared of cooking lobster. They wince when dropping the lives crustaceans into boiling water. I understand that. But when compared to the plethora of processed foods, prepackaged plastic rations simply heated in a microwave, I rejoice at the thought of preparing live lobsters. And compared to the price of good quality, grass-fed meats, lobster is relatively inexpensive (about $11/pound in the New York area). I’ll be getting mine at the wonderful Red Hook Lobster Pound.

This recipe is barely adapted from the one that appeared in the New York Times today. I will probably use packaged puff pastry (yes, sometimes ready-made is the better choice in our house). And I promise to give you my favorite weeknight chicken recipe soon.

Lobster Stew with Pastry

Serves 2, generously

2 lobsters, about 1 pound each

3 tablespoons butter

1/3 cup finely diced celery

1 cup finely diced leek

Salt and pepper

1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon chopped thyme leaves

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1 cup half-and-half cream

2 teaspoons potato starch dissolved in 2 tablespoons cold water

1/4 cup crème fraîche

2 baked 6-inch diameter flaky pastry lids (use thawed frozen or make your own in recipe as follows)

1 tablespoon chopped parsley

1 tablespoon chopped tarragon or dill

1 tablespoon chives, cut very small

2 tablespoons chopped celery leaves, from interior stalks

1. Place the lobsters in a large pot of rapidly boiling water over high heat. Cook for 6 minutes, then remove them and cool in a large bowl of cold water.

2. Take the meat from the claws, tail and knuckles. (Discard the shells or use them for lobster stock.) Then cut the meat into roughly 1/2-inch chunks and set aside.

3. Melt the butter in a wide, heavy skillet over medium heat. Add the celery and leek, season with salt and pepper, stir and cook until softened, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the lobster meat, cayenne, thyme and lemon zest and stir together.

4. Pour in the half-and-half and simmer for 2 minutes. Add the potato starch mixture and cook until thickened, about 1 minute. Check the seasoning and adjust, then stir in the crème fraîche.

5. Spoon the hot lobster stew into 2 deep bowls. Place a baked pastry lid on each. Sprinkle with the chopped parsley, tarragon, chives and celery leaves, and serve immediately.

Flaky Pastry

150 grams all-purpose flour (about 1 cup), plus more for dusting

Salt

8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut in 1/4-inch cubes

1 egg yolk

1 tablespoon half-and-half.

1. Put the flour and a pinch salt in a mixing bowl. With fingers, work half the butter (4 tablespoons) into the flour until completely incorporated. Add the remaining butter, leaving it in small chunks. Quickly stir in 1/4 cup ice water to form a somewhat sticky ball. Knead together briefly, wrap in plastic, and press to make a flat disk about 1-inch thick. Refrigerate overnight or for at least an hour.

2. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Roll the dough on a lightly floured surface to a diameter of about 12 1/2 inches. If using frozen puff pastry, thaw one sheet for about 1 hour on counter or overnight in fridge. Roll out on lightly floured surface into a 14″ square. Using an inverted bowl as a guide, cut two 6-inch diameter circles. (The remaining dough can be rerolled and saved for another purpose.) Mix egg yolk and half- and-half. Place the circles on a parchment-lined baking sheet and paint lightly with the egg yolk mixture.

3. Bake for 10 minutes at 400 degrees, then lower the temperature to 350 degrees and continue baking until nicely browned, about 10 minutes. (May be baked ahead, if desired, and reheated.)

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January 27, 2012

Seeded Granola

This is a big year in our house. I turn fifty next week (don’t know whether to wince or rejoice). Husband Gérard turns sixty in April. Our 110^th birthday. Yet we still feel like we’re in our twenties. It’s not quite arrested development (one hopes). Just a state of being, a vibe of being 20-something, in one’s heart. The body is another matter entirely.

Which brings me to the subject of this post. Health, and how good food relates to well-being. Sanctimonious foodies and dietary dictates make me lose my appetite. To me, pleasure and food are inextricably linked. And moderation is the secret ingredient to a long, healthy and pleasure-filled life. But it all begins with (cue the eye rolling)… a good breakfast. Preferably with lots of fiber to fulfill age-appropriate dietary needs.

I start most days with a bowl of homemade granola and plain yogurt, usually with fruit on top. Why make your own cereal, you ask? #1 Because it tastes so good, #2 It costs so much less than the store-bought kind, and #3 You control what goes into it (variety of seeds, whether it’s organic, sweetness factor, etc.). Oh, and because it takes about 30 minutes of actual work, leaving you with a week’s supply. Plus virtue.

This recipe is a favorite, from a new cookbook I like a lot: Good to the Grain, by Kim Boyce. Making granola is very forgiving. Don’t have an ingredient? Skip it or switch it out for another. Want to use up some nuts or dried fruit in your pantry? Throw ’em in there. Need a kick to wake up your palette? Add a pinch of cayenne. Flax seeds, bran and oats may sound drearily healthy but in this granola scattered on yogurt, they taste deliciously rich and indulgent.

Seeded Granola

Adapted from Good to the Grain: Baking with Whole-Grain Flours

Makes about 10 cups

Note: Dried fruits burn easily. I prefer to add them to the final granola mix, or do it à la carte depending on my mood at serving time.

Butter for greasing the pans

1 cup raw pumpkin seeds

4 cups whole rolled oats

1 cup raw sunflower seeds

1 cup raw pecans or walnuts or almonds

½ cup wheat germ or bran

¼ cup flax seeds

2 tablespoons brown sesame seeds

1 tablespoon black sesame seeds

1 tablespoon poppy seeds

½ teaspoon cayenne powder (optional)

½ cup honey

½ cup dark brown sugar or maple syrup

3 ounces (3/4 stick) unsalted butter

1 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 325˚F. Spread the pumpkin seeds onto a baking sheet and bake until light golden brown, about 15 minutes. While they toast, butter two 17” x 12” rimmed baking sheets. Rimmed baking sheets (or large roasting pans) are much easier to use than cookie sheets (rimless), because they contain all the loose ingredients better.

Measure the dry ingredients into a large bowl. Add the toasted pumpkin seeds and toss together with your hands.

To make the syrup, measure the honey, brown sugar or maple syrup, butter, and salt into a small saucepan. Place it over a medium heat, stir once, and cook until the syrup comes to an even boil.

As soon as the syrup boils, immediately pour it over the oat mixture, using a spatula to scrape every last bit out. Turn the mixture over and over, until every oat flake, seed, and nut is coated with syrup. Divide the granola evenly between the two prepared baking sheets, spreading it out in a single, clumpy layer on each pan.

Bake for 10 minutes. Remove the sheets from the oven, close the oven door to retain the heat, and scrape the outer edges of granola towards the center, and the center out to the edges. This prevents the granola from burning on one side. Place the sheets back in the oven, rotating the top and bottom pans from the positions they were in for the first 10 minutes of baking. Repeat the baking, scraping and pan rotation a second and third time, with the last baking time shortened to 5 minutes, unless you like your granola very well done (add a few minutes to the last baking time).

Remove the sheets from the oven and allow the granola to cool thoroughly on the pans; this will allow small clumps to form. Granola keeps at least one week, stored in airtight containers such as Mason jars.

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Filed under Recipes, vegetarian

January 12, 2012

Kale with Cannellini Beans

I am not a vegetarian. Nor do I think I ever will be (again). For a few years in high school I didn’t eat meat. My favorite food at the time was avocado and sharp cheddar on a toasted sesame bagel. Topped with alfalfa sprouts. This was 1978, after all, and sprouts seemed like pretty innovative cuisine. I think I became a vegetarian because eating flesh struck me as quite disgusting. It also folded quite neatly into how I saw myself at the time: questioning authority, prodding the edges of respectability, taking a stand.

My grandmother, named Tappy – cosmopolitan, interested in politics and very direct – disapproved of the vegetarian diet. At mealtime she’d draw out the vowels and state the question, “Just having saa-lad, are you?” Followed by a scornful “tsk,” or an exasperated sigh. This came from a woman who remains, among the people I’ve known, my greatest culinary heroine. It was humiliating.

But the teenage rebel in me was stronger than the loyal granddaughter/student of fine living. I stuck to my guns and put up with her acid comments until senior year. One fine spring day, at a barbeque on the lawn of a rowing club in Cambridge, Mass, I abruptly stopped being a vegetarian. I ate a juicy, just-grilled hamburger. It was delicious.

Thirty years have passed. I have enjoyed foie gras, sweetbreads, pig’s knuckles, horsemeat, venison and duck and everything else imaginable. Meat is very much part of my diet. But I do find myself making more and more vegetable-grain-legume based meals. Influenced by a host of smart people such as Michael Pollan (read The Omnivore’s Dilemma if you haven’t), Alice Waters, Eric Schlossberg, the movie Food Inc., etc. along with a better understanding of the connection between what we eat and the health of our planet (and our bodies), I am fully on the bandwagon. If she were alive today, conversations with Tappy would be very invigorating indeed.

I like this recipe because it’s hearty and protein-filled and I get my greens fix. It’s quick to make and costs very little. The flakes of hot pepper make it lively. Serve with crusty bread and salad with a good vinaigrette, or as part of a composed plate with butternut squash gratin and roasted winter vegetables. If you’re short on time, use rinsed canned beans of good quality (I like Eden brand). If you’re organized, soak dried bean the night before and save some for another day, when you can make a white bean purée with garlic, to have on little toasts as an appetizer.

Kale with Cannellini Beans

Adapted only slightly from vegetarian guru Deborah Madison

Serves 4

One bunch of purple stem kale, stems and ribs removed

Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 small onion, finely diced

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 large garlic cloves, minced

Pinch of red pepper flakes (or more to taste)

2 teaspoons finely chopped rosemary

½ cup dry white wine

1 1/3 cups cooked cannellini beans, rinsed well if cans

½ cup bread crumbs, freshly made and pan crisped in olive oil

Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Cook the kale leaves in a pot of salted boiling water for 7 minutes, or until tender. Drain, reserving a little of the cooking water, and chop the leaves.

In a large skillet over a medium-low heat, sauté the onion in oil until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, red pepper flakes and rosemary, cooking for an additional 2 minutes. Add the wine and simmer until it’s reduced to a sauce. Add the beans, kale, and a little cooking water to keep the mixture loose. Heat through, taste for salt and season with pepper. Serve with a dusting of crispy breadcrumbs and grated Parmesan.

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Filed under Recipes, vegetarian

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Seeded Granola

Kale with Cannellini Beans

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