Spiced Hot Cocoa Rice Pudding

Winter is tricky. It's freeze-your-face-off cold, and the days are short and dark. It's enough to make anyone crave comfort food. On the other hand, we're all trying to eat a little healthier.

This recipe may not be totally guilt free, but it's pretty impressive on that front. And so rich tasting you only need a few bites. As in risotto, the rice gives off velvety starch, thickening the pudding on its own, with the help of creamy nonfat yogurt. Considering it doesn't call for eggs or cream or even 2% milk, it came out shockingly rich and fudgy, like Mexican hot cocoa frozen in time. No one would ever guess how light it really is.

For me, though, if you're going to eat chocolate, it should really be darker. This pudding lacked the bitter edge of serious chocolate. If you're a milk chocolate fan, then this recipe is for you. But if you like your chocolate intense and deep, consider using really good (expensive) and truly dark chocolate—maybe with a 75% cocoa content. I bet it would be nice with a bit of brewed (decaf) espresso thrown in, too. Yum. For Valentine's day, perhaps?


Or go the other way. It's kind of sad to lose the lovely simplicity of rice pudding by throwing chocolate into the mix. Chocolate overshadows the custardy, nutmeggy flavor of classic rice pudding, to the point where the nubby texture of rice seems out of place. I can't guarantee that this pudding will be perfect without the chocolate, but it's an interesting method to start with. Try dialing back the ginger and increasing the nutmeg, adding raisins, orange zest, etc. Let me know how it goes!


Spiced Hot Cocoa Rice Pudding
Adapted from Martha Stewart
Serves 4

1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
3 tablespoons sugar
Pinch of coarse salt
1 vanilla bean
3 1/2 cups skim milk
1/2 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/2 cup Arborio rice
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 pinch nutmeg
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier
1 oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped, or chips
1/4 cup plain nonfat yogurt, preferably Greek-style

1. Make the pudding: Whisk together cocoa powder, sugar, salt, and milk in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Split vanilla bean and scrape into saucepan, add bean too. Bring to a simmer; remove from heat.

2. Melt butter in a medium saucepan over low-medium heat. I love using enameled cast iron for this sort of thing. Add rice; toast, stirring constantly, until edges are translucent, 1 to 2 minutes. Add hot milk mixture; bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat; simmer gently, stirring occasionally, until rice is tender and has absorbed most of the liquid, about 20 minutes. Add ginger and cinnamon. Cook another 10 minutes or so. If rice is not tender and has already absorbed the liquid, you can add a little more milk or water (or brewed coffee!) and let it absorb the way you do with risotto. Keep in mind that pudding will thicken as it cools—leave it a little loose and liquidy.

3. Remove from heat and remove vanilla bean. Add liquor and chocolate; stir until chocolate has melted. Stir in yogurt. Pour into a serving bowl or individual dessert bowls. Cover and refrigerate until cold, about 2 hours. Top with light whipped cream or more greek yogurt. Don't tell anyone it's healthy.

Lighter Bite: Buffalo Salmon

Is it possible I still feel stuffed from Sunday brunch?

Craving something lighter and zingier and fresher, I knew we'd have a big salad for dinner Wednesday. But as I was clicking around, I remembered this recipe I'd cut out a long time ago. I was introduced to Frank's Hot Sauce at a Superbowl party last year, and have been a little obsessed ever since. It's not very spicy—that's not the whole point—it's mostly vinegary. It's classic on fried chicken wings but possibly even better on grilled or broiled ones, so I was up for the experiment. Why not salmon?

Answer: because salmon is not chicken. It's possible we should treat our chicken like chicken and our salmon like salmon. The buffalo sauce and fish were incongruous, the taste of salmon made me crave a sweeter sauce (I promise to post about my mother's classic soon), and the taste of Frank's made me crave chicken. It was a mismatch.

Whether you try this (and it could just be an acquired taste) or just pour some lovely Frank's Hot Sauce on some cooked chicken, I do have one recommendation. Pair it with a nice salad: arugula tossed with slightly steamed asparagus, a bit of crumbled feta, and a citrus vinaigrette. Perfect and light.

You'll recover from last weekend just in time to start planning the next one.


Buffalo Salmon (unencrusted)
inspired by Gourmet Magazine
serves 2

1 lb salmon or arctic char (char might actually be better)
1/2 cup Frank's Hot Sauce + 2 T
olive oil

Preheat broiler. Pour hot sauce in a baking pan place salmon in it, turning to coat. Remove any bones you notice. Let marinate 1 minute. Heat cast iron pan over medium heat with a bit of olive oil in it. When pan is hot, cook salmon skin side down for 3 minutes. Turn, cook 2 minutes more on other side. Turn skin side down, place in broiler. Cook a few minutes until done (this will happen quickly, do not overcook.) Place salmon on serving plate, brush remaining 2 T hot sauce onto top of fish. Serve with salad.

Maiden Voyage of the Slow Cooker: Hoisin Garlic Ribs

Picture from Crate and Barrel

My fiancé Matt is quite good with presents. When we first started dating, he gave me a weekend subscription to the New York Times, which saved me a painful pre-coffee trip to the newsstand and suggested to me that he might be interested in sticking around for a few more weekends. My parents were totally impressed (perhaps that was the real goal.)

Since I've gotten more interested (obsessed) with recipes that involve lowww and slow cooking, I may have mentioned once or twice that a slow cooker would be a worthy addition to our kitchen. Also, my friends Laura and Adam made an AMAZING brisket in their slow cooker that I just might have praised a few times. Matt knows how to take a hint, and since my birthday we've had a slow cooker on our counter just waiting to be tested.

While I love my dutch oven and will continue to use it frequently, I don't love leaving the oven on for eight or twelve hours at a time. And I don't love being stuck in the house for that time, either. I've noticed that slow-cooker recipes online are somewhat limited to Sandra Lee-style easy recipes, but I think the electric slow cooker absolutely has a place in the serious gourmet kitchen.

For her maiden voyage, I rubbed St. Louis style ribs (sawed in half by the butcher at Whole Foods) with garlic, ginger, and ground sichuan peppercorns. After a bit of marinating (but no browning), I threw them in the slow cooker with three sliced onions and about two cups of liquid (sake, beer, hoisin, sriracha, fresh orange juice, honey, soy sauce.) The ribs cooked for about 12 hours on low while I slept. It was a little weird waking up to the smell of garlicky chinese food, but amazing to literally have dinner cook on its own. No stirring, no worrying. I refrigerated the ribs in a baking pan with the liquid and skimmed the fat when I got home. After a bit of covered reheating in the oven, I brushed the ribs with a mixture of hoisin, sriracha, honey, and orange juice to sweeten them up a bit. After glazing, we crisped each side in a hotter oven for about 10 minutes.

And they were pretty incredible. The meat fell from the bones into our mouths—you couldn't really nibble. The meat was falling apart, the bones were falling apart, and the taste was rich and intense, balanced with the sweet and spicy glaze. We had planned to finish watching a movie while we ate, but these ribs were so good we couldn't concentrate on anything else. Plus, it's hard to read subtitles while you're licking your plate.

Mo' Brussels Sprouts

On my birthday, we went out to eat brussels sprouts. I'd been looking forward to them for weeks.

I'm serious—David Chang (the chef behind the Momofuku empire) has the whole city, the food media, and tourists from everywhere talking about brussels sprouts. Fans wait with bated breath for the sprouts to appear on the seasonal menu again. They're like no brussels sprouts you've experienced before. The sprouts at Momofuku Ssam bar are a perfect combination of crispy and spicy, sweet and pungent. Familiar flavors—mint, cilantro, fish sauce—taste new when balanced against earthy brussels sprouts. In short, they're a treat.

Ssam bar isn't tooooo expensive, though it falls under "once in awhile" sort of expenditures for us. (And we didn't order the eight dollar bread and butter. Which is probably awesome. But please.) But because it's popular and small, sharing the Momofuku Sprout Experience with groups of friends necessitates making them at home. Luckily, a recipe was posted in Gourmet magazine last year. It would be an interesting addition to the Thanksgiving table, as long as your guests are a little open minded.


Notes: In the restaurant, the menu states that the sprouts are fried. They may be roasted and fried, but in any case, the texture is perfect, and somewhat difficult to reproduce at home. It's important to get all the crispy bits and not let the sprouts go soggy. A single layer in the dish is probably essential so the vegetables don't steam. If they're a little soft, I might try throwing them under the broiler once the dressing's on to crisp up the edges a bit. I used Bhel mix (an Indian crisped rice snack) and it looked like that's what Chang uses as well. Rice Krispies probably work fine if that's all you've got. I also added a squeeze of lime to the dressing, and added some cauliflower to the sprouts for a little variety.


Momofuku Ssam Bar Roasted Brussels Sprouts
Adapted from David Chang, Gourmet magazine

Makes 8 (first course or side dish) serving

For brussels sprouts
2 pounds Brussels sprouts, halved lengthwise. (You can also add chopped cauliflower)
3 tablespoons canola oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
For dressing
1/4 cup Asian fish sauce (preferably Tiparos brand)
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup sugar (I added about 1 teaspoon more)
3 tablespoons finely chopped mint (note: this is a lot, buy plenty!)
2 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro stems
1 garlic clove, minced
1 (1 1/2-inch) fresh red Thai chile, thinly sliced crosswise, including seeds (or squeeze sriracha)
Squeeze of lime
For puffed rice
1/2 cup Bhel mix (or crisp rice cereal such as Rice Krispies)
1/4 teaspoon canola oil
1/4 teaspoon shichimi togarashi (Japanese seven-spice blend)

Garnish: cilantro sprigs; torn mint leaves; chopped scallions

Roast brussels sprouts:
Preheat oven to 450°F with rack in upper third. Toss Brussels sprouts with oil, then arrange, cut sides down, in a 17- by 12-inch shallow baking pan. Make sure sprouts are in one layer. Roast, without turning, (ok, I stirred them once) until outer leaves are tender and very dark brown, 40 to 45 minutes. Watch carefully toward the end, you want sprouts quite crispy, with burnt bits, but not completely incinerated. Add butter and toss to coat.

Make dressing:
Stir together all dressing ingredients until sugar has dissolved.

Make puffed rice while sprouts roast:
Cook cereal, oil, and shichimi togarashi in a small skillet over medium heat, shaking skillet and stirring, until rice is coated and begins to turn golden, about 3 minutes. Remove from burner and cool, stirring occasionally.

Finish dish:
Put Brussels sprouts in a serving bowl, then toss with just enough dressing to coat. Sprinkle with puffed rice and garnish, serve remaining dressing on the side.

The Chosen People's Pot Roast: Gail Simmons's Mother's Horseradish Brisket

Everybody and their grandmother (particularly their Jewish grandmother) has a recipe for brisket. A rub of lipton's onion soup mix . . . a beer . . . chili sauce . . . But I'm not going to talk about my grandmother's recipe. She may have one, I should have asked her on the phone today when she called to celebrate our shared birthday (love that!) But brisket actually doesn't appear that often in my childhood memories—my father is suspicious of meat that's wet, so we didn't eat it often. I never thought much about brisket until I started dating Matt four years ago and found myself at his folks' place for holidays.

I was amazed how little rushing around the Virginia house there was before holiday meals, no matter how many friends and relatives were about to descend. Unlike the frantic last-minute kitchen craziness to which I am prone, (and may possibly have inherited from my mother, who also shares my knack for using every single dish in the kitchen to prepare and serve a meal) holiday meal preparation with Matt's mother is a calm, well organized affair. She has a system.

Under the brisket part of this system, brisket is cooked well in advance, and most likely frozen. (There is also a turkey part of the system, which I will explain at some later date.) Brisket actually improves with a little storage, as long as it is reheated with plenty of liquid. You can serve a ton of people, and you have to do that day is pop the casserole in the oven—brilliant! And Karla's recipe is truly delicious, really moist, and perfectly accented by the pile of carrots that cook with it. Her secret ingredient (I'm not actually sure how secret it is) is a can of Coke. Perfect caramel flavor without caramelizing onions forever. I think the other secret is that it cooks a LONG time. On a weekend. Far ahead of the holiday.

Of course, what fun would it be to just stick with the classics? Rebel that I am, I decided to try a new recipe. The new December issue of Food and Wine featured Gail Simmons's family method for brisket, which added a rub of prepared horseradish. (I bet it would be good with fresh horseradish too.) Since I didn't have beef stock, but did have leftover turkey broth from our Week of Sickness, I added about a quarter of a can of Coke to the broth to deepen the flavor. (It's not sweet, I promise.) I also put all the veggies in at once, because I don't mind a truly mushed potato drowning in briskety gravy. In fact, I like that sort of thing. I substituted leeks for the celery, since I hate buying a huge head of celery just for two ribs. Threw it in the oven and waited three hours while watching Gossip Girl and drinking wine with our neighbor.

The recipe instructs you to remove the lid and cook uncovered to reduce the liquid. Perhaps my dutch oven doesn't seal perfectly, but by the time this was over, there wasn't a ton of liquid left. If I were doing this again, I actually might skip this step and just continue cooking covered, since browning the finished product probably only dries it out, and the liquid was just fine without it. Brisket isn't supposed to be able to win any beauty pageants.


So, did the RADICAL addition of horseradish change things drastically? Did we even recognize that it was brisket? Was our world turned upside down?

It was brisket. Brisket is really good. Delicious and rich and soothing. You might get a touch of horseradish flavor, and you could add more to the gravy if you wanted. Otherwise, standard, in a delicious way. When I make this again, though, I might try a lower-and-slower weekend method. I don't think this was quite as fall-apart tender well-cooked as it could have been, but I still ate the leftovers at work with only a plastic fork.

Horseradish Brisket
adapted from Gail Simmons
Food and Wine

One 5 1/2-pound first-cut brisket
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
3 1/2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 medium onions, halved and thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, minced
4 carrots, cut crosswise 1 inch thick
2 medium parsnips, halved lengthwise and cut crosswise 1-inch thick
2 celery ribs, cut into 1 inch pieces (I subbed in leeks)
1/2 cup prepared white horseradish, drained
2 cups dry red wine
2 bay leaves, preferably fresh
3 cups beef stock (I subbed in 3 cups total turkey broth and Coke (not diet))
4 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces (I only used two)

1. Preheat the oven to 325°. Season the brisket generously with salt and pepper. In a very large enameled cast-iron casserole, heat 3 tablespoons of the vegetable oil. Add the brisket and cook over moderately high heat, turning, until browned all over, about 12 minutes. Using tongs, carefully transfer the brisket to a rimmed baking sheet, fat side up.
2. Pour off all but 3 tablespoons of the fat from the casserole. Add the onions and half of the garlic and cook over moderate heat until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the carrots, parsnips and celery and cook over moderate heat until browned in spots, about 6 minutes. I added potatoes at this point too.
   
3. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine 1/4 cup of the prepared horseradish with the remaining garlic and 1/2 tablespoon of vegetable oil. Spread the garlic-horseradish paste on the fat side of the brisket.
4. Pour the red wine into the casserole. Bring to a boil and cook over high heat, scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the casserole, 1 minute. Push the vegetables to the side of the casserole and add the bay leaves. Set the brisket, horseradish side up, in the center of the casserole. Pour the beef stock around the brisket and bring to a simmer over moderate heat. Cover the casserole, transfer to the oven and cook for 1 hour.
5. If you didn't add potatoes at the beginning, scatter the potatoes around the brisket, cover and cook for about 2 hours longer, until the meat is very tender. Increase the oven temperature to 350°. Uncover the casserole and roast for about 30 minutes, until the brisket is browned on top and the gravy has thickened. Do not do this if the liquid is already reduced enough, just continue cooking a 325, covered.
   
6. Carefully transfer the brisket to a carving board and let rest for 30 minutes. Discard the bay leaves. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the vegetables to a serving platter and cover with foil to keep warm.
7. Pour the brisket cooking liquid into a fat separator and let stand until the fat rises to the surface. Pour the cooking liquid into a gravy boat and discard the fat. Whisk the remaining 1/4 cup of prepared horseradish into the gravy and season with salt and pepper.
8. Thinly slice the brisket across the grain and transfer to the platter with the vegetables. Spoon some of the gravy over the brisket and vegetables and serve, passing the remaining gravy at the table.

Make-Ahead: You Should Totally Do it This Way
The recipe can be prepared through Step 5 and refrigerated for up to 3 days. To reheat, skim the fat from the surface of the liquid. Slice the cold brisket, return it to the casserole and reheat gently in a 350° oven. Transfer the brisket and vegetables to a platter and serve.


Wine Suggestion:
We drank an affordable Carignan, which really brought out the herbal flavor of the horseradish. I'm not sure I'd ever seen this unblended before, but it was really tasty. Quite full-bodied for an unoaked wine.

Apple of my eye: Maida Heatter's homemade applesauce

And we're back!

It's funny that after a week of the stomach flu (during with we were sustained only by turkey broth, toast, and Mott's applesauce) I would crave this. But homemade applesauce, like many things, is a completely different animal than the store-bought kind. It's brightened with a touch of lemon and not too much sugar. Chunks of fresh apples have a pleasant texture—a bit of a bite. I used a mixture of local ones from the farmer's market—huge red Romes and some hard green apples whose name I didn't recognize. Today I just used a bit of vanilla extract, but the lovely flecks of real vanilla bean make this superlative. Soon, soon—Shiv and I just made quite a purchase here. (Any suggestions of what sort of trouble we should get into with those? What do you do with a hundred and twenty vanilla beans???)

I copied down this recipe a long time ago from a funny old dessert cookbook my mom has. The pages are yellowed and the spine is broken, so you have to remove a bunch of rubber bands to open the book. I'm not actually sure any of the other recipes still get used, but the applesauce is a staple in my parents' house. I think, though, that tonight's version may be even better than the one I remember from home—perhaps it was the mix of green and red apples, which were particularly flavorful and almost floral in scent. I just ate a second bowl for dessert. (Addition: and a few spoonfuls with cornbread for breakfast.) It's worth making a bunch—applesauce freezes well and is perfect with pork chops or brisket . . . Stay tuned, more to come on that later.


Maida Heatter's Applesauce
12-15 Apples
Juice of one lemon
2 cups water
1/4-1/3 cup sugar
1 each cinnamon stick and vanilla bean
optional pinch nutmeg or mace (I did the nutmeg, not the mace, and added a quick shake of ground cinnamon, too.)

Peel, quarter, and core apples. Place in heavy pot with lemon juice. Slit vanilla bean, scrape, then add pod too. Add cinnamon stick. Add 2 cups water, stir.
Cook covered over medium heat 5-10 minutes until apples begin to soften. Uncover, and with a heavy wooden spatula (or potato masher) stir and break up the apples. Leave some chunks. Continue cooking and mashing until tender but not completely mushy. Add 1/4 to 1/3 cup sugar, stir, taste, add more if needed. Add nutmeg/mace/cinnamon if desired.

Shiv vs. Pie Crust: Mushroom, shallot, and fontina quiche.

I have a secret.

Despite the fact that I am well known throughout Brooklyn for my infamous, 40-proof pumpkin pie, I have never made a pie crust. That's right! And not only THAT, but I've never even made a pie that actually USED a traditional butter crust--only graham crackers. If you ask my Texan grandmother, that makes me a cheater. If you ask me, it just makes me kind of a wuss: years of horror stories of Crusts Gone Awry (too tough! too floury!) have left me afraid to try.

Until now.

In a fit of euphoric optimism, I decided the other day that it was time to throw caution to the wind and just go for it; this happily coincided with a massive craving I was experiencing for quiche. So, I bought a pastry cutter*, and went straight to a trusted source for my recipe: Martha Stewart, and her Pate Brisee. Being me, I wasn't totally faithful to the recipe--I made a half-batch, with whole wheat flour replacing 1 1/4 cups of all purpose--but fortune smiled upon me anyway and produced a nice, flaky crust (which totally decimated my pastry cutter, though I suspect that's far more a reflection on the cutter and the awesome power of nearly frozen butter than the crust) that went beautifully with the mushroom, shallot, and fontina filling.



As far as I'm concerned, the mushroom/shallot/cheese trifecta is perfect for quiche (though next time I might try either gruyere or a gruyere-asiago mix instead of fontina); I will probably experiment with other fillings further in the future (what's up, prosciutto and gorgonzola!), but I can already tell I'll keep coming back to this classic for more. For now, however, I think the time is right for me to start using my newfound understanding of crust to experiment with other forms of pie, both sweet and savory. Any suggestions?

**UPDATE! I made another quiche last night, using asiago, mushrooms, onions, prosciutto, and scallions. I made the crust in the food processor (and I'm NEVER going back), and it was AWESOME. Highly recommended for the carnivores among us.**



Quiche with mushrooms, shallot, and fontina cheese

1/2 batch Pate Brisee (the original recipe is scaled to make two crusts)

3 large eggs
8 oz fontina cheese, grated
12 oz mushrooms, stemmed and very finely diced
3 medium-sized shallots, sliced
3/4c half and half
salt, pepper, etc

1. Preheat oven to 350F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out your dough to about 12-in in diameter; press into a 9-inch pie plate (Trick: to ease the transition from surface to plate, sprinkle a little flour on the top, then fold it in half before moving. Sounds simple, but it's extremely helpful). Line the dish with foil and fill with dried beans or pie weights; bake 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, remove the foil and beans, prick the bottom of the crust several times with a fork, and pop it back in the oven for 10 minutes, or until golden. Remove from oven and set aside. This can be done up to 6 hours in advance.
2. In a large skillet, melt a bit of butter over medium heat; saute the shallots until they are just translucent; then, add the mushrooms. Continue to sautee over medium heat until the mushrooms have released their liquid, and then reabsorbed it. Season with salt and pepper.
   
3. Whisk together the eggs, half and half with some salt and pepper. Set aside
   
4. Grab your prepared crust. Line it with: half the cheese, then half the mushroom mixture, then the other half of the cheese, then the other half of the mushrooms. Pour the egg mixture over the top of that.
5. Bake at 350 until the custard has set; let it cool for 15 minutes before serving.
   

*Yes, I know, I could do it in the food processor. And from here on out, I probably will. But I figured that if I really wanted to understand the process, I had to do it the old-fashioned way, at least once.

Comfort food: Peanut noodles

So, we're having a little election today; you might have heard something about it. It's not a big deal, really; I'm not really even...

..okay. That is a blatant lie. Though I would never describe myself as overtly political, this election has got me tied in knots and all a-twitter. I waited nearly two hours this morning to exercise my right to vote, and having done so I'm equal parts hopeful and terrified, as well as totally in awe of how many people are turning out.

However! Election Fever means I'm in desperate need of comfort food. Unfortunately, things have been so crazed in the last few weeks that I haven't really had much time to cook said comfort food; AND, tonight, my sister and I will be watching the returns from the relative safety of our favorite watering hole, which means I won't be cooking, either.

Here's what I'd cook if I were: equal parts starchy, sweet, salty, and awesome. Just what the voter ordered.



Soba noodles with peanut sauce

For the dressing:
1/2 c peanut butter
1/4 c soy sauce
1/3 c hot water
1-2 tsp sesame oil
2 tbsp rice wine vinegar
1/2 tsp five spice powder
2 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
1x1-inch knob ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
1 tsp honey or brown sugar

For the salad itself:
8 oz dried soba noodles
1 red pepper, finely julienned
8 oz marinated tofu*
2-3 scallions, cut into matchsticks
2 tbsp fresh basil, shredded

*For the marinated tofu
8 oz firm tofu, drained and cut into 1" cubes
3 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsbp rice vinegar
1/2 tsp sesame oil
1 tbsp sesame seeds
pinch red pepper flakes

1. Set a large pot of water to boiling; prepare the soba noodles according to packet instructions; drain and set aside.
2. Meanwhile, prepare the tofu: combine all six ingredients in a bowl, toss, and set aside. You can marinate this stuff up to four hours--the longer you can marinate, the better it will taste!
3. Make the dressing: Toss all the dressing ingredients into your food processor and whiz it around until you have a nice uniform sauce.
4. Combine noodles, sauce, tofu, peppers, scallions and basil in a large bowl; toss well.

I served this with a Jicama and Asian Pear salad, but it would also be nice with some braised bok choy or a similarly green and crunchy vegetable.

P.S. Have you voted yet? You should go vote. Seriously. All the cool kids are doing it.

Mrs. L's Pumpkin Bread (with Cranberries!): All the Flavors of Fall

I had a wonderful first grade teacher we called Mrs. L. She played guitar and taught us to sing "If I Had A Hammer." We memorized Shel Silverstein and Robert Frost poems and wrote "books" of our own, illustrating them and writing dedications and all (that was my favorite part.) We counted down one hundred days of school and celebrated the hundredth with a hundred-yard dash, one hundred pieces of popcorn, and any number of other countable things in hundred-unit quantities.

At some point during that year (probably exactly this time of year) we baked pumpkin bread in her classroom and brought home a slice with the recipe. My mother—though a bit wary of the snot and dirt that might be incorporated into first grade classroom cooking—saved the recipe, and it's the one I still follow every fall. I know Shiv already recommended a pumpkin bread recipe, but the more the merrier, right? And hey, it's Halloween!


Today I played around a bit, adding tart cranberries and orange zest and substituting a bit of whole-wheat flour, throwing in a sprinkle of cloves and quarter-teaspoon of molasses—I'm not sure the recipe would still be recognizable to Mrs. L. She'd probably still recognize me, though. I don't look that different from how I looked back then.



Pumpkin-Cranberry Bread
Adapted from Susan Lohrer

Sift together in large bowl:
1 1/2 cup flour (I used 1 cup all purpose and 1/2 cup whole wheat flour.)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 C sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda

Mix in small bowl:
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 C cooking oil
2 eggs (whisked)
1/4 teaspoon each cinnamon and nutmeg
zest of one small orange
sprinkle ginger, cloves
1/4 teaspoon molasses (optional)

1 cup fresh cranberries, picked through (frozen is probably fine, don't thaw, just throw them in.)

Combine pumpkin mixture with flour mixture. Do not mix too thoroughly. Stir in cranberries. Pour into a greased loaf dish (original recipe says "well-Pammed." Does anyone use that stuff anymore? Is it bad for the ozone layer?) Bake 50-60 minutes at 350. Loaf is done when a toothpick comes out clean. This recipe makes one loaf. Let cool before serving—the flavors mellow and this really is tastier about half an hour out of the oven.

Notes: If you make mini-loaves or muffins from this, the cooking time is shorter. The cranberries are optional and kind of tart. I like it that way, but this recipe is traditional and great without them.

Also, If you are left with some pumpkin puree and don't know what to do, I highly recommend this recipe for pumpkin orzo with sage.

Disaster pancakes: Better than they sound.

I will come clean and admit this much: I have never been much of a breakfaster. A bruncher, sure. But if given a choice between cooking a hot breakfast and sleeping an extra fifteen minutes? Give me the snooze button and a bowl of cereal, any time.

...and this is exactly why I probably should have considered it a warning sign when I woke up on Saturday with a maddening desire for Real Breakfast. If I'd been clever, I would have gone back to bed. But nooooooo. I wanted to MAKE something to eat!

Specifically, I wanted to make pancakes. (This was convenient, as after rooting around in the fridge I determined that pancakes were the only thing we had the ingredients on hand for.) Even more specifically, I wanted to make gingered pancakes, which I'd had at a diner in Austin, and just couldn't stop thinking about.

(My, what's that? Could it be a whiff of impending doom?)



In a stunning display that proves that I should not be allowed near a source of flame before I've had my morning coffee, I managed to more or less fuse a layer of the non-stick spray that I was using to the frying pan (I know, it sounds weird), filling the house with smoke and turning the inside of my pan a rather terrifying shade of black. Yep, the world's biggest fan of slow and low turned the heat up too high and made her kitchen smell like the green room at a beauty pageant--melted, smoky, and stinking to high heaven. It's a miracle I didn't set the whole place on fire.

Catastrophe was averted only because Bench heroically disconnected my smoke detector before it started screaming, and managed to calm me down when all the pancakes started turning black, too. Not exactly burnt, just black on the outside. Yeah. Suffice it to say, not my finest moment.

Fortunately, there was redemption: even though they looked like hockey pucks, they were fluffy, spicy, and delicious--perfect.

So, lesson learned: turn down the heat, invest in a nonstick griddle. Simplicity itself. However, the next time I'm craving gingered pancakes, I think it would be best for all involved if I made them for dinner instead; I'll leave breakfast to Bench, who is quite a glad hand with scrambled eggs. You, I think, don't need to be so cautious--if you have a good grasp of what your stove is capable of (or a more highly evolved self-preservation instinct), I recommend you make these as often as possible.

Gingered half wheat pancakes

1/2 c all-purpose flour
1/2 c whole wheat flour
1 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 egg
1c buttermilk
2 tbsp melted butter
Seeds of 1 vanilla pod (you can substitute in 1 tsp of vanilla extract)
2tsp (or more) ground ginger

1. Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl.
2. Add the egg and buttermilk; mix well
3. Add the melted butter.
4. Cook a quarter cup at a time on a lightly oiled griddle (or nonstick pan)--the pancakes will be about 3.5-4in in diameter. Flip when bubbles start to form in the center.
5. Serve with bacon and maple syrup (or fresh fruit. or anything, really.)

As an aside, next time i'll probably spice things up with a little crystallized ginger...but I bet they'd be awesome with blueberries, too.

it's an epidemic! tilapia with slow-roasted tomatoes.

Before I begin: remember what I said about how Maggie and I seem to be on the same culinary wavelength? Remember? Well. It's happened again. WHILE I WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. I can think of three explanations for this:

1. Genius is coast to coast.
2. Maggie and I are joined at the brain.
3. Memes are actually airborne.

Take your pick.

Now! Having said that, let's talk tomatoes and tilapia. I made this little delight as a sort of farewell to the bay area--a last meal on the way out of town. (Also to make sure that R didn't regret putting us up for a night and then driving us to the airport after a fuel truck explosion shut down the 880.) The inspiration came squarely from my mother and her prodigious tomato patch, widely and intimidatingly grown from the time we planted it who knows how many years ago.



This once feeble little patch is all grown up. It looms. It lurks. It has taken over an entire quadrant of the garden, and provides my mother with more tomatoes than she has any clue what to do with. And, not just any tomatoes--some of the sweetest, most delightful little lycopene bombs you could ever hope to meet. When we arrived in Sonoma county, every available surface in my mother's huge kitchen was covered in the bounty--tomatoes as far as the eye could see. We spent four days snacking prodigiously upon them, and our exit visas were contingent upon bringing a tub of them with us.

Though we did actually entertain the notion of bringing them all the way back to the east coast with us, logic ultimately prevailed and we decided to use them to cook for R instead of trying to haul them through airport security (I mean, what if they didn't survive the flight? Or were confiscated? IT DOESN'T BEAR THINKING ABOUT). So, this is what we came up with: it's flavorful, healthy, and with a little advance planning could easily be adapted for a ludicrously quick weekday dinner. Win!



Baked tilapia with slow-roasted tomatoes

Cherry tomatoes (at least a pint)
3-4 medium shallots, finely diced
handful fresh basil, roughly torn
3-4 tilapia fillets
red wine vinegar
1 tbsp butter
olive oil
salt
pepper

1. Preheat oven to 225 degrees F. Halve the larger tomatoes, but leave the smaller ones (i.e., anything that would be difficult to slice in half) whole; toss them into a baking dish and drizzle them with a little olive oil. Bake for two hours (or more!)--until they are withered and sweet and irresistible.
2. When the tomatoes are done, remove them from the oven and crank up the heat to about 375 degrees. Coat the tilapia with a little olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt and pepper. Bake for about eight minutes, or until the flesh is firm and opaque.
3. Meanwhile, heat a large skillet over medium heat; using the butter, saute the shallots until they are translucent; turn off the heat, and add the tomatoes, basil, and a little salt and pepper (and another glug of red wine vinegar, if you're feeling festive).
4. Serve the tomato sauce over the tilapia; it goes nicely with some couscous and sauteed spinach.
   

Quick Roast Tomatoes for Procrastinators

There's a reason everyone was talking about slow-roasted tomatoes. Starting with Molly's article in Bon Appetit, and then the Amateur Gourmet, and the Wednesday Chef, and then, as these things often go, everyone. I was a little slow on the uptake—I kept meaning to buy those last roma tomatoes in the farmer's market, I kept meaning to set aside a Sunday for slow-roasting. These tomatoes have been on my mind.

But I didn't follow directions. Here we are, weeks later, and I didn't buy those tomatoes. It's gotten cold for real. Our heat isn't working yet (I think the thermostat needs batteries—you're on that, right, Matt?) and I may dig out a hat for my walk to work tomorrow. But we didn't miss our chance—even procrastinators can have roast tomatoes for dinner.

Realizing that my time was running out, I grabbed a container of grape tomatoes at Trader Joe's. They would have to do. (Did you know TJ is selling Hatch chilies now? I got a bunch of those, too, for later.) I didn't follow Molly's recipe—I actually didn't look it up again tonight before cooking. There wasn't time for slow roasting, though I'm sure slow roasting is sublime and concentrates the flavor in a way that this didn't. But this quick and dirty effort to conjure up some of the flavors that everyone's written about was absolutely a success. Soft, sweet, and velvety. Stirring a bit of fresh goat cheese into the sauce upped the luxury factor, mingling with the tomato juices and coating the strands of bucatini lightly. It was shockingly quick and shockingly good.

Sneak this one in. You still have time.


Bucatini with Quick Roasted Cherry Tomato Sauce
Serves 2

1/2 lb bucatini pasta
1 lb cherry or grape tomatoes, cut in half
olive oil
pinch of kosher salt
pinch of sugar
fresh herbs (about a tablespoon, ripped up...I used rosemary, oregano, sage.)
freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons soft goat cheese
1 or 2 slices proscuitto, cut into 1-inch pieces
pecorino for grating on top

Preheat oven to 350. Spread halved tomatoes evenly in a baking pan, sprinkle liberally with oil and herbs, stirring to coat. Add salt, pepper, and sugar evenly. Bake 30 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes or so. In the meantime, cook pasta to al dente and drain, retaining a tablespoon or two of pasta water. When tomatoes are cooked, add proscuitto, pasta and reserved pasta water to the baking pan. Stir in goat cheese, mixing the sauce together to get a light coating on the bucatini. Serve with grated pecorino and extra pepper.

Mario Batali's Lemon Goat Cheese Cheesecake

Q: Goat cheese cheesecake? That sounds weird. Does it taste goaty?
A: The goat flavor is indiscernable in the final cake. It's rich and creamy and complext, but not goaty. Trust Mario Batali, won't you?

Q:What are you, some kind of cheesecake expert?
A: Hardly. This was the first cheesecake I've made in my life.

Q: Isn't it pretty complicated?
A: Actually, no. I've always been intimidated, which is why it's taken me this long to try. Cheesecake: the final frontier. But it turns out it's pretty much mix, pour, bake. You just need a lot of goat cheese.

Q: But don't I need some kind of fancy stand mixer?
A: Uh, yes? Feel free to buy me one. (Actually, you don't need one for this, really. I did it with a cheapo electric hand mixer and a good ol' spatula. You need two big bowls. I'm not sure I'd attempt it without the hand mixer though, unless you're pretty buff.)


Q: What about the water bath? And that weird pan with the sides that come off? How do you keep the cake from falling out of that weird pan?
Springform pans are actually pretty neat. I bought a "no-leak" one with a little rim around the bottom which supposedly keeps the batter from leaking out and the water from leaking in. It worked beautifully. You place the filled pan into a larger baking pan (my roasting pan was the only thing big enough) and put some water in it. Then just place in the oven without tipping the water out...no worries! When the cake is done, it rests a bit and then the whole pan, sides and all, goes in the fridge. There, the cake actually shrinks away from the sides a little, so it's no big deal to remove them by loosening the little latch (/spring). Easy as...cake. The bottom won't fall out as long as the latch is tight, I promise.

Q: Would this work for a dinner party? I bet my guests would be pretty impressed.
A: Better than you can even imagine—this actually really benefits from resting overnight in the fridge. It condenses a bit, and the flavors mingle, and I think it may have actually gotten creamier the second day.


Lemon Goat Cheese Cake
Mario Batali (Babbo Cookbook)
Serves 8

1 1/4 cups sugar, plus more for the pan
6 eggs, separated
1 1/2 pounds fresh/soft goat cheese (Mario prefers Coach Farm. I think his wife's family owns that dairy. I used a giant log from East Village Cheese that was certainly not that fancy and cost $2.99/pound. This is a LOT of goat cheese. Seriously, more than you've ever seen in one place before.)
2 tablespoons light rum
3 tablespoons all purpose flour
Grated zest of 2 lemons
1 tablespoon plus 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice (this actually took 3 small lemons for me, so buy accordingly.)
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
fresh raspberries for topping. (I skipped these but I'd bet they'd be delicious. And would make for better photographs.)

1. Preheat the oven to 325 F. Spray an 8-inch springform pan with nonstick cooking spray and sprinkle the bottom and sides with sugar, shaking out the excess. (Maggie's note: I used a smear of butter instead of spray, and a 9-inch springform, which worked totally fine.)

2. In the bowl of an electric mixer (or with a hand mixer) beat the egg yoks and 1 cup sugar until the yolks are very pale. Slowly beat in the goat cheese, one cup at a time. Add the rum, flour, lemon zest, 1 T of the lemon juice, vanilla, and salt and beat until creamy.

3. In another bowl, whisk the egg whites (I used the hand mixer) with a pinch of salt until foamy. Slowly add 2 tablespoons of the sugar and continue whisking until you have a soft-peaked meringue. Working in two batches, gently fold the whites into the cheese mixture. Do not overmix.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Place the pan in a baking dish (or roasting pan) large enough to contain it comfortably. Pour enough hot water into the baking dish to reach approximately 1 inch up the sides of the pan. Cover the entire bakin dish with aluminum foil and carefully place it on the middle rack of the oven.

5. Bake for 35 or 40 minutes, or until the cake begins to rise slightly and is somewhat set. Remove the foil and bake an additional 10 minutes, or until the cake looks set. Remove the cake/baking dish from the oven and allow the cake to cool IN the bakign dish for several minutes.

6. Meanwhile, combine the remaining lemon juice and 1/4 cup sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Boil rapidly for one minute, or until the mixture has thickened slightly. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.

7. When the cake has cooled sligtly, remove the pan from the baking dish. Refrigerate the cake until completely chilled. Remove the sides of the springform pan, then spoon the lemon syrup over the cake to glaze. (We chilled the cake overnight with the glaze on it, allowing the lemony goodness to soak in. This REALLY is better served a day later.) Cut into wedges and serve with berries.

Easy Brunch Dish: Kitchen-Sink Frittata

Sunday breakfast was always observed in my house growing up. My mom made eggs (fried or scrambled with herbs), my dad toasted bagels, and fresh orange and grapefruit juice was squeezed. With the New York Times and the Oregonian scattered across the table, we read and ate and enjoyed the sunlight streaming through the dining room window.

Brunch in our apartment is a more haphazard affair. Sometimes it's just us, but sometimes we invite a whole crowd, and (shhh—don't tell my mom) drinking is involved. I've tried many different brunch recipes, but the best ones come from Marc Meyer's Five Points brunch cookbook. (I've just added the book to our Amazon widget on the right side of this page.) Brunch at Five Points is a real treat, but these recipes allow you to churn out pretty much the same thing at home for a fraction of the price.


Marc Meyer's frittatas are crisp and quite thin. The basic recipe has you sauté your fillings, then add eggs and cook on the stovetop until the underside solidifies. Then throw in the broiler or oven to cook through and crisp the top—it's really easy. Most importantly, frittatas are an easy way to use up whatever's in your fridge—greens, mushrooms, cheese...you can add herbs or olives, etc, etc. To lighten it up a bit, I sometimes use egg whites for some of the eggs—it's important that there are enough eggs to wrap your fillings a bit, so a few extra egg whites can help with the volume without the dish leaving you comatose on the couch all day (those mimosas may be another story.) These multiply well—use a bigger pan, more eggs, more veggies, etc. Keep it thin, though—the final product should be less than an inch high.


Kitchen-Sink Frittata
Adapted from Marc Meyer

Olive Oil
About 2 cups greens or veggies (today I used onions and kale, but mushrooms, tomatoes, really anything will work.) You can also add fresh or dried herbs.
Meat (optional—half a sliced sausage, a chopped up piece of proscuitto, bacon, etc.)
about 1 cup cheese, grated or crumbled (I did a mix of asiago and goat cheese, but the sky's the limit)
Eggs (for two people, I used 2 eggs and 4 egg whites, but it depends on the size of your pan and the amount of your vegetables. Be ready to use 8-10 eggs if you're feeding 4 people.)
handful of panko
freshly ground pepper

In a cast-iron pan, sauté meat if using (though for proscuitto I would leave it as is and add later.) Add vegetables, cook through. Beat eggs lightly with cheese. Preheat broiler. Pour eggs into pan and smooth around so it's evenly distributed and there are no areas without eggs. Cook on medium heat for a minute or two until the bottom is slightly set. Sprinkle panko (or parmesan) on top, broil for 4 minutes or so, moving around to brown evenly. Top should be golden. Slice and serve.

Overcoming a fear of poultry: Chicken marsala with mushrooms

You probably won't believe this, but Maggie and i don't typically compare notes on what we plan to cook until well after the fact, which is why it's tremendously amusing to me when we find ourselves riffing on similar themes (fig week being a perfect example). This week, it seems, we're all about sage. Admittedly, I'm pretty frequently all about sage. It's a star player in my pumpkin risotto, and for some reason always reminds me of home. It also figures pretty prominently on my take on Chicken Marsala; as Maggie pointed out in her pumpkin orzo post, sage is kind of bitter, which makes it an excellent foil for the sweetness of the fortified wine.

This is a recipe I've been kicking around for a while without actually getting the hang of it; mainly because I have spent most of my adult life harboring a fear of cooking poultry (dude, salmonella!) which has resulted in a long and varied history of dry and flavorless chicken dishes. This one was no exception--until now.

I'm not entirely sure what happened; probably something to do with my decision to make it more of a stew than it typically is, as well as the replacement of the boneless, skinless breasts of previous attempts with rich and savory chicken thighs. The decision to cook it all slow and low (a lesson my adventures with pulled pork clearly taught me well) may have helped, too. I won't point to any one factor, but I will say this: whatever it was, it worked, and I found myself with the luscious marsala I'd been chasing all these years.

I think that next time, I might take it a little further and make it into a casserole--a nice, herby biscuit top might be a nice juxtaposition--or perhaps an actual chicken pie, with a nice buttery crust (of course, I have to figure out how to make THAT, too, but what's life without a challenge?)

(and suggestions welcome, of course)



Chicken marsala, fear-of-poultry style

4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch cubes
8 oz shiitake mushrooms (stemmed and sliced)
8 oz baby bella mushrooms (stemmed and sliced)
1 medium-sized onion (halved and sliced)
1 c marsala wine (Note: use real, unsalted marsala. An acceptable cooking vintage is about $5, and vastly superior to the stuff you can get in the grocery store)
1 c chicken broth
2-3 tsp fresh sage, minced
1 tbsp butter (optional)
salt and pepper

1. In a deep skillet, heat up some olive oil and saute the chicken very briefly--just enough to color the outside completely. 2 minutes, tops. Remove from the skillet and set it aside.
2. Heat up more oil! Reduce heat to medium and sauted the onions until they're translucent.
3. Add the mushrooms, and continue to saute until they become soft and juicy.
4. Add the marsala, stirring occasionally until it starts to simmer.
5. add the chicken broth; again, wait for it to start simmering.
   
6. Add the sage, simmer for another minute or two
7. Add the chicken, reduce the heat to low and then cover, cooking until the chicken is cooked through and delicious--somewhere between 10 and 18 minutes, depending on the size of your pot.
8. (This part is optional): If you're feeling really enterprising, when everything is cooked, remove it from the pot using a slotted spoon, and make a great sauce by whisking a little flour and butter into the juices that remain. Mix it back in or just pour it over. Or, serve it on its own as something to sop up with a nice piece of bread.

I served this with yesterday's beet salad and a nice whole wheat bread, but i think it would be equally nice with a green salad or some roasted brussels sprouts.

OH HEY ALSO: did we tell you that we started a flickr pool? if you have pictures of recipes that you'd like to add, join us here!

Give beets a chance: Simple beet salad.

In Tom Robbins' Jitterbug Perfume, all the characters are (in one way or another) having a love affair with the beet. Most of them don't even realize it; they haven't fallen for the humble vegetable's more obvious charms--the silken flesh, the exquisitely agonizing color, the sweet and earthy taste. Instead, they are unwittingly under the spell of the beet's lesser-used and extremely fragrant pollen, which is apparently the great secret of everlasting life.

Much as I'd love to live forever, I think I'll leave the pollen for the characters and stick with the beet itself. Not only do I find myself drawn to the nearly obscene red finery, but i'm a little in love with the names of the different varietals: Burpee's Golden! Will's Improved Blood Turnip! Albina Veradura! Beta Vulgaris! Don't they just sound like a cross between your crazy aunt and her man-eating tentacula plant?



With visions of that strange mental picture dancing in my head, I set about making a simple beet salad for Sunday's supper. Seriously, seriously simple. Three ingredients simple. And perfect for a transitional fall night--tangy, creamy, velvety...and guaranteed to stain anything it comes into contact with, so really and truly: try to have some latex gloves on hand while handling these things. Unless Lizzie Borden is your new fashion statement, that is.

Bingo Pajama would approve.



Seriously simple beet salad

4-5 medium sized beets (about the size of your fist)
Goat's cheese (a nice creamy chevre, ideally. I used what was leftover from the figs)
Balsamic vinegar

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees; wrap your beets firmly and individually in foil. When the oven hits temperature, pop in the beets and roast them for about 45 minutes, or until soft. DO NOT peel them first. Doing so will deprive you of the fun part.
2. When the beets are done, let them cool until they can be handled comfortably. Snap on your latex gloves and rub the skins off. It will look gory. I am not kidding about the gloves.
3. When peeled, cut them into 1-inch chunks (or so), swish them around with some balsamic vinegar (according to your personal taste). Some salt and pepper, too, if you're so inclined. Then, crumble the goat's cheese on top and you're in business!
   

I know beets aren't everyone's cup of tea, but i do encourage you all to try this, at least once.

Sad Loaf: Mark Bittman's Fast No-Knead Whole Wheat Bread

How was it for you?
Did anybody try Mark Bittman's faster version of his No-Knead Bread?
And the whole wheat version?

I was excited—I've actually never made yeast bread before, and I heard the original no-knead recipe was pretty foolproof. Cynical Matt, of course, was quick to point out the abundance of bakeries in New York City that are perfectly capable of churning out freshly made bread. But I wanted our apartment to smell like yeast! I wanted to be in on the action! I wanted to pull a gorgeous loaf from the oven, and spread a perfect slice with butter, which my no-longer-cynical fiancé would devour and exclaim with glee! But no.


What came out of my oven was sour, yeasty, dense, and spongy. Was it too much liquid? Was it because I used whole wheat bread flour instead of regular whole wheat flour? Was it because I used active dry instead of instant yeast? (I proofed it first, and reduced that liquid from the total amount.) Was the beautiful stoneground rye flour from the farmer's market to blame?

I wonder if this recipe just isn't the best one...it might be worth reducing the yeast, and maybe the liquid, and letting it rise more, or (gasp!) actually involving oneself in some kneading. Maybe I'll try this one next. What's the rush?

It's fig week! Roasted figs with goat's cheese and prosciutto.

Figs and I have a tempestuous relationship. When it's on, it's ON--I am a slave to the fig's sticky sweetness and hidden depths, and there is nothing that can bar me from its dusky beauty. When it's off, however, the love runs cold, and nary a thought is spared for my dear, figgy friend.

And usually that's fine.

The problem with this strange and mercurial relationship is that far too often when the need descends, fresh figs are nowhere to be found (I blame my inattention; I wouldn't be at my beck and call, either). It happened a few weeks ago, and took me until last Friday to finally source some of the elusive fruit, purchased from a shady vendor on 6th avenue and carefully shepherded through a long evening of whiskey-drinking (except for the part where a crazy dude on 1st avenue tried to trip me with his cane, causing me to lose a few to the east village gutters). It was a challenge, but somehow I managed to get them home and make the salty-sweet treat I'd been planning over the past week: Roasted figs with prosciutto, goat's cheese, and honey.

Let me repeat that: roasted figs with prosciutto, goat's cheese, and honey.



Oh, oh yes.

I'm sure you can understand why I pursued this dream despite the mocking absence of figs; I'm sure many of you can conjure, as I did, the glorious juxtaposition of the syrupy fruit; the creamy, tangy cheese; the salty, chewy prosciutto. You can almost see the honey dripping lasciviously over the top of the snowy peaks, almost smell the irresistible miasma...



...whew, got away from myself for a second there. But if nothing else, that supports my case: if something makes me write like a second-rate Harlequin scribe? It MUST be good.

Roasted figs with prosciutto

12 medium-sized figs, quartered at the top along half the length of the fruit
4 oz chevre
1/4 lb prosciutto, sliced thin
a few tablespoons honey
a few tablespoons balsamic reduction*

The true beauty of this recipe is its simplicity: stuff the figs with the cheese. wrap with prosciutto. drizzle with honey. bake at 400 degrees for ten to fifteen minutes. Drizzle with more honey and balsamic. Share them with a friend for a delicious dinner, or put them on a pretty plate with extra honey to serve as hors d'oeuvres. Or, eat them all yourself. With gusto. And a green salad.

*Balsamic reduction: pour a bottle of balsamic vinegar into a saucepan and boil it until it's reduced by half or more--it will be sweet and decadent, and make everything look super gourmet.

Ta da!

French Onion Soup for the Soul

Even the price of soup bones is up. Sheesh. I wandered around the farmer's market Saturday looking for something to boil for stock—can you believe they can sell bones for more than three dollars a pound? And the poultry stands had been out of necks and backs for hours. Somebody else needed soup, too, I guess. 3-Corner Field Farm to the rescue—lamb bones would have to do.

I made the stock on Sunday, simmering the bones about six hours with carrots and an onion. Monday, I caramelized the onions for at least 45 minutes, deglazing the pot several times with a few drips of Portuguese red wine and incorporating the browned bits into the caramelized onion mass. Tuesday, this made the perfect quick slow-cooked dinner. Rather than making up individual bowls, I floated the croutons on the soup right in the dutch oven, topping with Emmenthaler cheese.


After fifteen minutes in a hot oven, the cheese browned and we dipped in. The broth was rich and full, but not gamey—with all the onions, wine, etc, a blind taster would never guess that I used lamb bones for the stock. Miles better than canned, though.

Perhaps "tightening our belts" isn't the right term for a meal that involves at least a half-pound of cheese, but this one was easy on the budget, and soothing to make and eat.

French Onion Soup
Riffing on this and this recipe.
Serves 4

For the soup
2 T olive oil or—better—a mix of olive oil and butter.
6-8 large onions—a mix of red and yellow, sliced into 1/4 inch thick slices
Kosher salt
1 cup red wine, plus a little extra for deglazing
1/3 cup bourbon (sherry or cognac if you have it.)
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon sherry vinegar
6 cups lamb stock (or a mix of beef and chicken broth)
3 springs thyme, leaves only
2 bay leaves
freshly ground black pepper

For the croutons
3/4 of one small baguette , cut into 1/2-inch slices
1/2 lb Emmenthaler cheese, grated in long strips if possible

Place the butter and olive oil in a 6-qt dutch oven and add the onions and 1 teaspoon salt. Cook gently, at medium heat, stirring frequently, for about 30 minutes. Move onions to the side of the pot and pour a teaspoon or so of red wine where the onions have stuck, scraping the brown bits from the pan and incorporating them into the onions and letting the wine evaporate. Continue cooking, repeating the deglazing every few minutes‚ a total of about 5 times. Cook until the onions are very soft and brown, 45 min to an hour total.

Stir in the bourbon (or sherry) and cook until it evaporates. Add broth, remaining wine, thyme, bay leaf, a pinch of salt, scraping up any remaining brown bits on the bottom of the pot. Bring to a simmer and cook for 30-40 minutes, stirring in the vinegar halfway through. Remove bay leaves, add salt and pepper to taste. (At this point, I cooled the soup and refrigerated overnight, allowing the flavors to meld. Also, it was late by this point. And I'd already eaten.)

Return soup to a simmer. Preheat oven to 450. Arrange bread slices on a baking sheet and dry out slightly in the oven, about 8 minutes. Turn off stovetop and arrange croutons on surface of the soup. Gently sprinkle in the cheese. Cook for 10-15 minutes in oven, uncovered, or until cheese is golden. You could do this with a broiler if you didn't have one of those stupid under-the-oven ones.

Signs of fall: Pumpkin bread.

This recipe is a shout out to one of our lovely readers, who not long ago asked us for suggestions on how to best use her fabulous homemade pumpkin puree. As a certifiable pumpkin junkie, I have one or two suggestions to offer on this subject, but this delightful pumpkin bread seemed the best place to start: it's easy, it's luscious, it's delicious, AND it's low fat (I mean, if that sort of thing matters much to you). Great for gifts, potlucks, breakfast, afternoon snacks, and mopping up that pesky leftover dulce de leche from the other week.



Also, it has enough spice in it to blow a small country off the map; this is, i assure you, intentional.


pay no attention to the horrible state of my manicure. thanks. Photo courtesy of The Boy, my beloved Thelonious Bench

So without further adieu...

Spicy pumpkin bread

1 ½ c all-purpose flour
1 ¼ tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves (equal parts; i don't even measure these anymore, but if i had to guess i'd say at least 2 tsp of each)
15oz of pumpkin puree (if you've not got homemade, that equates to about one can of pumpkin from the store)
1c firmly packed light brown sugar
½ c buttermilk
1 large egg
1x1.5-in knob of ginger, grated with your trusty microplane
seeds of one vanilla pod (squirrel away the husk for future use; when I come up with a good use for it, I will post it. But until then, waste not, want not!)

a handful or two of white chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 350° F. spray a loaf tin with nonstick spray (or butter it. Whatever.)
2. Mix flour, baking soda, salt, and spices together in a small bowl.
3. In a large bowl, mix pumpkin, sugar, buttermilk, and egg together.
4. Add dry ingredients to wet, mixing just enough to moisten everything (overmixing will make the bread tough). Fold in chips.
5. Pour into prepared loaf tin; bake for one hour. Slather with topping (*cough*dulcedeleche*cough*), or just wolf it down as is.
   

Essentially, what you have here is autumn in loaf form. Use it liberally and wisely.