Category Archives: Baking

Soup’s on!

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No time for lengthy reflections today, but we did cross a milestone last week: finally broached the soup selection on my long-neglected Bittman list!

“Saute sliced shallots in olive oil, then add chunks of butternut squash, some rosemary and chicken stock or water to cover. As the soup simmers, bake strips of prosciutto until crisp. Puree the soup, swirl in some cream if you like and serve topped with crumbled prosciutto.”

This sounded easy and tasty, and with no less than 20 cups of homemade turkey stock chilling in the freezer after Thanksgiving, I had just the thick, tasty broth to add extra flavor to this soup.  Given vegetable availability and my preferences, I changed things up a little.  I used:

1 whole acorn squash, halved, seeded, and brushed with olive oil, salt and pepper

1 TB olive oil

1 shallot, sliced thin

2 cups turkey stock

2 sprigs rosemary, stems removed and leaves minced

¼ – ½ cup heavy cream

salt and pepper to taste

4 slices prosciutto

I preheated my oven to 400F and put the acorn squash halves cut side down on a cookie sheet, leaving them to roast for almost an hour, until a knife inserted went through the skin and flesh like jelly.  Then I took them out and set them aside to cool until I could handle them without searing my own flesh. 

I replaced the squash in the oven with prosciutto, spreading out four slices on parchment paper on a cookie sheet and baking until they got crisp, about 15 minutes.

In a deep pot, I heated olive oil over medium heat and added the shallot slices, letting them soften and then caramelized a bit, till they were pale gold in color and smelled sweet.

When the squash was cool, I scraped all the flesh out of the shells and dumped the flesh into the pot with my caramelized shallot.  I added my turkey stock just to cover the squash, the rosemary, a little salt and pepper, and brought it to a slow simmer.

Once the soup was simmering and seemed evenly heated, I pulled it off the stove for a moment to use my immersion blender until the soup was a glistening puree of gorgeous autumn velvet.  Back on the stove with a perfect texture, I added the cream and stirred gently to integrate it, watching the bright orange mellow into a rusty gold.

Dolloped into warm bowls, I crumbled prosciutto over the top of the soup and, as a last textural element, inserted a slice of sourdough toast, broiled with olive oil and rubbed with a raw garlic clove before sitting down to eat.

This was so tasty.  Lik Orangette, soups sometimes leave me feeling wanting, especially because I use my own stock, which is so much less salty than any processed broth or soup out there.  But this one was far from bland.  Roasting the squash and caramelizing the shallot lent a lovely nutty richness.  The rosemary added a sharp herby punch to the smooth creamy velvet of the soup.  And the prosciutto was just the right salty meaty indulgence, though for a vegetarian version you could certainly use a frico of parmesan cheese instead. 

If you’re not in the mood for soup, I think this could be a nice change-up to mashed potatoes as well.  Just reduce or drain off the stock and serve nicely pureed alongside a frittata, or some roast chicken and pan-crisped green beans.

Roots!

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This is not a Bittman recipe.  But it is something I made.  It’s hearty, it’s autumnal, it’s colorful, and it’s easy.  Oh, and it allows you to turn your oven on for around an hour and thereby heat up your house a bit!

Roasted Root Vegetables

3 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

3 parsnips, peeled and cut into chunks

2 purple topped turnips, peeled and cut into chunks

2 rutabegas, peeled and cut into chunks (see a pattern here?)

1 sweet potato (or 1/2 of a mammoth yam), peeled and cut into chunks

1 tsp dried rosemary, or to taste

1 tsp sea salt

1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

olive oil to coat

Preheat your oven to 400F.  Peel and cut all vegetables into equal, bite-sized chunks.  Toss them with seasonings and olive oil in a 9×13 inch glass baking dish.  Use enough olive oil so that all chunks of root vegetable get an even coating and glisten slightly.  Depending on size of vegetables, this might range from between 1/2 – 1 cup of oil.

Roast until all vegetables are tender and begin to brown on the outside, 45 minutes to an hour, depending on size.

As you can see, this is almost ridiculously easy.  You can substitute for any of these vegetables you don’t like – easy additions or change-outs would be regular or fingerling potatoes, beets, even celery root.  Choose what you love, mix them well, and enjoy!

Mon petit chou

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And so, I’ve well and truly slacked.  At least in the food department.  Well, at least in the Bittman project part of the food department.  This year’s back-to-school experience of the frantic race-over-uneven-pavement-while-juggling-eggs-and-firecrackers was enhanced by the addition of navigating the cloudy, jagged-edged seas of the academic job market for the first time.  Three weeks in, and I’m starting to collect myself a little, realizing how much work this takes, and that I have to grab my free moments when they present themselves, not whenever I want them to happen.  And while by no means is my hiatus replaced by my regular schedule of the summer, I am slowly adjusting in a way that leaves me just enough time to be with you here tonight.  Well, that and N.’s kind insistence that he tackle the current sink full of dishes.  Don’t hold your breath for my next post, but here’s a snack, if you will, to tide things over?

Two Bittman recipes for you, then, and a brief assessment of each.  Oh, and an apology: since it has been several weeks since I made either of these, even my rough estimate ingredient quantities have long since flown my mind, to be replaced by such niceties as why Beowulf never had a male heir, how many pages my 33 students will produce together during the next week, and how I can make my 54 page first dissertation chapter into a 20 page writing sample.

72. Trim and shred raw brussels sprouts (the slicer on a food processor works well). Toss with lemon vinaigrette and shaved or grated Parmesan. Crumbled bacon, as usual, is a welcome visitor here.

Brussels sprouts are one of those near-universal vegetables no one seems to like.  They are bitter and, when boiled, smelly, and can only be saved when eaten in combination with copious quantities of cream or sugared vinegar.  Or, as it turns out, raw with lemon, cheese, and cured pork.  I used prosciutto instead of bacon, baking it for fifteen minutes or so on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper, and the effect was fabulous.  The prosciutto snapped into sharp fragments of pink shrapnel, and so the textual combination of the dish was amazing.  The sprout shreds (I did use my food processing slicer, and it worked perfectly) were crunchy and crisp but thin and light, like miniature tufts of coleslaw.  The cheese was chewy and grainy, and the prosciutto was crisp and flavorful, filing my mouth with saliva that the tart astringency of the lemon-honey vinaigrette I made just barely dried away.  This would be a great replacement for the heaviness of coleslaw, and is a near perfect quartet of ingredients.  Chopped salted walnuts or roasted, soy sauce drenched shiitake mushrooms might be a vegetarian-friendly replacement for the prosciutto or bacon, but I wouldn’t dare replace the cheese with anything.  It was far too perfect a nutty saltiness against the green resistance of the baby cabbages themselves. 

 

83. Onion-Rosemary Skillet Bread: In a 12-inch cast iron pan, sauté half a large, thinly sliced red onion in about ¼ cup olive oil until soft and beginning to color. Combine a cup of whole wheat flour with 1 teaspoon salt and 1 tablespoon rosemary leaves; add 1 ½ cups water and whisk until smooth. Pour the batter into the hot skillet and bake in a 450-degree oven until the flatbread is crisp on the edges and releases easily from the pan, about 30 to 40 minutes.

Since I got my cast iron skillet (a birthday gift that was purchased using last year’s Christmas present [don’t ask, it confuses me too]), I’ve been looking for recipes that let me use it as much as possible.  Though I am having trouble getting used to the whole well-seasoned thing (no soap?  Really?!), I adore the quick, crusty brown sear it imparts to anything you dump into it.  The appeal of making bread in this stove-to-oven vessel was too strong to pass up.

The challenge?  I bought a 10-inch skillet, and my math skills are weak for anything more complicated than halving or doubling a recipe.

I… estimated.

I did a pretty good job too, with two exceptions: the onions and the oil.  As a consequence, we ended up with a very onion-y bread that was also quite greasy.  Additionally, I was impatient in trying to emancipate my funny little bread from the pan, which resulted in some severe aesthetic imperfections (by which I mean, the whole thing broke up and we ate it in chunks rather than cutting slices). 

Still, it was really tasty.  I’ve never tasted fry bread, but I suspect this is probably similar.  The onion and rosemary worked well together, and the crunchy exterior of the bread was a delightful texture.  No leavening, no sweetening, and no rise time, just bread for dinner in less than an hour?  And out of a cast iron skillet?  We’ll be having this one again, and I intend to get the measurements right this time.

September

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When I think of September, I think of two things: birthdays and school.  As a September birthday, I was always a little sad about the start of school, and not for the reasons you might think.  First of all, I was always one of the youngest in the class (I just made the district’s cut-off for the year I was in… everyone born only a week or two after me had to wait another year before starting kindergarten), and secondly, my birthday happened so soon after school started each year that the teacher usually hadn’t established how birthday treats would be handled yet.  Thus, we didn’t often celebrate my birthday in the classroom.  When I got to college, school on the quarter system meant my birthday happened during summer vacation.  This is fantastic in theory, but in practice it meant my friends were scattered across the country in their home towns, not collected around campus to gather.

So September is birthday month, and I make no apologies about allowing the celebrations to stretch out across at least a week in one direction or the other.  Or sometimes both!  In this phase of my life, I find myself surrounded by a lot of other September birthdays (think about it: nine months ago it was December, a chilly but also festive time…), and I never hesitate to celebrate by helping them celebrate.  As mine approaches this year, however, I must admit to having barely begun to think about the food that will go with it.

And on that note, I must also admit my school analogy: this week, I didn’t do my homework.  I had a Bittman recipe all picked out, I bought the ingredients for it, and then between indolence and a wave of unexpected (but, at least for me, not entirely unwelcome) heat, I never got around to making it.  Fortunately, however, I can give you some make-up work: a photo essay!  This past weekend I went to the first birthday bash of September, a joint affair for my friends B. and Ch., and a spread that put my hostess heart to shame.  Following are just some of the delights available to sample.


Raw vegetable medley cups.  The delicious spicy hummus and masala spread provided to dip them in not pictured.

 

 

 

 

Homemade jumbo sized “oreo” cookies, with all the cruch and creaminess of the Nabisco favorite.  I am pleased but also slightly concerned that I acquired the recipe from my hostess…

Lemon raspberry cupcakes.  Alas, somehow I neglected to sample one of these beautiful summery treats, but they looked amazing.

 Look how lovely these chocolate-dipped pretzel rods are!  Bakery case beautiful, but I’m almost positive Ch. dipped them herself.

Here’s what really delighted me (besides these chickpeas, which were flavorful and crunchy and addictive): next to each item, Ch. made these lovely little cards not only naming the treat, but providing its dietary specifics.  Dishes were marked as “vegan,” “dairy,” or “gluten-free” so guests could determine for themselves what was safe for them to eat.  How kind and thoughtful, in today’s world with growing restrictions.

Thanks, Ch. and B.  It was a delightful party, and I was p-leased to celebrate you both.  I’m glad you were born!  Thanks for ushering in the birthday season with such tasty taste.

   Happy birthday!

impromptu

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Friday, by the hours:

8am (or so… you know…): out walking the dog.  By the time I returned home, there was a message in my inbox from S., asking a few folks if they’d be interested in happy hour-ing that afternoon at 5.

9am: RSVPed  Absolutely. Affirmative.

9:05-3pm: The day got away from me a bit.  There was reading to be done, rooms to be tidied, and an unexpected nap to be taken…

3:30pm and I had nothing to bring to happy hour.  I shoved a bottle of wine into the refrigerator and riffled through my pages of Bittman options.  Then I set off to the grocery store to buy sun-dried tomatoes.

“82. Tomato Pinwheels: Soak 1 cup dried tomatoes in hot water, drain and pulse in a food processor with 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme (add water or oil if necessary). Combine 2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt, 2 teaspoons baking powder and 1 teaspoon baking soda with 4 tablespoons cold butter (use food processor or fingers). Stir in ¾ cup yogurt or buttermilk and gather the dough into a ball. Roll into a large rectangle on a floured surface, spread the tomatoes all over the dough and roll it up lengthwise. Cut the log crosswise into 1-inch slices, put them on a baking sheet and bake at 400 degrees until puffed and golden, 7 to 10 minutes.”

By 4pm I was back in the kitchen.  With miniscule exceptions, I followed Bittman’s directions exactly. I added a few grinds of black pepper to the tomato mixture in the food processor, I used greek yogurt with a splash of cream to bring the dough together, and I floured my bread board with whole wheat flour, because I hadn’t checked my flour supply before my trek to the store for tomatoes, and as it turned out I had exactly two cups of white flour in the whole house.  I also ended up baking the little pinwheels a bit longer than Bittman directs.

I have a deep and abiding fear of dough.  You know this, because I’ve told you before.  I buy pie crust for every quiche I make.  I routinely tear giant, unfixable holes in the pre-made, refrigerated dough I purchase to make pizza.  I’ve tackled, successfully, a total of one dough+yeast products, which just happens to make focaccia AND pizza, and despite that it comes out a little differently every time.  And yet, when I was in a hurry and hoping for something company-worthy, I picked a brand new recipe based on dough…

As it turns out, this one was pretty unthreatening, minus a terrifying moment when my half-rolled-out-kinda-sorta-rectangle was losing crumbly pieces all over the place.  I tried patching it back together, I tried pinching the corners and kneading, and finally what worked was dropping the bits in the middle of the rectangle of dough and running a rolling pin over them violently a couple of times.  Since my fingers were deeply crusted with sticky, floury bits, no photographs were taken during the rolling-patching-pinching process. I should hire a photographer who promises to only take pictures of the food.

The best thing, though, was spreading the tomato filling over the dough.  It made this beautiful bright textured layer over the dough and it smelled like summer and warmth.  Savory frosting.  Doubting but gleeful, I carefully rolled it into a fat log, encasing the filling safely inside.

You need a sharp knife to slice this log.  A really sharp knife.  Otherwise, the dough tears and the log becomes flat and the tomato filling crumbles out and there is no earthly way of getting it back into the sweet little curlicues it creates.  I spaced them out on a greased cookie sheet and stowed it in the oven with great hope. 

4:45pm: Makeup applied and hair combed, I returned to the kitchen to check my pinwheels.  At ten minutes, they were barely golden and the dough felt a bit squashy.  I gave them two additional minutes while I found a pair of shoes that were a.) not dusted red from the bark trail I walk the dog on, and b.) not grubby flip-flops.  Happy hour is a serious thing, you see.

When I pulled them out the second time, they were gorgeous: puffed, golden, tender, and smelling like a bakery and a garden.  Glamour shots, aluminum foil, and a brief car-ride later, and they were ready for their debut.

5:15pm: These are amazing. The dough was flaky and tender with a suggestion of sourness from the yogurt.  The tomato mixture was tart and sweet and herbaceous, and each pinwheel was a lovely three bite experience of lightness and flavor and the barest crunch.

5:45pm: Plate empty and wine glasses refilled, we were already talking about other things you could do with this foundation.  Tapenade, any kind of pesto (basil, arugula, parsley, kale, spinach), onion jam, whole or mashed cloves of roasted garlic, maybe even cheese… the possibilities loom large.

8pm: This is a strong contender for this year’s Thanksgiving appetizer menu.  And maybe Christmas too.

Into the Wilds

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Tomorrow morning, early, before the clouds burn off, before the fog-drizzle abates, N. and the dog and I will get into the car and drive east, and north, and east and north some more, and meet up with my parents to (gasp) camp for a couple of nights at the Newberry Caldera in the Deschutes National Forest.  We are ill fit for this adventure.  We own, between us, one down sleeping bag (which is really on possibly-permanent loan from my parents), two backpacks, and 75% of a set of doggie protective booties (what happened to the fourth one?  Did it tumble out of the car on a previous adventure?  Did it get sucked into the abyss in the back of one of our closets?  Did she eat it?  I have no idea!).  My parents are bringing us a tent, a second sleeping bag, and possibly a couple of nylon air mattresses.

But at least we won’t be without sustenance.  Our sad lack of camping gear will be made up for through this delicious (I hope) portable breakfast, which we will joyously share:

“86. Spiced Muffins: Mix 2 cups flour, ¼ cup sugar, ½ teaspoon salt, 1 tablespoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, ½ teaspoon each allspice and ground ginger, and a pinch of cloves. In another bowl, combine 1 egg, 1 cup milk and 3 tablespoons melted butter. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry until just combined, adding milk if the batter seems too dry. Spoon into greased muffin tins and bake for 20 to 25 minutes at 375 degrees or until done.”

I haven’t tasted these yet, so I can’t yet reveal the no-doubt marvelous flavor and texture they possess, but I can tell you about the process of making them.

I didn’t have any allspice, so I used nutmeg instead.  Nutmeg is pretty strong, so I didn’t want to overpower the other spices by using a full ½ tsp.  Just a pinch, then.  I also thought these might be a little one-note, a little too homogenous, despite how excited I was about the spices, so I scattered about half a cup of golden raisins in along with the dry ingredients.  A little punch of fruit would add brightness and natural sweetness.  I think grated orange zest or dried currants would also be lovely.

When I whisked the dry ingredients together (I like a whisk rather than a wooden spoon, or even a spatula, because I think it mixes more thoroughly and adds a little air to the batter.  Since I never sift my dry ingredients – I’m much too lazy for that – I like thinking the whisk does some of that work for me after all), the flour turned a pale, pale pinky tan from the spices, and a warm, Christmasy smell wafted up from it.  I love that earthy spiciness ginger and cinnamon have, and the tingling deep mystery of the cloves.  Incense and aromatherapy, right in my kitchen.

I made a well in the center of the fluffy mix and poured in the wet ingredients, then stirred until barely combined so the muffins would (again, I hope!) remain tender.  I took a tiny taste while I filled the tins, and I can tell you, the flavor was very promising.  It was subtle heat and harvest spice against my tongue, like a pastel gingerbread.

I baked them for 22 minutes, at which point the toothpick I inserted in the largest dome came out with only a faint moist crumb clinging to it.  I’ve had too many tough, overdone muffins in my day (most of them my own fault, sadly), so that seemed perfect. The tops were crisp to the touch but the insides felt moist and tender crumbed, at least from a toothpick’s prodding standpoint.  Ah, projection.  How strong you can be!

They sit, and cool, and tempt me on my kitchen counter.  But if I eat one, there will only be 11, and that doesn’t divide evenly into 4… but if I eat enough to make them again divisible by 4, then I will have been an unforgivable glutton… but if I don’t eat any, I won’t know whether they are good enough to bring along… but if I eat one, there will only be 11… alas, the perils of arithmetic.

 

* Update: the muffins had excellent flavor – warm and spicy and earthy, as I had hoped – but were sadly a bit on the tough side.  They had a moist crumb, but it was not particularly tender.  They were either a bit overbaked, or needed some additional liquid in the batter.  Still, we ate them greedily on a very cold morning (33F just before the sun came up, almost 40F by the time coffee was ready), and found them best dunked into a blessedly hot beverage, where they eagerly drank up the liquid and collected the flavors of the drink on top of their own spicy blend.