Indulgence

Posted on July 19, 2011 by Chelsea

This week my shopping list was a bit wonky. I was buying food for a party, and the idea that we might have to, you know, eat this week went to the wayside. I never once looked at my Bittman options. I bought nothing to make one of his meals.

So I beg you to indulge me, as I present something a little different. Indulge me my favorite indulgence: cheesecake.

For this recipe, I’d love to get some feedback. I’ve never made a cheesecake before, let alone one impregnated with Nutella. I don’t usually like “stuff” added to my cheesecake, but inspired by the frosting on Tartelette’s Nutella cupcakes crafted for World Nutella Day, I thought this one might just be okay. If you make this, please let me know if you change anything and how those changes work out.

Nutella Cheesecake

(some measurements are approximate)

Crust:

1 cup toasted, coarsely chopped hazelnuts

8-10 chocolate graham crackers, broken in big pieces

6 TB melted butter

1/8 tsp salt

1/3-1/2 cup sugar, or to taste

In a food processor, pulverize the hazelnuts until very fine – almost a meal. Add graham crackers, salt, and sugar and grind until everything is homogenous and very fine. With food processor running, dribble in melted butter and pulse until crumbs are moistened and clumping together. Dump out into the baking vessel of your choice (I don’t have a springform pan, so I used a 9X13” glass baking dish. I don’t know how these amounts would correspond to a springform pan). Using your fingers or the curved bottom of a measuring cup, tamp down the crumbs into a crust of uniform thickness over the bottom and partway up the sides of the vessel you have chosen.

I did not pre-bake the crust, and because it ended up a little crumbly I suspect one of two things could be improved: either it needed more butter to hold it together, or it needed to be pre-baked. If you do one of these things and have desirable results, please let me know so I can amend the recipe!

Set crust aside while you whip up the filling.

Filling:

all ingredients should be at room temperature

3 bricks full-fat cream cheese

1 cup Nutella

4 eggs

1-2 tsp vanilla extract

½ – 1 cup sugar, or to taste

In the bowl of a stand mixer (or in a large bowl with an electric mixer), beat up the cream cheese until very fluffy and well combined. This may take a few minutes – don’t skimp on this part because it will ultimately result in less uniform filling. Scraping down the sides several times during the process is helpful to catch any unblended cream cheese hiding out on the edges of the bowl.

When cream cheese is very light and all has the same consistency, scrape down the sides and add the Nutella. Beat again, and again be sure it gets fully incorporated so there are no pockets of plain, unblended cream cheese.

Add vanilla and sugar to taste, and blend again until very well incorporated. Because the Nutella is already sweet and the crust is sweet, start with ½ cup of sugar and give the filling a taste before adding more. It may be sweet enough for you with only ½ cup. If not, add more, blend again, and taste again until you are satisfied with the sweetness.

With the mixer running, add the eggs one at a time and wait until each is fully incorporated before adding the next. Again, be sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl to be sure the filling is of homogeneous texture. By the time the last egg is incorporated, the mixture should be pourable and slightly soupy.

Pour into the room temperature crust. If you pre-baked the crust, let it cool (or pop it into the refrigerator for a few minutes) before adding the filling so you don’t start cooking the filling before putting it in the oven. This would result in an unevenly baked product, which is not what we want.

With all the filling on top of the crust, spread it out a little with a spatula to be sure it forms an even layer. You may want to lift and tap the whole baking vessel on the counter a few times to help the filling evenly distribute, settle, and release air bubbles (this is good to do with cake batter as well).

Stow your precious vessel in an oven preheated to 350F for about 45 minutes, or until the center is just barely set (you should be able to touch it very lightly and come away with a clean finger, but it should still look the tiniest bit wobbly when you gently shake the pan). Don’t be afraid to take it out at this point – I left mine in the oven with the heat off and the door open for an extra ten minutes because I was afraid it wasn’t done, but this resulted in big cracks around the edges of the filling, which means I overcooked it. Still, though, photographic evidence doesn’t lie:

Let the cheesecake cool completely on a rack on your counter-top (away from the heat of the cooling oven), then cover it, put it in the refrigerator, and chill for a few hours to help it set up. Remove, slice, and serve, and don’t expect the leftovers to last very long. It’s very rich, it’s very chocolaty, and it’s very, very good.

Redemption!

Posted on July 12, 2011 by Chelsea

Last week’s experiment left us, as you may recall, a bit underwhelmed. Or perhaps just whelmed, in my case. I didn’t love it, I certainly didn’t hate it. This week we needed a real comeback kid to reinvigorate and inspire us.

We found it.

“39. Trim crimini or Portobello mushrooms and chop stems. Cook crumbled sausage in olive oil until it begins to brown, then add stems and chopped onion and garlic. Mix with cooked rice, an egg for every 2 cups of mushrooms and enough bread crumbs and Parmesan to bind slightly. Spoon the stuffing into the mushroom caps and bake until tender.”

Since the temperature was relatively cool going into Saturday afternoon, I thought I’d give it a try. The players were all there, from the old three-coursers of my childhood: meat, starch, and veg. Here, though, they were nicely tangled together and collected in their very own serving vessel. It sounded enticing.

I assembled:

4 medium Portobello mushrooms

3 cups cooked rice (1 cup brown, 2 cups white)

1 lb. pork sausage

4 garlic cloves, finely minced

¼ cup red onion, diced

1 egg, lightly beaten

½ cup bread crumbs (I used Italian seasoned crumbs)

¼ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese

I put my sausage in a skillet with a tablespoon or so of olive oil, broke it up a little with a wooden spatula, and took on the mushroom caps while it started to sizzle. I scraped out the gills and then dug my spoon down into the spongy “meat,” excavating great lumps of mushroom while being careful not to break through the bottom of the cap. I probably left a good ¼ – ½ inch shell. Along with the stems, I chopped up these pieces fairly finely.

Because I didn’t want all the grease the sausage had exuded, I drained it, reserving no more than a few tablespoons, and put the fully cooked sausage crumbles into a bowl along with the cooked rice. Then I spilled the mushrooms into the flavorful skillet and let them brown. I chopped up the onion and garlic and added them in a few minutes after I’d started the mushrooms. The smell was perfect. I read once that the smell of sautéing garlic and onions is a great way to impress a man. This is one of those half truths. In reality, I think, it’s a great way to impress anyone. If I had to choose my top ten favorite scents, that would be one of them. It might even crest into top five.

When the onions were tender and translucent, I killed the heat and poured the vegetation into my mixing bowl with the rice and sausage. Because I had WAY more than would fit into four mushroom caps, I reserved all but about two cups for later use before adding the egg.

I mixed the egg into the mixture with a fork, then dumped on some bread crumbs and Parmesan. The quantities of these last two components, as Bittman says, will depend largely on the composition of your bowl. You may need (or want) more of one or both, you may need less. When I was satisfied, the filling clumped together only slightly, and only when pressed. I would wager a guess that you don’t want it too clumpy or too solidly packed, or it will take too long to heat all the way through in the oven.

I lumped, and piled, and stacked the filling into the mushroom caps, which I’d positioned on a baking sheet. Then I plunged the whole thing into the oven, which was preheated to a temperature that, embarrassingly, escapes me. It was one of three temps: 350, 375, or 400F. Though a higher temperature will of course produce a crunchier, browner top, I don’t think this variance of 50 degrees will make an amazing amount of difference to your results.

Whatever the case, I gave the mushrooms half an hour to become magical, and was far from disappointed. The Portobello caps themselves darkened in color, turning from musty dusty brown to rich and deep. They softened, going tender but not watery, and retaining enough textural integrity that we needed knives to slice through neatly.

As for the filling, can you say umami? The mystical, MSG-esque “fifth taste” was well in evidence here. Not only did we have the rich beefiness of the mushrooms themselves, as vessels and interspersed throughout, but we had the sausage, herby-spicy-rich, and the brown rice, which added not only appealing texture but also an earthy taste. Next time I would use solely brown rice for this dish, because its taste and lingering toothsome quality were so nice. I suspect some of the flavor punch was a result of cooking the rice in a garlicky homemade chicken broth, which I would certainly recommend, if you have some on hand. We rounded out the meal with kale chips and beer and both were, I feel, wise choices.* Kale has a deep, slightly bitter flavor, but it mellows when you roast it, and the paprika and sea salt I sprinkled on top made it a smoky, salty delight. The beer, of course, added to the earthy quality of the meal, with its lingering yeast flavors.

As we dug our way through the hidden treasures these mushrooms held, N. turned to me and said “Redemption.” I think that says it all.

* This photo, however, does not show kale chips. It shows steamed spinach, which was the accompaniment for lunch the following day.

Getting back into it…

Posted on July 6, 2011 by Chelsea

I tell my students that it’s important to be specific when they write. I tell them to be careful with pronouns – to be sure the subject they refer to is clear – and to add description and make their vocabularies work for them.

And yet, as a self-proclaimed word nerd, I do enjoy a little ambiguity when it comes to titles, lines of text, phrases, something to, shall we say, chew over. Maybe this means I like poetry after all. So let’s take on this title together. It could mean “getting back into being in Oregon for the summer.” This could certainly be true. My vacation was phenomenal and I didn’t want it to be over, and even though summery weather has finally come to the Northwest, returning home means certain other, less welcome truths. My title here could also mean “getting back into my dissertation.” Yet again, a necessary activity I’m not quite wholly invested in yet. I need to be. We’re almost a week into July and I’ve only read one short scholarly book and one chapter of another, and though I’ve thought a bit about my work, I don’t have much to show for it yet.

Finally, and perhaps most applicable, my title could refer to this blog, Bittman, and cooking in general. I didn’t take my laptop with me on vacation, and I hoped to sustain you on those limited – but admittedly lip-smacking – shots from my week at the beach, but now I’m well back and well behind. Going out to eat and sampling masterworks from my various relatives made me at once anxious to return to my kitchen and, strangely, resistant to actually going in there and producing anything. To top it off, because this week’s Bittman was not my favorite, I’ve been having trouble mustering the inspiration to write about it.

Because my cooking urge has been beaten back a bit, perhaps by the heat, or perhaps because all I want to eat is grilled food (hear that, N.?), I thought a raw salad would be a good choice for us. Then, trying to be ambitious, I thought I’d throw in a bread-y accompaniment, and check two recipes off at once.

“66. In a blender, whip olive oil, lime juice, a little red onion and a stemmed and seeded jalapeno. Toss with lots of shredded raw sweet potato, diced red bell pepper and chopped cilantro.”

In theory, this sounded fresh and healthful and good. Zesty. I collected

2 medium sweet potatoes (actually, I used the orange ones called Beauregard yams)

1 large red bell pepper, diced

2 TB chopped fresh cilantro

juice of one lime

¼ – ½ cup olive oil, depending on how much lime juice you have

¼ cup red onion, roughly chopped

1 jalapeno, or to taste (I used half a large, green jalapeno and the dressing was only mildly spicy)

I also added a handful of thinly, diagonally sliced sugar snap peapods, because they were swelling almost out of their skins in my garden.

Before making the dressing, I shredded my sweet potatoes and submerged them in cold water in an effort to lift free some of their starchiness and make for a more pleasing mouthfeel. I left them alone for almost an hour while I made the dill-Cheddar puffs (see below). When I finally lifted and drained the tatters of potato, I squeezed as much water as I could out of them, and they looked and tasted almost exactly like a pile of carrots.

As Bittman directs, I whirred the dressing ingredients in my blender before tossing it with the vegetables, and that was that. Easy! I knew we were in trouble, however, when N. turned to me and asked “so what do you think?” He never asks this! In fact, as I’ve mentioned before, he rarely opines positively about food. I knew he didn’t like it. His assessment was of dissonance: he said he kept expecting either the flavor of carrots, or something that had been cooked. What we were eating instead was a mildly flavored, slightly starchy crunch with bright, zesty-green-spicy notes.

I thought the flavors were nice, but thought it wasn’t sufficient as a main dish salad. This was a dish to be consumed in small heaps, not a giant, plate-filling mound. My new challenge, then, consists of repurposing the leftovers, since N. is not interested. I’m thinking a take on latkes, or a stuffing for a pita alongside some falafel or spiced ground lamb, or maybe even players in a spinach salad. What this tells me, in all cases except the third, is that apparently I wanted some fat in this dish. Good thing, then, that this wasn’t the only thing we ate that night.

“Dill-Cheddar Puffs: Combine 1 cup water with ½ stick of butter and ½ teaspoon of salt in a saucepan over medium heat and bring to a boil. When the butter melts add 1 ½ cups flour and cook, stirring, until the dough forms a ball, about 5 minutes. Turn off the heat, then add 3 eggs, one at a time, beating well until the mixture is glossy. Stir in 2 cups grated Cheddar and 2 tablespoons freshly chopped dill. Drop teaspoons of the batter on greased baking sheets and bake at 425 degrees until lightly browned, about 10 to 15 minutes.”

This doesn’t need much comment, either in terms of ingredients or procedure, since Bittman spells it out pretty specifically. Basically these are savory, filling-less cream puffs. My mistake, sadly, was ignoring the meaning of “teaspoons” when it came to the size of the batter droplets. I did more like tablespoons-on-steroids, and as a result they were undercooked at the end of 15 minutes, and overcooked after I’d plunged them back in for another 10.

I ate them both ways, and both ways the flavor was excellent, but at 15 minutes the insides of each puff were still quite sticky. Even overcooked, while the puffs were still warm they were tasty – crisp, dry, craggy exteriors with an eggy, cheesy middle, and the strong, pleasant grassiness of dill keeping them feeling much lighter than they were. Either way, N. went back for a refill of puffs even after he’d replaced the salad on his plate with some leftovers.

With slightly better size management, these would have been a monumental success. They’d make lovely canapes at a party, either whole as little pop-in-your-mouth bites, or split and filled. If you did want to fill these, cream cheese or smoked salmon might hit the right tone. Or, if you were feeling adventurous, perhaps both!

And so with this, I will try to put myself back on schedule. Back to gardening, back to reading, back to cooking. Back to feeling excited about it all! I hereby banish the summer slump of boredom-because-I-don’t-feel-like-doing-what-needs-to-get-done, and the let’s-go-out-again-because-none-of-my-recipes-are-exciting-tonight, and the too-lazy-to-snap-pictures-while-I’m-stirring blues. I’m back, friends. I’m back and back into it.

Iron Chef

Posted on May 15, 2011 by Chelsea

Some years ago, my friend A. suggested I host an Iron Chef party. We were taking suggestions for themes, and among others she offered this one. I was intrigued. How would it work? Who would choose the ingredients? Who, most importantly, would win? I must admit to harboring some jealous desire to be the victor, should such an event take place. I like to cook, and I like to feed people, and I’m a bit of a hostess-who-wants-to-be-the-mostest, so it seemed like a competition in which I would not only excel, but feel extreme competition.

Then school happened and I put it aside for a while. Long enough, in fact, that A. moved away and years passed. It was not until last Saturday that this long awaited, long anticipated event actually took place. Through a public poll, secret ingredients were chosen. They were revealed in the invitations: the Iron Chef Potluck 2011 would feature potatoes and Parmesan cheese.

Fortunately for me, in need not only of potato and cheese inspiration but also multiple dishes (gotta make sure everyone’s fed and happy!), I had Bittman. I chose two intriguing potato-based party dishes.

“48. Cut sweet potatoes into wedges; boil until tender. Drain and toss with olive oil. Wrap each with a prosciutto slice and a sage leaf, then roast until browned.”

This sounded outrageous. Outrageous easy, outrageous good. I used:

2 large sweet potatoes, halved lengthwise and sliced into wedges

2 packages of prosciutto (basically you just need a piece for each potato wedge, so it depends how many wedges you have)

1 package of sage leaves (same thing here)

Olive oil spray

Additional directions are not really needed here – Bittman’s original text tells you exactly what to do. I boiled the sweet potatoes for 10 minutes or so until they were tender but not falling apart. When they were completely cool I sprayed them and the baking pan with olive oil spray, pressed a sage leaf against the flesh of the sweet potato wedge, and wrapped it up with prosciutto.

I preheated the oven to 400F and roasted these little packets for almost half an hour. At this point, the prosciutto was getting crispy and, truth be told, I needed the oven for other items. The sweet potato spears never got browned, and I suspect the oven temperature was too low. When you bake French fries the oven has to be up really high, so the next time I make these I will set the temperature at least to 450F. I suspect only then will the kind of caramelization Bittman hints at take place on the sweet potato.

Regardless of browning, these were good. The sage packs a punchy flavor, so if you’re not a fan of that sharp autumnal herbiness, skip it or use something less pungent. The prosciutto-potato pairing was genius. Salty and crispy paired with mild tender sweetness, all in a two-bite package. Perfect party food. I could have stood leaning over the counter with a bowl of these beside me for the whole afternoon.

But no. The time of the party was approaching. I had to move on with only a sampling.

“Autumn Rolls: Shred sweet potatoes or carrots and Brussels sprouts or cabbage. Roll them up with fresh sage or mint and some sprouts in rice paper. (Add sliced shrimp if you like.) Make a dipping sauce of soy, garlic, grated or minced ginger and honey.”

I had never thought about serving sweet potatoes raw (though Bittman does suggest this in multiple dishes), but I was drawn to it because it seemed in keeping with the Iron Chef project: in a challenge like this, using the ingredient in every one of its forms seems logical. If you can boil it, roast it, mash it, bake it, why not shred it up and use it still crunchy?

Regardless, I decided some extra preparation was necessary. I used the following:

½ large sweet potato, shredded and soaked in cold water for ten minutes to remove starchiness.

½ small head of cabbage, very finely sliced

30-40 mint leaves

1 cup sprouts (I used clover)

Rice paper wrappers

½ cup soy sauce (I used gluten-free)

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

½ inch knob of fresh ginger, grated

2 TB honey or to taste

After soaking the sweet potato in a cold water bath and changing the water once to drain away as much starchiness as possible, I decided the shreds seemed pleasantly crisp without leaving a “raw potato” residue on my tongue. I tossed them together with the cabbage and about a tablespoon of soy sauce. I put this with the rest of the ingredients (through rice paper) in an assembly line and executed my rolls.

These are not difficult, once you get the hang of them, but they are time consuming. It takes me at least half an hour to roll up a batch of these, and I’ve made them many, many times.

Soak a wrapper in warm water until it is very pliable. This takes 45 seconds or so. When it is the consistency of wet tissue, spread it on a paper towel or kitchen towel and then flip over and spread again. This gets excess water off so you don’t have a soggy roll. At this point I usually put the next one into the water so it’s ready by the time I’m done rolling. Since I took pictures of almost every step, let’s do this Pioneer Woman style.

Place a few mint leaves all over the wrapper.

Add a tablespoon or two of the sweet potato and cabbage mixture.

Add the sprouts.

Fold in the sides until they overlap across the toppings.

Now fold over the side closest to you and then roll the whole thing into a tiny burrito.

Line them all up like little soldiers and you’re ready to go! I usually slice them in half on an angle. I do this for two reasons: 1.) it looks really pretty, and 2.) they aren’t huge and overwhelming looking as finger food. It’s also nice because it allows your guests to get a peek at what’s inside.

While I was rolling, I put the sauce ingredients in a very small saucepan and turned the heat on low. With minimal stirring to be sure the honey wasn’t burning on the bottom, I had a slightly thickened dipping sauce in 10 or 15 minutes.

These were delightfully fresh. The cabbage and sweet potato gave nice crunch, the sprouts were an interesting, almost tickly feel against your tongue, and the sauce was ridiculously tasty. Again, with the salty-sweet theme I unconsciously adopted, the honey and the soy sauce played excellently against each other, and it got just thick enough, and with just enough bite from the aromatics I added, that it complemented the fresh rawness of the rolls very well.

Both these offerings were delicious, and despite the competitive gnawing I sometimes feel inside, neither of them took the ultimate prize. We allowed everyone up to three votes: one for best representative of potatoes, one for best representative of Parmesan cheese, and one for best incorporation of both. The ultimate honor went to the cheese.

Take a gander:

This is a parmesan crisp topped with a slice of salami, a slice of quince paste, and a twist of caramelized onion. Talk about salty-sweet! When I asked the winner for permission to post his dish, he agreed and, delightfully, offered the following specifics:

Parmesan Crisps can be found at: http://projects.washingtonpost.com/recipes/2007/05/09/lacy-parmesan-wafers/
I used only 1 Tsp of cheese because I wanted a smaller diameter crisp.
topped with smoked salami (1/8in thick slice)
slice of quince paste (1/8in thick)
sauteed onions (~1/2tsp) (one sweet onion, olive oil, pinch of sea salt, 1 tsp sugar, 2 tsp butter) .
serve at room temperature.

Congrats, Iron Chef 2011!

Kale and coconut

Posted on May 8, 2011 by Chelsea

Kale is a recent love for me, at least relatively speaking. I had seen the curly leaves used as edging – a kind of metaphorical hedge between dishes in fancy hotel breakfast buffets or salad bars; a hefty big brother to curls of parsley left quasi-artistically on the side of a plate – but I had never eaten it. Sometimes it didn’t even look edible, but more like a plastic plant trapped somewhere in the realm of land kelp.

Last year I began experimenting with kale, mostly thanks to bloggers like Shauna at Gluten-Free Girl and Elana at Elana’s Pantry. N. and I have chomped our way through kale in lasagna, pesto, braised with soy sauce and mushrooms, and of course coated in olive oil, sprinkled with salt and paprika and roasted into chips. Its robust, almost waxen toughness seemed to require aggressive cooking techniques. I never believed the recipes I read suggesting raw consumption could be tasty. And yet Bittman advocated for this as well!

“74. Trim and chop kale; salt and squeeze and knead until wilted and reduced in volume, about 5 minutes. Rinse, dry and toss with olive oil, lemon juice, chopped dried apples and toasted pine nuts.”

With my yen for freshness and greenery escalating, I decided it was worth a try. The cast of characters consisted of:

1 large bunch Italian or lacinato kale

1 tsp. salt, plus more to taste, if desired

2 TB olive oil, or to coat

Juice of half a lemon

½ chopped dried apples

¼ cup toasted pine nuts

Doubtful, I tore the beautiful emerald lobed leaves from the tough central stalks, then roughly chopped the huge pile of leafy scraps into smaller pieces. I sprinkled salt over my heap of salad and began to knead. To my utter amazement, in under a minute the leaves had started to change in texture and consistency. They became more like spinach, then more like cooked greens, and I decided to knead only for two or three minutes, fearing from the drastic reduction in volume already that I would end up with less than two servings. When I stopped kneading, I flopped the wilted clumps into a salad spinner to rinse, de-salt, and spin dry.

I tossed the kale with olive oil and lemon juice in a large salad bowl, then added the pine nuts and apples. A quick taste led me to add a miniscule sprinkle of salt, and then it was ready to serve!

We enjoyed the salad with chicken apple sausages – I wanted to capture the special flavor of the apples and highlight their sweetness against the tart lemon and bitter kale. It was a very successful salad, and would be particularly good at the height of summer when you cannot bear to encounter the heat cooking requires. Just pre-toast the pine nuts on a cooler occasion and this salad flies together.

The contrast of flavors is lovely. It manages to hit all four of the major taste bud groups: the kale is bitter, the hint of salt gives it nice salinity, the apples are sweet, and the lemon is tartly sour. Similarly, it satisfies a variety of textures: the kale is tender but still has some body for your tongue to play with, while the apples are chewy and the pine nuts provide a satisfying crunch.

Using kale as a salad base provides so many possibilities. I already know I’d like to try toasting the apple rings to try and achieve a more chip-like texture and add extra crispness: apple croutons, if you will. A more savory salad might entail replacing the apples with a good grating of sharp cheddar or Parmesan cheese. Hard boiled eggs, walnuts, and maybe a scattering of bacon would make a more substantial salad. The options are endless.

But the title of this post isn’t about endless kale. It also mentions coconut, so I’d better move along.

With half a bag of sweetened, flaked coconut in my pantry and a small bevy of beauties descending on my house for a ladies’ TV night, I decided to over-achieve this week and make another Bittman selection to share with my friends.

“100. Spiced Macaroons: Mix 3 cups shredded unsweetened coconut, 1 cup sugar, ½ teaspoon ground cardamom and a pinch of salt in a bowl. Stir in 3 lightly beaten egg whites and a teaspoon almond extract. Drop in small spoonfuls on baking sheet and bake at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes, or until golden on the edges.”

I must admit from the outset that my process was a considerable adaptation, spurred by a shortage or downright lack of both ingredients and time to obtain more. I used the following:

2 cups sweetened shredded coconut

¼ tsp garam masala

Pinch of salt

2 lightly beaten egg whites

1 tsp amaretto liqueur

From there, I followed Bittman’s directions exactly. At the point the house began to smell like a vacation, I pulled the cookies from the oven and, unable to resist, stuffed one that collapsed from its fragile form into my mouth. Oh heaven. It was incredible. The coconut was still chewy, and I’m pretty good with words, but the mixture of spice and salt did something I can’t describe. Cooks are always saying salt enhances the other flavors of the dish, and that’s what happened here. The coconut and egg whites suggested lightness and airy tropical sweetness, while the garam masala was incense and thick dark spice, but just the barest touch: a perfumed, candle-lit temple down the road from an endless white sand beach. Fanciful, you say? What can I tell you… coconut is one of my favorite flavors, and when it is elevated to such heights a certain mystical religiosity is perfectly appropriate.

The cookies were quite tender, and some declined to hold together at all. This made them easier to eat, in a way, because they were already breaking themselves for us – all but insisting upon their own sacrifice – but the next time I attempt them I want them to hold together better. I may cook them a little longer, or perhaps beat the egg whites more vigorously. You wouldn’t want stiff, or even soft, peaks, but perhaps an approach to peaks would help the coconut cling together. Nevertheless, three girls in the space of an hour decimated a plate of macaroons, leaving behind only three stragglers who were so lonely that I found them a happier home the following afternoon as a reward to myself for accomplishing some much-needed reading. I must say, the lift from an analysis of 14^th century poetic aesthetics into all-but-mystical flavor vacation is about the best an afternoon snack can do.

Fresh breath

Posted on May 2, 2011 by Chelsea

Oregon’s springs are interesting and sometimes frustrating seasons that really make you think about all the definitions of the word “spring.” Sure, this evokes images of shy but increasingly sure sunshine, flowers, warmth, but that’s not what a spring is. When springs stretch out, inevitably they snap back. With a frost advisory a few nights ago and the weather still stubbornly refusing to push up out of the 60s, we have experienced more of a springing back than a springing forward.

And yet my taste buds are ready, even if the weather is not. I am finding I crave greenness, tartness, fresh peppery crunch, to combat the rich softness of winter comforters. Bittman obliged:

“28. Toss cooked Israeli couscous with toasted pecans, orange zest and juice, chopped mint, cider vinegar and honey. Bake in an oiled dish or use as stuffing.”

Remembering the pleasing tapioca-like chew of Israeli couscous from my last experiment with this pasta, I was enthusiastic about this combination. I assembled:

1 box Israeli couscous

½ cup chopped toasted pecans

a drizzle of olive oil

2 TB cider vinegar

2 TB honey

zest and juice of ½ a large orange

2-3 TB chopped fresh mint

I cooked the couscous according to package directions, letting the tiny pearls sizzle in olive oil for a few minutes before adding water. This quick toasting adds a deeper flavor, which I am in deep support of. This dish could easily be made gluten-free, with the simple replacement of quinoa or brown rice for the couscous. Either way, I’d still advocate toasting the grain before boiling it.

While the couscous cooked, I chopped, zested, and juiced, then put my pecans into a cold oven, which I promptly set for 400F. I’ve discovered that generally in the time it takes the oven to preheat, the nuts have toasted, and you can take them out and add them to the dish in question, feeling pride that you’ve been able to use that oven energy for part of the meal. The only problem with doing this is, you still have to check on the nuts occasionally, because depending on the temperature you are setting the oven to, it may take longer than you expect to preheat… and this equates to burnt nuts.

As I picked through the all-but-charred remnants and discarded the truly blackened pieces of what had been ½ cup of pecans, I found myself reflecting on the choice of citrus in this dish. I love citrus. I like the brightness, the tartness, and its ability to transcend the sweet/savory divide. And yet, when I think citrus, I almost inevitably turn to lemon. Salad dressings, fish, pasta, cheesecakes, all benefit from a grating of lemon zest or a hangnail-piercing squeeze of juice. Why, I wondered, do I never think of oranges in the same way? Lemons are like a deafening gasp of freshness. Orange peel is somehow more synaesthetic: bright, yes, but punctuated by a perfumed headiness, like walking through a cloud of incense. Yet here, when I blended the orange juice, vinegar, and honey together with the zest, it was the most perfect zingy-sweet-tart dressing imaginable. Ideal for this dish, I imagined so many other applications: drizzled over prosciutto wrapped bundles of arugula, tossed with chunks of fruit for a summer fruit salad, maybe even spooned atop grilled fish or chicken. I resisted the urge to sip spoonfuls of it.

After fluffing the couscous with a fork and distributing some olive oil through it to prevent clumping, I mixed everything together in a baking dish and tossed it with the delectable sauce. This was brightness at its apogee. I stowed it in the oven for half an hour.

While the couscous baked, I prepped our vegetable side. With the Farmers’ Market back up and running, the profusion of leafy vegetables is almost overwhelming. Without intended anything of the kind, I had brought home an enormous bundle of rainbow chard – red, pink, orange, salmon colored stems – and decided to impart some vinegar-based freshness into it as well. I sliced the leaves away from the thick stems and then chopped the stems like celery into half-inch-or-so thick pieces. Then I dropped stems and wafer thin slices of ½ a red onion into a pan with a few tablespoons of butter. While those cooked down, I chopped the chard leaves roughly and considered flavorings. Though I often pair chard with nutmeg, craisins, or balsamic vinegar, this didn’t seem like the right companions for tonight. Sometimes I add garlic, sesame oil, and soy sauce but this, too, seemed like it wouldn’t mesh well with our zesty-fresh couscous. At last, genius! I dribbled in not only a few teaspoons of cider vinegar to match the flavor in the couscous, but at least a tablespoon of whole grain mustard, which I scrambled quickly amidst the softening stems. Then all that remained was to toss in the leaves, turn them over in the pan a few times until they wilted, and add some salt and pepper. Bingo. Amazing.

The pairing was lovely. The perfumed orange peel and the pecans in the couscous were a beautiful marriage, as the heady zip of the orange benefited from the caramel smokiness toasted pecans always seem to have. The vinegar kept it from being too sweet, and the mint gave the suggestion of flavor, though I think it could be replaced by parsley with no ill effects.

The chard dish was spectacular. The same bite of vinegar stood out in both, but the chard was definitively savory, and the mustard gave it some backbone. The onions and chard stems had become meltingly tender, but the just wilted leaves left a freshness to the dish.

Crisp, very cold apple cider, or a Ruby ale from McMenamin’s, would have been splendid with this. Light but substantial, rich without being heavy, with those wintery flavors of orange peel and pecan applied to the freshness of spring.