Spic(k)ed apple cider

No photos tonight, just a quick question:

What do you get when you combine

16 oz. Trader Joe’s Gravenstein apple juice

2 shots Kraken black rum

2 cinnamon sticks, broken in half

4 whole cloves

1 liberal squeeze of honey

and simmer slowly for about 15 minutes?

The perfect winter warmer for two on a cozy little evening at home.

Yes, that.

September

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!

Candyland

My two favorite board games when I was a kidlet were Chutes & Ladders, and Candyland.  I liked the first, but found it slightly stressful, since it seemed I inevitably ended up sliding down the longest possible slide and having to restart the game from the beginning.  Looking back, I wonder whether the primary design of this game was to keep children occupied with it for as long as possible, to give exhausted parents a chance to rest.  Having no siblings at that point in my life, if this was the goal of the game it backfired in my family.

But Candyland?  Candyland I loved.  And I loved it not so much for the gameplay itself, but for the fantastical characters and decorated board, and for the outrageously wonderful idea that a whole kingdom could be made out of and based around candy.  It was like “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,” but better.  Because it was candy.  My favorite figure in the game was Queen Frostine.  She had blueish silver hair that came down to her waist, and a sparkling rock candy scepter.  I still remember the first sentence or two provided about her in the game description: “Peacefully adrift on an ice cream float in an ice cream sea…” Pretty, powerful, royal, and living in ice cream.  It was everything I thought I had ever wanted.

When Candyland was at last boxed up for good and covered in an inch or two of dust in our attic, I retained a love for both miniatures and candy.  Thus, truffles were like little boulders, or tree stumps, and gingerbread houses were the most romantic, creative way of celebrating the desserts of the holiday season.

Now, as an adult but also a student, my holiday budget is somewhat limited.  But I know, since I share my life and most of my friendships with other graduate students, that food – especially a special, out of the ordinary sort of food – makes a good gift.  So, with the holiday season approaching and the term ending, early in December I celebrated my extraordinarily timely submission of my first dissertation chapter by hiding books, pencils, and papers from myself and instead filling my kitchen with bags and boxes of chocolate.  I submerged myself back into Candyland.  Not as Queen Frostine this time, but as a new character: the Empress of Truffletown, perhaps.  I wrote some time ago about my first experience with truffle production, and this time I wanted to explore some new flavors – add my own sweet twists to the basic recipe. 

The basic procedure is to coat squares of ganache in melted chocolate.  It seems to me after some experimentation that the right ratio in a ganache is 6-8 tablespoons of liquid for each 8 oz. of melted chocolate.  At least 6 of these liquid tablespoons should be heavy cream.  But the really exciting part lies in the possibilities for the other 2 tablespoons…

I made three varieties: Amaretto White Chocolate Truffles, Gingerbread Truffles, and Peppermint Truffle, and popped them into some pretty, festive boxes I found.  Then, just for fun, I also whipped up some Almond Butter cups.  My willing taste testers declared the Amaretto and the Almond Butter cups the best selections.

Amaretto White Chocolate Truffles:

To make this flavor, I melted 6 TB of heavy cream with 8 oz. white chocolate over a double boiler.  When the mixture was almost completely melted, I carefully stirred in 2 TB amaretto.  When it was completely smooth, I added a few tablespoons each finely chopped dried apricots, and finely minced, toasted almonds.  I stirred the whole thing together quickly, poured it into a plastic wrap lined loaf pan, and stowed it in the fridge to harden.

The following day, I pried the block of creamy white goodness, studded with precious gems of flavor, out onto a board, cut it in squares, and dunked each in melted semi-sweet chocolate.  After letting these harden on parchment paper, I added a white chocolate drizzle to the top for a little flair.  They were incredible.  The white chocolate was delicately flavored by the amaretto, which is one of my favorite liqueur varieties.  Nutty and rich and sweet, and here punctuated by the soft crunch of almonds and the slight chew of apricot chunks.  This variety is definitely one for the recipe books.  I will absolutely be making it again and again.

Gingerbread Truffles:

I followed the same basic procedure for these as for the Amaretto version, though I used dark chocolate as my base for the ganache.  Lacking a ginger flavored liqueur, I melted the chocolate with only 6 TB heavy cream, and stirred in about a ¼ cup finely chopped candied ginger.  Again, I refrigerated, again, I removed, sliced, and dipped.  Then, while the outer layer of chocolate was still glossy and wet, I sprinkled a good teaspoon or two of powdered gingersnap cookie crumbs atop each truffle.  Spicy and warm in the back of the throat, with a pleasing crispy crunch from the cookie powder.  I did find, with these, that the ganache was a bit crumbly after it hardened, perhaps because it was made with less liquid.  I would up the amount of heavy cream in the mixture to 7 or a full 8 tablespoons to try and combat this issue.

Peppermint Truffles:

For these, I combined 8 oz. of milk chocolate with 6 tablespoons of heavy cream and 2 tablespoons of peppermint schnapps we had kicking around in the back of our liquor cabinet.  This time, instead of pouring into a loaf pan, I just left the ganache in the glass bowl I was using as the top portion of my homemade double boiler.  While I waited for it to cool and solidify into that glorious fudgy paste ganache becomes, I broke up and crunched several candy canes into bits.  The bottom of the peppermint schnapps bottle proved an excellent tool for this project.  A rolling pin would probably also work well for this.  As I scooped out each tablespoon of ganache, I rolled it into a ball with my hands and then rolled it through the candy cane flakes, creating a pinkish minty snowball to add to the collection.  I wasn’t as thrilled with the flavor of these; the schnapps came through more as the harsh grate of alcohol rather than the spicy-cool flavor of peppermint, but my taste testers didn’t complain.  They were Christmas-y in appearance, which no doubt leant to their appeal.  If I do this flavor again, I might use only one tablespoon of schnapps, rather than 2.

Almond Butter Cups:

I was much less exact with these, working mostly for flavor rather than creating a recipe.  Again, I melted 8 oz. of chocolate – semi-sweet this time.  Then, I mixed a few tablespoons of powdered sugar into a cup or so of almond butter.  Trader Joe’s makes a really good crunchy variety with roasted flax seeds, so that is what I was using.  When the sugar and the butter were well combined, I scooped it into my chocolate and let them melt together into smooth, thick ribbons.  Then I poured a tablespoonful or so directly into candy papers.  I found that setting each paper into the depressions in a mini muffin tin made them stand up straight and not collapse when the hot chocolate mixture was added.  I refrigerated my muffin-tin-full to let them set up.  Imagine taking a bite of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.  Now imagine it tastes of almonds instead of peanuts.  Now imagine that nutty flavor is mixed evenly through the chocolate, rather than sitting in the center, and that it is interspersed by the crispy, deep, roasty-ness of golden flax seeds.

Presenting boxes of these collected divinities to my officemates, a few close friends, our neighbors, and finally our families, I felt like a benevolent ruler.  Sure, it’s only my little kitchen where I rule with a chocolate-daubed fist, but my offerings were wide and sweet.  Move over, Candyland.  This is Truffletown.

2010 Thanksgiving Menu

I get excited about holidays that involve cooking waaaayyyyy earlier than I should (then again, since our Target already has a Christmas section erected, complete with at least six artificial trees, maybe I’m not totally unhealthy).  I even told my mom over the phone this past Sunday that I’d probably go grocery shopping for the holiday late this week or this weekend.  Right, with two weeks to go.  I was already a week ahead of myself and willing to completely skip seven days of reality so I could buy a turkey.

But I love the way food impacts a holiday, and not just because I love eating.  For my family, food has a binding quality.  I love to cook, my mom taught me how and she loves to cook, my sister is developing an enjoyment and adventuresome spirit in the kitchen, and my dad… likes eating the food we make.  But still, it gives us something to talk about, something to share with each other, and something to do together, when we are in the same kitchen.  I feel close to them through the food we create.

At Thanksgiving, my mom and I make most of the dinner, my sister pipes in with seasoning suggestions, my dad carves the turkey, N. tastes things and generally tries to stay out of the way, and Lucy’s nose never stops twitching.  Every hour or so, little click-clacking dog claws tiptoe into the kitchen to take a sniff and clean the floor.

So I’ve already thought through the entire menu.  I know exactly what we’re having.  I’m even contemplating spending my evening tonight making a detailed grocery list for the big shopping trip.  Excessive?  Premature?  Perhaps.  But so delicious.

Here’s the menu for our Thanksgiving this year:

Appetizers: whole heads of roasted garlic with soft goat cheese and toasted baguette, roasted nuts with brown sugar and rosemary, assorted dried fruit.

Dinner: herb roasted turkey with giblet gravy, stuffing, chipotle mashed sweet potatoescreamed spinach and artichoke bake, and whole berry cranberry sauce.

Desserts: Mom’s pumpkin pie with whipped cream, and pumpkin cheesecake squares.  My sister doesn’t love pumpkin pie, so this year there will be two desserts.  If the recipe I invent for her works out well, I’ll post it here.

What are you having for Thanksgiving dinner this year?

Seattle: Day Two

This trip was extra special in the food indulgence area because we opted to stay at a bed and breakfast instead of the usual chain hotel.  At the Villa Heidelberg, our hostess serves what she calls a “hearty breakfast,” which consists of coffee or tea and fruit, followed by a hot dish that changes every day.  As we ate this hot dish the first morning – a croissant stuffed with Canadian bacon, cheddar cheese and sliced, cinnamon dusted apples, then coated in egg and baked until the pastry was even toastier and flakier than before and the apples were just softening – she explained that she has almost run out of room in her kitchen for her cookbook collection.  Other bed and breakfast establishments have five or six standby breakfasts they alternate between or cycle through, but she said that early in her career as innkeeper she got tired of making the same things week in and week out.  She keeps adding and adding to her repertoire, and with a side of maple syrup to absolutely drench this croissant in fantastic sticky decadence, we were well set to begin our adventures.

Despite this incredibly filling start to the day, when thoughts of lunch started to percolate as we strolled through Pike Place, I knew almost immediately what I wanted.  The smells in the marketplace were so good that you’d think it would be hard to decide.  But I knew.

The fish stalls here were impressive, and when I say that the place smelled like fish, I mean this in a positive way.  Even raw, the fish was so fresh and so reminiscent of the salty spray of the Pacific that even N. admitted it smelled good.  It didn’t hurt that the aromas of smoked salmon and fried seafood lingered around us as well, and this became my lunch quest: fried shrimp.

For $7.99, the sardonic but chatty expediter at one stall sold me this beautiful portion of beer battered and fried prawns with French fries.  It was like heaven.  Since N. doesn’t like shellfish, we never eat it at home.  Not only were these fresh, plump, perfectly toothsome prawns, but they were coated in delicious rich batter and fried until they had soaked in just the right amount of grease.  Enough to coat the fingers and shine suggestively in the corners of my mouth.  Not quite enough to weigh me down.  Perfect.  Well, perfect if I’d had a beer on the side.  Maybe a nice wheat beer with a generous lemon wedge.  And bringing the expediter home, where he would become our local bartender.  Then I could call it perfect.

Dinner this night was to be our belated anniversary dinner.  Since I’d just celebrated my birthday, I decided it could do double duty.  We chose Purple, a bistro and wine bar right downtown, and entered the enormous, dimly lit room slowly.  Solid heavy doors and ceiling to floor windows protected a huge spiral staircase winding around a column of shelves packed with bottles.  While I was still gaping at this collection of wine, we were seated and handed a binder full of beverage choices.  Our poor server had to come back three times to get our order, as I, still a bit of a wine novice, was completely intimidated by the gratuitous supply and tremendous number of options.  I selected a nice citrusy Gewürztraminer while N., always the beer man, had an Old Rasputin Stout.  He gave me a sip and I was surprised by its dark smokiness.

With so many wine choices, I was almost dizzy with the rush of having to choose accompanying food.  I get nervous at restaurants when I have a plethora of choices.  Do I opt for something comforting, familiar, guaranteed to be good, or do I branch out and order something that sounds adventurous – a startling mix of flavors that might be outrageously good… or a slight disappointment?  Here, though, I needn’t even have opened the menu; the first special on the front page was too good to pass up: risotto with roasted tomatoes, spinach, and Greek feta.

The poor quality here is due to the dim lighting, but I could just as easily claim it was thanks to my hands quivering from delight.  It sounds so simple, and as I looked down at my plate I feared I had been too cautious, but I was wrong.  The blend of flavors was stellar.  The rice was tender and flavorful, the tomatoes had sharp tanginess that matched well with the feta, and the whole thing had that unbelievable magical creaminess risotto gains from twenty minutes of tireless stirring while the rice grains – little sponges that they are – slowly suck in more and more broth.

While my fork danced around my plate, N. enjoyed a more hands-on experience, ordering a gorgonzola and fig pizza, replete with walnuts and rosemary, and a shy sprinkling of Parmesan cheese.  The thick purple slices of fresh fig looked so alien on pizza, as did the hefty chunks of walnut, but the finished product was tasty and intriguing.  In my plans for recreation, I may try making a rosemary foccaccia dough as a base, and then replacing the fresh figs for dried.

Because it was a special occasion, and because our server told us the desserts were “tapas sized,” we decided we had to splurge.  With options like these, there was simply no leaving before we had a sample or two.  We decided to share two desserts: the red velvet cake with lavender cream cheese frosting, and the blackberry cheesecake with blackberry coulis and candied lime zest.  Despite being barely bigger than golf balls, both were triumphant.  The cake was moist and rich, and the lavender sprinkled atop the frosting was an unexpectedly good touch.  It had a sophisticated flavor somehow and a light perfume, making this more than just good cake.

The cheesecake was rich and exceedingly smooth, and I found the perfect balance was a generous dip of blackberry coulis and a sliver of candied zest.  I like a bite of sour citrus with my cheesecake, and without that tart, slightly bitter chew, this perfect little cylinder might have been bland.  As it was, if I were slightly less polite I would have licked my plate.  Hell, I would have licked both plates.

Thanks, Seattle, you were that good. 

Menu planning

I have a bad habit.  Well, let’s not lie, I have many.  But pertaining to food, I have one particular potentially disastrous practice: I like to make food for company that I’ve never made before.  I have experimented with risotto, fancy baked pastas, doughnuts, all for company for the first time.  I have tried to diagnose this habit, and I can’t be sure where it comes from.  Maybe I think that once I’ve made it before, it becomes simple and easy and not adequately fancy.  I like to be fancy.  Maybe I want to show off a little.  Maybe I just get excited about trying new recipes.  Who knows?

Oddly, I noticed that the menu I currently have planned for the “Belated Reception” party N. and I are throwing contains almost no unattempted recipes.  Despite permission, no, encouragement even, from K. (one of our guests of honor) to use this gathering as an opportunity to try out fancy new dishes, the ideas I immediately gravitated toward were tried and true. With guests bringing their own grillable mains, K. and I will be making a series of sides.

Here’s a preview of the intended menu:

Marinated tofu skewers, grilled.

Grilled corn, cilantro, and lime salad

Grilled garlic bread (seeing a pattern here?)

Fresh tomato bruschetta

Pea and mint puree on crostini, topped with nasturtiums

German or red potato salad

Pasta salad with tomatoes, mozzarella, olives, and sundried tomato vinaigrette.

(Chips, salsa, guacamole, etc.)

For dessert, I’ll make two types of cake for folks to try, both drenched in alcohol (because that’s just the kind of hostess I am):

A reprisal of my terrifically successful Chocolate “tiramisu” cake (featured here).

Pink champagne cake (N. and I had champagne cake with strawberries at our wedding, and I’d like to return the favor).

In addition to wine, beer, and the usual party beverages, I will also make a Champagne-rum punch, a deadly recipe because it is fizzy and sweet and delicious, making you forget the two kinds of alcohol it contains as it fizzes right into your bloodstream.

Ah, summer living.