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Currying flavors

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The thing about Mark Bittman’s make-ahead sides is that they are all ostensibly created with a main of turkey in mind.  They are, after all, Thanksgiving inspirations.  Therefore, when I ask myself the inevitable question each week “what should I serve this with?”, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when the first thing that pops into my head is “that would taste really good with roast fowl!”  Of course it would.  That plays into the composition of Bittman’s list.

But we don’t want turkey every week, or chicken, for that matter.  Lately, both for ease, for cleanliness, for cost, and in some minor and embarrassingly halfhearted respects for moral and environmental concerns, I’ve been more drawn to vegetarian fare.  Potatoes, rice, grains, beans: these guys don’t cross-contaminate my kitchen.

So I’m having to be unusually creative in my search for accompaniments for the accompaniments I’m cooking.  This week N. chose, from a short list, an interesting combination:

“43. Toss chunks of butternut squash with butter and curry powder.  Roast until half-tender, then stir in chunks of apple and some maple syrup.  Cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until everything is nicely browned and tender.”

 

The mystery about butternut squash is, for me, as with some other orange produce, whether to treat it as a starch or a vegetable.  It seems to occupy some strange and unnecessarily cryptic middle ground.  It’s not green or leafy, but it’s also clearly not a tuber, no matter how much its deep autumnal color reminds me of a good hearty yam.  Yet, if I’m not serving meat with dinner, pairing a butternut squash roast with  vegetables seems not substantial enough, but opting to serve it alongside, say, mashed potatoes, seems excessively filling and somehow repetitive.

I opted for another strange middle ground and went for sauteed red chard stirred into quinoa.  As a nod to the seasonal intentions of the squash dish, I cooked my quinoa in turkey broth I made and froze a day or two after Thanksgiving.  I like the deeper, richer flavor that results from cooking grains and small pastas in broth or milk rather than water.  So our dinner basically consisted of two side dishes, but I decided I didn’t really mind.

Here’s how it went:

1 medium butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and chopped into small chunks

2 apples (I used Braeburns) quartered, cored, and chopped into chunks

1 onion, diced (I thought the extra savory flavor would be nice, since apples and squash are so sweet)

1 TB curry powder

2 TB melted butter

1-2 TB maple syrup

I tossed the chunks of squash on a cookie sheet with melted butter and curry powder, then slid it into a preheated 375F oven to roast for 20 minutes.  Meanwhile I prepped my apples and onions.  After 20 minutes when the squash chunks were just beginning to give, I pulled the pan out of the oven and added the apples, onions, and maple syrup – a decadent drizzle over the top that I hoped would pair well with the curry – mixed it all around together, and dropped it back in the oven for another 20 minutes (but really, it took almost half an hour).

While the roasting fruits softened and the maple syrup made suggestions of carmelization on their corners, I addressed our other side dish.  I stripped the chard leaves from the stems, chopped the stems into a fairly small dice, and plunged them into a pot with a couple teaspoons of olive oil.  I sauteed them over medium heat until they were just beginning to soften, then added the quinoa.  In one of my favorite quinoa recipes, Danny (the Chef of Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef ) suggests toasting the quinoa before adding any liquid, much as you toast the rice in a risotto before deglazing the pan.  I toasted for a few minutes, then poured in the turkey stock and clapped on the lid.  When there were only five minutes left on my timer, I added the chopped chard leaves into the mix, stirred it together well, and replaced the lid so it could finish cooking.  It worked perfectly.  The chard had just enough time to steam as the final few tablespoons of water were absorbed, but not enough time to overcook and lose all semblance of texture.  I can’t stand that sliminess that greens sometimes get after too much contact with the heat.  To my delight, the quinoa had taken on a lovely deep rosy color thanks to the chard stems, and the toasty nutty crunch of the grain worked really nicely with the healthful greenness of the chard leaves.

When I pulled the butternut and apple mixture out of the oven, all I could smell was sweetness and curry.  The maple syrup had thinned in the heat, but cloyed onto the chunks of fruit as it cooled again.  The mixture was really nice.  Butternut squash and apples are very good friends, and leaving the skins of the apples on was a wise choice because it added textural interest to the dish.  The curry made the flavors deep and warm and spiced, and the maple syrup was a nice hit of sweetness.  This one I would make again with no reservations, and only one (okay, maybe two) changes.  I put the diced onions right onto the cookie sheet, raw from my cutting board.  When I make this again, I will soften them lightly in butter first.  They didn’t roast quite long enough to quell the astringent tang onions sometimes have, and I could feel them in the back of my throat afterward.  Mellowing them out on the stovetop first would be the right thing to do.

To change it up from curry, I think garam masala would also be delicious on this mixture, and fortunately (and conveniently!) enough, Aarti of aarti paarti has just posted suggestions for making your own!  How timely!  How fortuitous!  Let’s make some!  And then, make this autumnal dish.  Maybe with turkey.  Maybe with chicken sausage.  Maybe, as I realized only after dinner was over, with potato masala burgers from Trader Joe’s.  What a congenial blend of spices that would be to curry favor with your family!

Apologies for the punning… I couldn’t resist.

Fingers Crossed!

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I like to make resolutions for myself, though they rarely last the whole year.  That’s probably because I choose overambitiously, forgetting that being a student and an instructor are both full-time jobs in and of themselves.  Or because I really like to cook, and to eat, and so the typical “lose weight and get in shape” mantra combined with enthusiasm for food and the sedentary requirements of student-hood don’t mesh too seamlessly.

So this year I am proposing something different for myself: dual resolutions.  In the academic world – in my “job” – I will continue to work on my dissertation and meet the deadlines I set for myself.  I will submit a proposal to at least one conference, and send out at least two articles to journals.  Hopefully I will get at least one bite out of this.

In the world of food, at first I thought I would simply resolve to post here once a week.  However, as I know I have promised this on multiple occasions and not delivered, I have to think about how to make this work.  It’s not always that I don’t have time to post, but sometimes we have a week (or two) of eating in which nothing seems post-worthy.  Who wants to hear about grilled cheese sandwiches?  Who wants to hear about chicken noodle soup?  Well, maybe you do, but sometimes I just can’t muster the enthusiasm to wax poetic (prosaic?) about them.

But this year, I have Mark Bittman to inspire me.  Early in November I wrote about Bittman’s 101 make-ahead Thanksgiving sides, which free up your oven for the turkey.  Though some are certainly autumnal, some have Asian flair, some utilize summer vegetables, and some are salads requiring no cooking at all.  In short, they could last the year!  So that is my resolve for this site: this year, once a week, I will make one of these dishes.  I will photograph it, and I will blog about it.  I’ll provide not only Bittman’s “recipe” but also the ingredients I use and whether I made any changes to it, and I’ll tell you honestly what N. and I thought about it.  We won’t go through the full 101; I’ve already determined that some things we wouldn’t care for, and some we just don’t eat (beets, we’re looking at you!).  But that’s my resolution.  Once a week, one at a time.  For one year.  Or until the recipes run out.  We’ll see how far I get!

Happy New Year, everyone.

Bittman’s 101 make-ahead Thanksgiving sides

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Mark Bittman is a miracle.   Cookbook author, food columnist, and just generally food enthusiast, he has a practical and delightful approach to food.  Simple, good ingredients, care in how flavors go together, and nothing is overly fussy.  I’ve been following his blog for six or eight months now, and slowly adding recipes to my “Must Make” file.

And now this.  A list of 101 autumnal recipes intended to ease the pressure on Thanksgiving day.  These are dishes that can be made ahead to free up space on the stovetop or in the oven.  But they are more than that.  They are 101 brilliant and varied ways of combining harvest and winter flavors.  This page is, in my humble opinion, an extremely valuable resource for spicing up your side dish repertoire.  And, in true Bittman style, he gives suggestions like “Bacon would also be welcome here,” or “chopped fresh parsley would not be amiss.”  Clearly this is about learning how flavors fit together, not about constructing firm recipe requirements.  As someone learning her way into developing original “recipe” combinations, this too is invaluable.

I’m thinking of working my way through these 101 ideas Julie&Julia style (at least the ones N. and I think look good – we’re not quite as militant as Julie Powell was.  Aspic?  Blech!).  Of course I will report on the results with photographic evidence.  What do you think?  A good way to spend the encroaching winter?

Dancing in the Kitchen with Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef

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Shauna and Danny Ahern are my friends.  I don’t know them, we’ve never met, and though I read Shauna’s blog Gluten-Free Girl with a dedication that trips along the border between religious devotion and obsessive-compulsive disorder, I doubt she has ever glanced at mine.  I have drooled over the food (and made some of it!), I have laughed at her triumphs, I have felt my biological clock chime when she speaks of her daughter.  In late July, I sat on my sofa with tears streaming down my face, choking for breath as I read the beautiful story of her wedding.  As a writer myself, I admire her style, her skill with words, and her ability to talk lovingly, richly, thoughtfully about food, about family, about opportunity and love.  I feel like I know these people.  I wish I really did.

A few weeks ago, Shauna announced that along with the forthcoming publication of the cookbook/love story she and Danny “the Chef” wrote together (Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef: A Love Story with 100 Tempting Recipes, listed on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Gluten-Free-Girl-Shauna-James-Ahern/dp/0470419717), they were willing to share three preview recipes with interested parties.  I was, of course, one of these, and in a flurried email exchange, I suddenly had three brilliant recipes, replete with stories, to dance to in my little kitchen.

I ended up only making two of the three, mostly because N. doesn’t like shrimp, so a plate of seared prawns in almond garlic sauce did not sound appealing to him.  But if everything in the cookbook is as stellar in flavor and straightforward in instructions as the two recipes I did conquer over as many days, everyone should own a copy of this book, whether you eat gluten-free or not.

Friday night N. and I went to a last-hurrah-of-summer-bbq at the home of J., my birthday twin, and his partner HP.  Troubled by the notion of bringing the chocolate cake again (I’ve made it several times this summer already), I cast about mentally for another idea, and there was the pdf recipe for GFG’s chocolate peanut butter brownies.  My mouth started to moisten.  Chocolate, butter, sugar, peanut butter, and my first experimentation with xantham gum?  Yes, thank you, I think I will!

As brownies go, it was a fairly standard procedure of careful melting, mixing, swirling, baking, but oh the delight of tasting!  In the short section about the recipe preceding the ingredient list, the words “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup” appear.  They aren’t kidding.  With the peanut butter swirled gently into the deep chocolate batter (and there is no other word for the color than that: chocolate) and my fingers cautiously tasting stray blobs of batter, I wanted to stop and eat the batter.  Half of it would bake up just as nicely as the whole pan, right?

I resisted, and slipped the dish into the oven, relinquishing it from sight for half an hour.  Still tasting the batter, I could detect a slight grainy texture that I attributed to the alternative flours used (my previous experimentations with gluten-free flours have not always been great, but they have always been grainy), so I was a little worried about that.  But after the pan cooked, cooled, and came to the party with me, my concern lifted.  I wouldn’t have had to tell anyone these brownies were gluten-free.  I wanted to, because I must admit I wanted to brag a bit about participating in this project (and get the word out there!), but there was no explaining to do.

Oh Shauna.  Oh Danny.  The taste!  The crumb was rich and moist, the pockets of peanut butter were sticky bombs of candy-like delight.  I couldn’t even get a photo in before the hordes descended on the pan.  Seven people decimated ¾ of the pan in ten minutes.  Almost everyone went back for seconds.  Ever thoughtful of my not-so-narrow waistline (and hips, and thighs, and butt), I generally try to leave leftovers at other people’s houses when I choose dessert as my contribution to a meal.  Not this time.  The remaining brownies came with me, clasped tightly on my lap as we drove home in the rain.

Saturday, I ventured out into the weather again to pick up a few last ingredients for my second dance with Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef; it’s hard to make a pasta dish containing lemons, olives, anchovies and pine nuts when you don’t have lemons or pine nuts in your kitchen.  I grumped to myself as I walked to the store and back.  Why did I need this stuff?  I knew I shouldn’t, but it would just be easier to substitute ingredients.  The brownies had been good (liar, understatement of the century!), but this was just pasta.  I could post about the brownies and leave it at that…

I was so wrong.  With water for brown rice pasta considering coming to a boil, I prepped ingredients and tried to imagine what this was going to taste like.  N. had already been frightened by the idea of anchovies, and I knew he was envisioning a cheap pizza draped with little fishy bodies.  I told him that Shauna and Danny said not to be afraid.  He said “hmph,” which meant he was unconvinced.  He doesn’t know Shauna and Danny like I do.

With the toasty, nutty perfume of not-quite-burned pine nuts still lingering in the kitchen, I sautéed a collection of vegetables in my biggest skillet, hurriedly chopping and slicing in between stirring sessions.  I’m always too anxious to cook to bother readying all my mise en place before scraping a boardful of ingredients into the pan.  At the point that the roughly chopped mix of olives I’d kept stowed in the back of my fridge and the finely chopped little fillets of anchovy hit the pan, I felt my knees buckle.  The smell was incredible.  When I added capers and lemon juice, I had a Proustian epiphany of Corsica, of Greece, of Spain.  Except I’ve never been to Spain.  Or Corsica.  Or anywhere in Greece.  It was just a strong enough, rich enough, delicious enough smell that it lifted me from the stained hardwood floor of my kitchen and transported me onto some magical different plane of Mediterranean glory.

Carefully twirling the pasta through sauce, I had to be careful not to drool on it.  These flavors: is this umami?  It was almost more than I could manage to mix in pine nuts, lemon zest, a clumsy chiffonade of basil – I just wanted to eat it straight out of the skillet.

We sat down to eat.  I tried to do one of those perfect forkfuls where you get a tiny sample of everything.  I tried to think objectively about what I was about to experience, about what vocabulary I would use to describe it, about how I could speak like a food critic about it.  I don’t know how.  Here are my words, all I can manage: earthy.  Warm.  Salty-bright-tangy-acidic-perfect.  Briny.  Tart.  Meltingly rich.  Flavor bomb.  Somewhat reminiscent of chicken piccata, but deeper, richer, earthier, nuttier.

And N.?  He scraped his plate.  I asked him what he thought so I could make a report.  “It was excellent.”  As I’ve written before, N. is generally restrained in his verbal praise of food.  And this was “excellent.”

I’ve never bought anchovies before.  I might never allow them out of my pantry again.  This recipe, whether we use gluten-free pasta or not, will fast become one of my staples.  For me, it’s too distinctive to have all the time.  It’s too special.  But for those nights when I need something powerful to wake my taste buds, when I need something that makes my mouth feel alive, this is it.  This was like eating a tango.

Go to a bookstore.  Order Gluten-Free Girl and the Chef: A Love Story with 100 Tempting Recipes.  Rejoice in the story and in the recipes and in the wonderful opportunity to eat really, really good food.  Dance in your kitchen.  And then tell me about it.  And tell Shauna.  I know she’d want to know.