Category Archives: Phoebe-phriendly

For my friend Ph, those recipes marked as Ph-Ph are gluten-free, dairy-free, nut- and corn-free.

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!

Off the horse

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As you might be able to tell, I’ve been busy.  School starts soon, the weather can’t decide whether to be summer or fall, and it seems like every thoroughfare in our town is under construction, with completion dates uncertain.  Somehow, this state of construction has incorporated itself into my life.  Most of my projects are far from done, and some have yet to be started.  When that happens, blogging goes awry, or at least gets pushed onto a sidewalk somewhere out of the way of the steaming hot asphalt I’m trying to spread evenly across my academic life.

Too much?

Maybe too much.

Anyway, with ground turkey in the freezer and a desire for protein in our hearts, we decided on this Bittman pick last week:

“30. Cook brown rice until just shy of done. Drain and mix with an equal amount of ground turkey and a little chopped fresh sage and chopped dried cherries. Form into patties and sauté or bake, turning once, until crisp and cooked all the way through.”

Sounded easy and filling and delicious.  I amassed:

1 cup brown rice, raw

1.25 pounds ground turkey (mine was frozen, so I defrosted it but it was still SO cold!)

2-3 TB dried cherries, coarsely chopped

10 fresh sage leaves, finely chopped

Salt and pepper

Olive oil, for sautéing

I cooked the brown rice in my rice cooker with two cups of water – a little shy of ideal so it would remain slightly underdone.  Then I let it cool until it was room temperature so it wouldn’t be a.) too hot to touch, and b.) so hot that it started cooking the turkey.

With cool, cooked rice, I just combined all the ingredients in a glass bowl and combined them with my fingers, working to incorporate the rice and turkey, and trying to distribute the cherries and sage evenly throughout the mix.

I formed the mixture into ten patties, each about the right size to fit nicely onto an English muffin (guess how we ate the leftovers!), then deposited them a few at a time into a preheated skillet containing a few tablespoons of olive oil.  Though I could have jammed them all into the skillet at the same time, this would have resulted in a big turkey pancake, which doesn’t sound delicious.  Rather, distribute the patties so they aren’t touching one another, which will give them room to brown.

After about five minutes on each side, I popped the burgers onto a plate so we could pop them into our mouths.  We had them alongside a salad of spinach, arugula, dried cherries, toasted walnuts, and chunks of cheddar, and they were tasty.  The sage added that dusty smokiness that suggests harvest and fall and Thanksgiving, and the cherries were chewy little morsels of brightness with a perfume-y, candy burst.

The only problem with these patties, as is often the issue with turkey, is that they ended up a little dry.  I don’t think I overcooked them, though I suppose that could have been the problem.  Rather, I think leaving the rice slightly underdone caused it to wick up the minimal moisture the turkey had.  The result was quite good, but not as moist as we’d hoped.

However, it was as leftovers that these patties really shined.  I reheated them for lunch sandwiches in a little pool of chicken broth, which I spooned over them as they warmed.  This added some much-needed moisture and prevented them from cooking much more.  We layered them into toasted English muffins along with arugula, cheddar cheese, and just a touch of mayonnaise.  Divine.

Chutney

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Oregon has dealt us an interesting summer.  My garden languishes, late blooming and unsure of itself in May, June, and even into July, then caught off guard by sudden heat, and now stretching for a sun that may almost be gone for the season.  I hate to admit it, but it looks like fall might be on the way.  This called for something to span the season gap.  Indian summer, perhaps, but inspired from an Eastern palate (palette too?), not the New World.

“10. Ginger-Apricot Chutney: Put dried apricots in a saucepan, cover with water and bring to a boil. Add lemon juice, minced fresh chili, grated ginger, a couple of cloves and a pinch of cayenne. Cook until thick.”

This seemed to fit the bill.  Served with grilled chicken, it would be room temperature but highly spiced, and the textural element of the dried, then rehydrated, then cooked apricots promised to be interesting.  I used:

1 cup dried apricots, coarsely chopped

Enough cold water to cover the apricots

3 teeny, teeny tiny “super chili” peppers from my backyard, seeds removed, finely diced

1 generous TB grated ginger (it’s really easy to grate if it’s frozen, and since it keeps so well and so long in the freezer, that’s one more reason to stow it there!)

juice from 1/3 of a lemon

3 cloves

Pinch of salt and black pepper

Our friend M. moved out of the state a few months ago, and before leaving she had a “Go Away” party that consisted mostly of whiskey, bean dip, and trying to get her friends to take all her unwanted possessions.  She was leaving by air, so everything she took had to fit in a couple of suitcases and a cat carrier, and we, feeling like thieves and voyeurs, pillaged through her kitchen cabinets and drawers taking what we wanted.  Among other things, I came away with jars and jars of spices, and a tiny little copper-bottomed saucepot that has quickly become my favorite.  This was the perfect vessel for chutney.  I plopped the sticky apricots in, covered them with cold tap water, and cranked the burner on my stove to high while I prepped the other ingredients.

When the water was boiling fiercely, I added the peppers, the ginger, the lemon juice and the juiced segments of rind and pulp, and the cloves.  After letting it bubble for a few minutes, I dipped in a tentative spatula and tasted, just the liquid, for seasoning.  Let me just say I’m glad I didn’t add any cayenne.  A few grinds each of salt and black pepper were all additional seasoning this needed.

While N. grilled us some tandoori-spiced chicken breasts (think yogurt, cumin, cinnamon, paprika…), I calmed the heat to medium and watched my little saucepot bubble, while the apricots slowly broke down and the liquid began to evaporate, leaving a viscous, jelly-like consistency behind.

Twenty minutes after adding all the spices, most of the water was gone and the mixture was thick and syrupy and a lovely rich orange flecked with red from the chilis.  I pulled it off the heat, tasted again, and around the burned tongue discovered loveliness.

This was a really nice chutney because it addressed almost every type of taste.  There was copious sweetness from the apricots, there was heat from the chilis, there was a different kind of heat from the ginger, and the cloves and lemon juice added tinges of bitterness and sourness.  It was the variety of heats that I really appreciated, though, because it made every bite really interesting: the ginger was there right from the start, encasing the tip of the tongue with heat.  The peppers kicked in as we chewed, with a fresh bright hotness like a fiery salsa, but just for a moment.  Then the cloves added earthy warmth at the back of the throat while the kick from the ginger still lingered on the tongue.  Combined with the well-spiced sauce on the chicken, it was delightful eating. 

As we ate, our bellies warmed with the spice but also the goodness of the meal, and the occasional slice of raw cucumber was a welcome relief against the building heat we were intent on gorging ourselves with.  As I type, the sun has torn through its cloud cover and the temperature has increased by 4 degrees.  Slow burn.  Indian summer indeed.

Simple Slaw

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This week, with a camping trip under our belts, I wanted distinctly contrasting things: to be back in my kitchen, and to have exquisitely simple things to make.  This salad seemed to fit that bill, given how easy it was to throw together AND how ripe it is for additions, which I will discuss in a bit…

“69. Shred carrots and cabbage (red, savoy or Napa). In a blender, whip olive oil, lemon or lime juice, a stemmed and seeded jalapeno, garlic and cilantro or parsley. Toss with the vegetables.”

This sounded easy and zesty – a new, simple take on coleslaw without the weighty mayonnaise.  I used the following:

2 carrots, peeled and cut into large chunks

1 head Napa cabbage, any dirty or severely damaged outer leaves removed, quartered and cored

½ green jalapeno, seeded (that was all I had.  Use more, if you like heat)

juice of 1 lime

2 TB parsley leaves

1 large clove garlic

½ – 1 cup olive oil (I didn’t measure, I drizzled)

salt and pepper to taste

honey to taste (around 1 TB)

For ease, I decided to use my food processor instead of the blender Bittman suggests.  I shredded the carrots using the shredder disk, which could not have been simpler.  I tried to do the same with the cabbage, but the shreds were too fine – almost like confetti-ed tissue, so I sliced the cabbage very finely with a sharp knife instead.

Once the carrot shreds and cabbage fluff were out of the food processor and ensconced safely in a big salad bowl, I fitted the machine with the blade instead and added the first 4 dressing ingredients.  I buzzed those until the jalapeno and garlic were finely diced, then began drizzling in the olive oil until a  dressing formed.  It didn’t emulsify and thicken as nicely as I would have liked, which I suspect was because 1.) I added the olive oil too quickly, and 2.) the food processor was not the best tool to use to create an emulsion.  Still, it smelled fresh and verdant and zesty.  I gave it a taste and decided it needed some seasoning and some sweetness, and therefore added salt, pepper, and a short drizzle of honey.  Then I poured just enough dressing to coat and moisten over the vegetables.  Adding the whole quantity would have caused a flood, so I stuck with a little over half.

As a very simple salad, this was good.  The vegetables were crisp and fresh, and the dressing had a definite citrus kick and a suggestion of heat.  As a foundation, or perhaps as a topping for pulled pork or a barbeque sandwich, this would be ideal.

I found myself imagining more, however.  You could add craisins to this, or golden raisins, and capitalize on the mild sweetness of the carrots and cabbage.  You could add toasted walnuts or sunflower seeds and get a different kind of crunch.  If you like a little extra zing, you could pop in some mandarin orange or grapefruit segments, or maybe even shredded or finely sliced green apple.  For additional vegetation, agonizingly thin slices of green or red onion, or another color of cabbage.  The adventurous might opt for radicchio or endive, though if you add such bitterness another tablespoon or two of honey in the dressing would be welcome.

But for me, if I’m honest, what was missing was not sweetness, or crunch, or bitter variety.  What was missing for me was the creamy, fatty, mouth-coating perfection of mayonnaise.  I couldn’t separate the shreds of cabbage and carrot from the perennial American picnic classic.  I wanted my veggies robed in that clumpy goopy stuff of sandwich and potato salad dreamscape and overdressed nightmare.  I didn’t want a simple healthy vegetable salad, apparently.  I wanted it to be coleslaw. 

Try some of these combinations out, because this would make a nice, light addition to grilled proteins, and if you do, tell me how you like it.  But don’t expect me to report on any of these fancy-pants ideas.  Because I just bet you can guess what I’ll be adding to my leftovers…

Sweet.

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I’ve complained before about the sometimes-too-sweet-sweetness of sweet potatoes, and of the potential dangers of the salty-sweet combo (and at the same time, too!), but sometimes they do work.  And when they work, and work well?  Incredible.  If you have any love for sweet potatoes at all, you MUST try this dish.

“41. Toss chunks of sweet potato and 2-inch lengths of scallion with neutral or peanut oil. (Again, a little sesame oil helps). Roast, turning as necessary, until nicely caramelized; drizzle with soy.”

This sounded like it had potential, and didn’t require a lot from the store.  Double bonus points already.  Here’s what I used:

2 medium sweet potatoes (mine had orange flesh, so I guess that means they may have been yams)

1 bunch green onions, roots trimmed off

2 TB vegetable oil

1 TB sesame oil

2-3 TB soy sauce

Since I don’t know what Bittman’s preferred roasting temperature is, I guessed that 400F would likely be fine, and cranked on the oven to preheat.  I peeled and then chunked up my sweet potatoes, trying to keep the cubes about 1-inch in size, so the outsides wouldn’t burn before the insides were cooked through.  I cut my green onions into approximately 2-inch lengths, then tossed them together with the sweet potatoes and both kinds of oil on a cookie sheet.  The amount of oil you use will depend on how big your sweet potatoes are – you want them to glisten and smell strongly of sesame, but not be drowning in a puddle on the bottom of the sheet tray.  We’re roasting, not frying.

I slipped the tray into the oven and let it roast for almost an hour, checking every 15 minutes or so for doneness, browning, and to turn things over.  At 45 minutes in, the chunks of sweet potato were meltingly tender, but they weren’t really getting brown on the outside.  I shimmied the oven temperature up to 450F and tossed everyone around again.

A quick 15 minutes later, I rescued the tray from the oven to see perfection.  The sweet potatoes had crisp crusty edges, the green onions were wilted and faded (this sounds bad but it was a very, very good thing), and when I drizzled the soy sauce over the whole thing the sizzling smell was delightful: salty and earthy and deep.

We tasted, and then we inhaled like ravenous, sweet-potato-deprived beasts.  This was SO GOOD.  The sweet potato flesh was as tender as a puree, but the caramelized sides offered a captivating chewiness.  True caramel, I think, has to stick to your teeth, and these clung to our teeth just like candy.  But they weren’t overly sweet.  The combination of green onion, sesame oil, and soy sauce gave a decidedly savory swing to the dish, and possessed that magical saliva inducing quality.  In fact, though we had two other components to our meal aside from the sweet potatoes, nothing made it into the fridge to store for another day.  N. and I kept finding ourselves back in front of the platter, even as we went about the remainder of our evening.  Passing through the kitchen to get a glass of water, and another chunk of potato, glistening with oil, gone.  Loading a plate into the dishwasher, and a straw of onion, wrapped around itself with just-burnt edges, sliding across my tongue.  Bedtime found the plate empty, with only the residue of soy sauce and sesame pooling in the middle.  N.’s assessment: “You can make this anytime.  Whenever you want.  Win.”

True, but I would make two changes.  First, I would start the oven out at 450F rather than 400F.  The potato chunks were cooked through well before I liberated them from the heat, and a higher temperature would brown them faster.  For the same reason, however, I would also add the onions in partway through the cooking process.  Instead of roasting them for the full hour, I’d throw them in at the half hour mark so they wouldn’t burn.

At this higher temperature, it could be that a full hour isn’t necessary – maybe only 45 minutes.  Or 35.  Or 55.  Check often and toss well, and when they are cooked through and the beautiful orange and bronze of autumn in the Northeast?  It’s time to scarf them. 

The sweet potatoes were really the stars of our meal, but we had them with broccolini and some pan-fried yellowfin tuna that I’d marinated for ½ an hour in garlic, ginger, lime juice, olive oil, and a tiny splash of soy sauce.  Successful, if a bit overcooked (I like my fish rare, N. likes his almost well done), but nothing compared to the caramel crusted stars of the show.

Out of Stock

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This week’s Bittman exploration became, I must admit, something of an experiment thanks to what can only be termed “first world problems.”  Here’s what he suggests:

“31. Combine cooked wild rice with caramelized onions (nearly burnt onions are almost as good, and faster), chopped figs and fresh rosemary. Bake in an oiled dish or use as stuffing.” 

I knew this sounded good – an intriguing mix of sweet and savory ingredients – and I knew how I was going to quickly acquire the correct items: Trader Joe’s.  My local TJ’s has reorganized lately, so while I had no trouble finding some half dried black mission figs, I couldn’t locate either rosemary or wild rice.  I have bought, in the past, a vacuum sealed bag of already cooked wild rice, which I was planning the dinner around, and despite having a pair of very earnest and very determined young gentlemen scour the shelves, nothing turned up.

I went home.

With two key ingredients missing, I grudgingly went out to the garden and stripped a branch of my own slowly, reluctantly growing rosemary, all the while whispering to it what a good cause it was donating to, while my heartstrings cried piteously for the poor tiny plant.  What I finally came up with was as follows:

1 cup raw brown rice, cooked according to package directions

½ of the biggest red onion I’ve ever seen, diced

12 figs, chopped (choose fresh or dried according to your preference)

1 teaspoon rosemary (only because I was stingy.  Use more, by all means)

A few grinds each salt and pepper

2 TB olive oil

While the rice steamed away in my rice cooker, I heated olive oil in my largest skillet and cooked the onions gently over medium for 15-20 minutes, monitoring them carefully so they would just caramelize, not burn.

When the rice was done and the onions were nicely browned with deep, bronzed edges, I looked at the kitchen clock and realized two things.  1.) I was hungry, and it was already past the time we usually eat dinner, and 2.) it was already quite warm in the kitchen, and turning on the oven to bake this off did not sound like fun.  It would take too long, and it would produce too much sweat.  Instead, I decided to sizzle the rice briefly in the skillet with the other ingredients. 

I dumped in the rice and added the figs – alien wonder fruit that they are – the rosemary and the seasoning.  I let them all mingle for a few minutes while I finalized our side dishes: Italian sausages and green beans cooked in red wine.  Then, service!

Each individual part of our dinner was good.  The sausages were well spiced, the beans were zesty and crisp and salty, and the rice was delightful.  It definitely read sweet, since the onions were mellow and tender and the figs were chewy and fragrant.  I love the texture of brown rice, since it maintains an al dente toothsome quality even after its lengthy cooking time, and in this dish the slight chewiness was nicely comparable to the figs.

I can imagine there would be a nice woodsiness to the original version of this dish, both in flavor and appearance.  Rosemary is such an earthy herb, and if you left the leaves unchopped they would look like little pine needles.  Further, the dark, somewhat anise-musty flavor of wild rice and its similar piney appearance would make this a dish akin to a shady day on the forest floor.  Pleasant but complex, with earthy spice and the surprising sweet crunch of the fig seeds.

Here’s the thing, though, and as with numerous moments this week this goes back to the “first world problems” thing: these individual dinner components didn’t go together very well.  Here’s what I recommend instead to pair with this rice dish.  Pound out a turkey or chicken cutlet.  Spread a piece of prosciutto across the flattened surface.  On top of the meat, crumble some gorgonzola or goat cheese and, if you’re feeling adventurous, maybe a handful of baby arugula leaves.  Roll the poultry cutlet up around the meat and cheese and, if necessary, tie off with some kitchen twine to keep it closed.  Bake or pan fry until the poultry is fully cooked.  The salty, creamy richness will pair nicely with the sweet figs and onions in the rice, and the pepperiness of the arugula will provide a cleansing bite for your tongue.

Incidentally, if you’re wondering about this combination of ingredients, I’ll give you a quick run-down of my favorite pizza topping combination, and you’ll see the connection: on top of plenty of grated mozzarella cheese, distribute caramelized onions, sliced figs, prosciutto, and crumbled gorgonzola cheese.  When the pizza comes out of the oven, sprinkle fresh arugula leaves across the top.  It sounds discordant, but it’s outrageously good.

Go forth and experiment!  And tell me how it tastes!