impromptu

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Friday, by the hours:

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

9am: RSVPed  Absolutely. Affirmative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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…

Into the Wilds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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!

Indulgence

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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.