Eating My Words

A fennel conspiracy?

2012-02-26T17:37:00.000-05:00

What is it with the French and their fennel?

I recently ran out of herbes de Provence, a variety from Savory Spice that I'm fond of, and decided to "splurge" on one of those familiar little crocks of the herb mix imported from France. Imagine my dismay when I peeled off its international plastic sani-wrap and discovered that about a third of it was the foul stuff.

Of course herbes de Provence should have some fennel, but this was more than I could bear. I started plucking the offensive seeds one by one before it dawned on me to to use a mesh colander. This allowed me to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, and now the remaining mix has more breathing room.

Me, too. I was so horrified that my husband felt moved to pluck some daffodils from the garden to cheer me up. He also poured me a glass of wine, purely for medicinal purposes, which seems to be helping.

I know that fennel is adored by many, and I've been tricked into eating the braised bulb more than once and lived. My distaste for it in all forms even managed to offend an otherwise Zen butcher at Whole Foods, who recently bristled when I asked if they had any house-made turkey sausage without it.

"That's what makes it Italian," he said, looking at me as if I landed from Mars -- where it no doubt flourishes in its inhospitable environment.

So if anyone would like a jar of lavender-spiked fennel seeds, let me know.

No-Knead Pizza: Part II

2012-02-25T20:00:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know I just made pizza. And yes, it was really good. But the pies I made tonight were even better.

In advance of the publication My Pizza, Bon Appetit just published the updated version of Jim Lahey's justifiably famous no-knead pizza dough. The ratios are similar to the one I found from 2009, but for some reason this one worked came together right away, was full of lovely bubbles after the rise, and was easy to stretch into the finished product.

In fact, I was so confident of the outcome that we got a second pizza stone today.

There's not much to add since the photos say it all. Graham's pizza had white sauce, mozzarella and fresh ricotta; it was topped with a handful of arugula tossed in a lemony vinaigrette, but it was whisked away before I could snap a picture. The next one had white sauce, caramelized onions and some meaty mushrooms that had been simmered in sherry. It also had mozzarella, ricotta and arugula.

Tim craved red sauce so I cooked down some crushed organic tomatoes -- which turned out to be the best topping of all. It had mushrooms, some shredded leftover chicken and the same cheese combo.

I'm cooking the rest of the crushed tomatoes down now for tomorrow's lunch, which will be calzones made from the leftover dough.

Coconut Almond Wheatberries

2012-02-22T21:41:00.001-05:00

We used to be a rice family. Arborio, brown or Carolina Gold, it found its way onto our dinner plates just about every week. But that was before Ancient Grains.

Emboldened by Maria Speck's clear guidance and the gift of an amusingly diverse assortment of, well, ancient grains, we've supped on curly quinoa and turned farro into a creamy breakfast porridge. We've also gained a keen appreciation of the chewy, nutty goodness of wheatberries.

In addition to their great flavor and nutritional profile, wheatberries boast the added benefit of quick cooking. Unlike some grains, these require no pre-soaking and can be on the table 20 minutes after you've had the good idea to make some.

1 cup wheatberries

1-11.8 oz. can coconut juice (such as Foco)

1/2 cup water

1 tsp. kosher salt

1/4 cup golden raisins

1/2 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

1/4 cup sliced almonds

Pour coconut juice and water into medium pot; add wheatberries and salt. Bring to a boil then lower heat and simmer covered for 10 minutes.

Add golden raisins and stir, then cover and cook 5-8 minutes longer or until wheatberries are chewy but tender.

Meanwhile, put coconut and almonds in small nonstick pan. Toast over medium heat, shaking pan to flip contents until lightly golden.

Drain wheatberries and raisins in colander, then stir in coconut mix. Transfer to serving dish and, if your family is anything like mine, don't worry about leftovers. There won't be any.

First time's a charm with no-knead pizza

2012-02-16T23:08:00.001-05:00

There is a curious temptation in things that are offered but vanish before you stake your claim. We've all had the experience staring down the last cookie on the plate, telling yourself you don't want it, or you'll save it for later -- until someone snatches it and you're sorry.

I felt that way when Food52 posted Jim Lahey's no-knead pizza dough as part of its Genius Recipe series, only to take it down following a request from Lahey's publisher, who understandably didn't want it circulating in advance of the release of My Pizza in March.

Before the post went dark, one reader slyly note that it can be found elsewhere, notably at Tasting Table, which posted it two years ago. It's reportedly been amended since then, but given the buzz it's generated -- and Lahey's broad acclaim since his no-knead bread was first blessed by Mark Bittman in 2006 -- I figured it was worth a try.

It was. It's simple and, though you need to start the process the day before you bake, virtually hands-off until it's time to pat the sticky dough into shape. We made four personal-sized pizzas tonight -- two with arugula-pine nut pesto, a lucky leftover from Molly Steven's salmon entry in All About Roasting, and two with spoonfuls of Classico Creamy Alfredo lightly streaked with pesto. Both were topped with slices of fresh mozzarella and a scattering of home-canned tuna. Just before serving, sprinkle lightly with Maldon or other top-quality sea salt.

I couldn't resist tweaking the recipe linked above, so I used two cups of AP flour and one of white-wheat flour. I also substituted 2/3 cup of the water with leftover whey from my last batch of labneh, which imparted a mild but appealing tang.

The dough did not rise as much as I expected and, true to virtually every reference to the recipe I've seen online, it was wet and sticky. Given how much flour gets worked in at the end, I think I'll add an extra tablespoon or two on the front end next time.

While the linked instructions don't provide precise cooking directions, I preheated the oven to 500 degrees for about 40 minutes to let my pizza stone and a heavy comal get good and hot. I pressed the dough into shape atop parchment paper, which made transfer to the oven simple. The pizzas cooked on the stone were golden brown and crisp in seven minutes, but the pies baked on the comal were still a bit wet in the middle. If you've got a stone, this is a good time to use it.

Graham, who favors zpizza's cheese pizza dotted with fresh ricotta, declared them both a success -- and even preferred the pesto pizza.

Warning: These images may cause hunger pangs and drooling

2012-02-13T09:28:00.000-05:00

My brother David M. Warren, who handles many of the food shoots for the Philadephia Inquirer, recently completed a very hush-hush project where he photographed many of Philly's top restaurants for the covered "Four Bell" awards given by criticv Craig LaBan. The photos are a strong endorsement of the city' vibrant dining scene.

A few of the photos are featured below, but they look much better on the newspaper website. To see them all, visit http://www.philly.com/philly/restaurants/138156369.html?c=r

Lucky 32 stakes claim in high-end, home-style fried chicken

2012-02-12T15:42:00.001-05:00

This blog first appeared on Culinary Historians of Piedmont, which is partnering with Lucky 32 for a special dinner at 7 p.m. Wedensday, Feb. 15, at the Cary location. Click here to RSVP.
For a perfect appetizer, try Lucky 32's Sweet Potato Hushpuppies.

Chef Jay Pierce has turned an old joke upside down at Lucky 32 Southern Kitchen.

Why did the customer cross the road?

To get the locally-sourced, deeply-seasoned, irresistibly lard-fried chicken served on the other side.

Crowds are beginning to gather at the Cary location on Wednesday nights, where the three-piece chicken dinner – served with tender collards, mashed potatoes and a hunk of cornbread – is featured for $17. It’s even more popular at the Greensboro location, where it’s sold on Tuesdays.

Pierce knows diners could get fried chicken elsewhere, and probably for less, but he’s confident that his is the best.

“You expect people to come in with some contempt,” he said with a bemused shrug. “When people ask why we charge so much, I tell them, ‘You probably wouldn’t like it.’”

Actually, Pierce is more likely to playfully poke at diners who aren’t yet under the addictive spell of the special. “Sometimes we cook up a big order of wings and I walk around putting just one on the plates of people who didn’t order it,” he said. “I love to see their faces when they try it. I really want them to come back and have it next time.”

Creating the perfect fried chicken became something of an obsession for Pierce when the restaurant gave up its global menu and added Southern Kitchen to its name last year. The owner wanted a dish that would stir fond memories of grandma’s skillet-fried chicken – even if they never had it before.

There are at least two problems with that, Pierce said. First, cooking in skillets is not efficient in a large commercial kitchen. Also, while he admits to the guilty pleasure of Chik-Fil-A sandwiches, fried chicken was not native to Pierce’s experience of growing up in New Orleans.

“I tried so many variations before I worked it out,” he said, ticking off a list of soaks ranging from buttermilk and iced tea to pickle juice. He finally settled on a variation of the late chef Austin Leslie’s recipe featured in “Fried Chicken: An American Story” by John T. Edge. It’s also been published in Food & Wine.

“We put our own spin on it, but it’s a revelation,” said Pierce, stressing that the ingredient he borrows most from the original is the technique. “I can’t imagine chicken getting any better than that.”

Lucky 32’s version starts by generously seasoning chicken from Hopkins Poultry of Browns Summit with salt, pepper and smoked paprika. The dry-rubbed pieces then air-dry in the refrigerator at least eight hours to ensure deeply-flavored meat and crisp skin.

Just before frying, chicken pieces are dunked in a bath of beaten eggs and buttermilk from Homeland Creamery of Greensboro and dredged in a tub of Creole spice-spiked, self-rising flour from Midstate Mills of Newton. Next stop is a Swiss Braisier, a tilt skillet as big as grandma’s old wash tub, filled with 20 pounds of golden lard rendered by Cane Creek Farm of Snow Camp.

“It’s all non-hydrogenated,” Pierce said, gazing at the glistening fat that boiled vigorously as he deftly placed a row of plump breasts. “It’s a lot better for you than Crisco.”

The braisier is key to what makes Lucky 32’s friend chicken special. Instead of floating in a deep fryer, the chicken sizzles on a heavy grill pad that Pierce can tilt to swirl fat where it’s needed, such as a thicker breast portions, while the thighs and wings stay lightly submerged.

“It’s easier than using your grandmother’s skillet,” Pierce said, noting how the vast surface and finely-tuned thermostat keep the oil at a consistent temperature. “I can load at least 10 three-piece dinners in here at once – and I can fit 13 at the one we have in Greensboro.”

Pierce takes the challenge of fixing chicken seriously as he knows so many Southerners consider it the measure of a good cook. “It’s not as easy as it looks. There’s a lot of technique involved with cooking Southern food – good Southern Food, I mean.

“For people who grew up with it, fried chicken is practically a Proustian dish,” he said. “There are so many memories tied to it. That’s why it has to be so good.”

The Perfect Starter: Lucky 32's Sweet Potato Hushpuppies

2012-02-12T15:38:00.002-05:00

See related story about Chef Jay Pierce and the fried chicken special at Lucky 32.

Like Jay Pierce’s journey to develop the ultimate fried chicken for Lucky 32, the sweet potato hushpuppies took several detours before landing on the appetizer menu.

“The truth?” Pierce said with a born storyteller’s glint in his eyes. “They started out as pumpkin ravioli.”

Before Lucky 32 expanded its name last year to include Southern Kitchen, it reduced the scope of its former global-cuisine menu. One of Pierce’s first targets with the fated ravioli.

“Actually, it was summer and winter squash in the same dish. Blasphemous!” he said with a shudder.

Pierce knew he wanted to modify the recipe to keep it seasonal, so he tweaked it several ways before he felt he’d found a tasty alternative: Deep-fried pumpkin ravioli in a ham cream sauce.

“Everyone loved it but the owner,” he recalled. “I mean, he liked it, but he said, ‘It’s not Southern.’ He told me, ‘You can do better.’”

Pierce went back to the drawing board and his culinary awakenings in Florida and the Gulf Coast. There, he said, hushpuppies are big and fluffy -- “not the scrawny Civil War rations” found in some North Carolina eateries.

“Some people think they’re not really hushpuppies because they’re bigger and less sweet,” he said. “They taste like what they are: earthy sweet potatoes.”

The dark, crispy globes are served atop a pool of creamy ham sauce scattered with green onion. Light and savory, they are a perfect start for a fried chicken dinner.

Lucky 32 Southern Kitchen’s Sweet Potato Hushpuppies

Disclaimer: All our recipes were originally designed for much larger batch size. This recipe has been reduced – but not tested at this scale. Please adjust as to your taste and portion size. Copyright 1989-2012 This recipe is property of Quaintance-Weaver, Inc. Unauthorized commercial use is forbidden.

2 cups roasted sweet potatoes

1 cup yellow cornmeal

1 1/3 cup yellow corn flour

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon nutmeg

2 teaspoons allspice

¾ cup green onions, chopped

½ cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon black pepper

1 teaspoon ground mustard

8 eggs

Mix all ingredients in a mixer with paddle attachment until well combined.

Refrigerate till cold.

Drop desired size hushpuppies into a deep fat fryer and cook until done.

Labneh, mean it! Falling in love with homemade yogurt

2012-02-06T22:29:00.003-05:00

Labneh, the tangy, creamy cheese
made from strained yogurt.

I've been making my own yogurt for a few weeks now and still can't get over how easy, delicious and inexpensive it is. I'm lucky to have a warming drawer built into my gas stove, which keeps contents at a fairly consistent 106-110 degrees, the ideal temperature for slowly converting scaled milk and starter into creamy Greek-style yogurt.

Inspired by reader interactions and helpful advice from site co-founder Merrill Stubbs, I more or less follow the directions posted on Food52. I use organic whole milk each week as directed, and used a cup of organic whole milk Greek yogurt to get the first batch started. In subsequent weeks, I've used a jar of my own yogurt to feed the next batch. Additionally, instead of nine cups of organic whole milk, I now buy a half-gallon and add 1 cup of regular 1% milk, which is what I otherwise stock. I stir in capful of vanilla before pouring into a dozen canning jars for the slow transition into yogurt. It's terrific -- and costs only about 25 cents per serving.

I enjoy a jar nearly every morning for breakfast. Sometimes I spill in onto a half-cup of granola with a handful of dried blueberries. Other times I've stirred in homemade orange curd or other preserves. My current favorite is a great dollop of peach-Grand Marnier sauce. Yup, for breakfast. Awesome.

I posted this photo last week on Facebook and it caught the eye of a co-worker who wondered if I ever use my yogurt to make labneh, a yogurt cheese. I'm familiar with labneh as a condiment at Nemomonde, one of Raleigh's best Lebanese eateries, but I never realized it was something so easily produced at home. Encouraged by the rapturous look on his face as he recalled how his siti made labneh for him as a child, I decided to give it a try.

Recipes vary, but the general rule of thumb is 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt to every cup of yogurt. Stir well and pour into a cheesecloth-lined colander or jelly bag set over a bowl. I used the latter and poured in four cups of salted yogurt before I left for work. It dripped in a steady stream for the first 15-20 minutes then settled into a slow plunk.

There is little consensus among recipes whether the yogurt should sit on the counter or be refrigerated for the nine or so hours necessary to fully drain. Since Graham was home, I split the difference and had him transfer the jelly bag and bowl to the refrigerator after about four hours.

When I returned home at the end of the work day, the resulting cheese had stopped dripping but was still quite moist. I gave the bag a good squeeze before peeling back the cloth and freeing the ball, which was handsomely textured by the mesh and deep seam. It was stunningly delicious right away -- tangy and very creamy -- and it firms up a bit with additional refrigeration.

I brought a sandwhich for lunch today of labneh generously slathered on fresh sourdough with a layer of baby arugula. It also was great on pita chips. I shared go-cups with a few friends and already have plans to make more with this week's yogurt. I'm eager to try some mashed into a hot roasted potato and, if sufficiently solid, I plan to roll small balls of labneh into minced herbs, zatar and nuts for a special appetizer plate.

Virginia Willis on the Food of Love: Chocolate Pots de Crème

2012-02-05T11:39:00.001-05:00

Note: Virginia Willis will teach a class at A Southern Season on March 22 based on her new book, “Basic to Brilliant, Y’all.” This blog first appeared on Culinary Historians of the Piedmont.

Shakespeare famously wrote that “if music be the food of love, play on.” But don’t try to pull that mess on Virginia Willis.

“I once had a very romantic date with some chocolate,” said Willis with an amused sigh of recollection. “Loving and kissing just comes to mind.”

Though she’s published recipes for some intoxicating sweets in Bon Appetit, Y’all: Recipes and Stories from Three Generations of Southern Cooking and her new, much-praised Basic to Brilliant, Y’all: 150 Refined Southern Recipes and Ways to Dress Them Up for Company, Willis rarely swoons for cake or pie – even if chocolate is a key ingredient.

For true romance, the sort she proposes as necessary for a proper Valentine, it’s got to be Chocolate Pots de Crème, a decadent delight she first learned when studying culinary arts years ago at L'Academie de Cuisine and Ecole de Cuisine LaVarenne in France.

“They are rich and indulgent, and certainly meant for special occasions,” Willis said during a recent phone call from her Atlanta kitchen. “But the best part is they are dead easy. There’s no worrying about curdling eggs or any of that. If you can melt chocolate, you can make pots de crème.”

Featured in her first book, and shared below, pots de crème may look complicated but are, she said, “nothing more than French pudding cups.” Their simple ingredients and mostly hands-off preparation allow plenty of time for what Willis deems the best part of any meal: the time spent with your beloved.

“I definitely prefer to eat at home on Valentine’s Day,” she said, pairing it with New Year’s Eve as the No. 1 days to eat in. “Restaurants are crowded, everyone is busy. It’s all about turning the tables.

“Having said that, I love to share the cooking and make it an enjoyable experience for us both,” she said. “But you don’t have to stress and do it all at once. This dessert, for example, can be made the day before. All you have to do is whip some cream.”

Despite her mother’s devotion to Cool Whip, which is humorously detailed in an anecdote printed above the recipe, Willis recommends that heavy cream to be whipped into a lush cloud, without sugar, just before serving.

“A friend of mine who is very healthful chooses to use fat-free, non-dairy Cool Whip,” she said with a distinct shudder. “To me, it’s just too sweet. I’d rather had a teaspoon of whipped cream then two cups of Cool Whip.”

Willis also suggests Crisp Roasted Duck with Peach Barbecue Sauce from the new book for the main course, and perhaps Apalachicola Oysters with Sauce Mignonette for a starter.

“It’s fairly typical, but it always makes people happy,” she said, acknowledging the mollusk’s MO as a heady aphrodisiac. “It’s easy and it’s delicious.”

While Willis is thrilled that Basic to Brilliant, Y’All has earned critical acclaim and landed on several year-ending best-of lists, she was less pleased that her name became entwined with Paula Deen’s recent announcement that she was diagnosed three years ago with Type 2 diabetes.

Amid the whirlwind of media attention that followed the news – a private matter, to be sure, but one revealed in connection to a lucrative pharmaceutical endorsement deal – New York Times writer Julia Moskin picked Willis to represent purveyors of “new” Southern cuisine.

“It wasn’t that long ago that I as writing recipes for a PTA newsletter, so I’m always surprised when anyone wants to talk to me about anything,” said Willis. “My position is that Southern cooking doesn’t have to stay trapped in the past. In fact, a lot of what’s been promoted as ‘traditional’ really isn’t. I did not grow up eating deep fried mac ‘n cheese wrapped in bacon, and neither did anyone I know.

“To think we are just fried chicken and overcooked greens is very one dimensional,” she said. “Also, we’re not all working on the farm anymore. We don’t need a 1,200-calorie breakfast to sit at a desk.”

Willis noted with pride that she has taught and cooked her recipes at some of the nation’s best-known spas “almost verbatim from my books.”

“There are a lot of problems with Southern food and big problems with obesity nationally. In a positive light, (the attention) is helping people have a constructive dialogue about Southern food and how it can be made delicious by using healthy, seasonal ingredients. For me, it’s all about fresh ingredients and not doing too much with them.”

Willis will continue to offer insights on Southern fare in what has become her Y’all series. She’s “noodling” on a theme now and hopes to have the next volume on book shelves within two years. In the mean time, the chef is drafting a different sort of book, “a very personal culinary story” about a fifth-generation farmer.

“It will really stretch me as a writer,” she said. “It’s amazingly satisfying to hear that that people like the stories in my books. People may be coming from a different place when they read me, but it’s all about the community you build at the table.”

And if your community includes a beloved partner, so much the better.

Chocolate Pots de Crème
(Reprinted with permission from Bon Appétit, Y’all: Recipes and Stories from Three Generations of Southern Cooking by Virginia Willis, copyright © 2008. Published by Ten Speed Press, a division of Random House.)

Note: I made these in small cordial glasses
that yielded nine delicious portions.

Undeniably creamy and indulgent, these are the French version of pudding cups. Pots de crème are traditionally baked and served in individual ceramic pots with lids, how they got their name.

Much to my consternation, Mama buys Cool Whip instead of using freshly whipped cream. She recycles the tubs for food storage and other uses. I think a pet hamster was once gently laid to rest in a Cool Whip coffin. Whipping real cream is easy, and my mother’s opinion aside, it really does taste better. The key is that everything must be well chilled: the heavy cream in the refrigerator, and the mixer beaters and bowl in the freezer until cold to the touch. I prefer not to add sugar or vanilla to the cream, as I think the dessert is quite often sweet enough and sweetened whipped cream is overpowering.

Serves 6

1 cup heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
5 ounces best-quality semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
5 large egg yolks
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Pinch of fine sea salt
Whipped cream, for garnish

Position an oven rack in the lower third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Place six 6-ounce ramekins in a roasting pan.

In a saucepan, combine the cream, milk, and chocolate over medium heat. Bring almost to a simmer; remove from the heat. Set aside, stirring occasionally, until the chocolate is completely melted.

In a large measuring cup, whisk together the egg yolks and the sugar. While whisking, add a little of the hot milk mixture to the egg mixture to combine. (This technique is called tempering; it makes the temperatures of two mixtures—one containing raw egg— more similar, so the egg won’t curdle in the presence of heat.) Add the remaining milk mixture, and whisk to combine. Whisk in the vanilla and salt.

Pour approximately 1/2 cup of the egg mixture into each ramekin. Cover each ramekin tightly with aluminum foil to prevent a skin from forming. Fill the roasting pan with enough boiling water to come halfway up the sides of the ramekins. Bake until the custards are just set in the center, 35 to 40 minutes.

Remove the pots from the water, and place on a wire rack to cool, about 30 minutes. (I usually remove the pots with tongs and leave the roasting pan of water in the oven. Turn the oven off and let the water cool until it is safe to remove the pan.)

When the pots de crème have cooled completely, refrigerate to chill thoroughly, preferably overnight. Just before serving, top with a dollop of whipped cream.

Virginia Willis: Apalachicola Oysters with Sauce Mignonette

2012-02-05T11:36:00.000-05:00

(Reprinted with permission from Bon Appétit, Y’all: Recipes and Stories from Three Generations of Southern Cooking by Virginia Willis, copyright © 2008. Published by Ten Speed Press, a division of Random House.)

Most oysters are farmed, but Apalachicola oysters are harvested from some of the only wild oyster beds left in American waters, near Apalachicola, Florida. This area of the Gulf of Mexico is known as Florida’s “Forgotten Coast.” For generations, residents of the Florida panhandle have made their livelihood working the Apalachicola Bay and surrounding waters. The area’s real claim to fame may be oysters, but every Southerner should raise a chilled glass of sweet tea to Dr. John Gorrie. The kind doctor thought Apalachicola summers were too hot for his patients and was a pioneer in the invention of the artificial manufacture of ice, refrigeration, and air-conditioning (he was granted a patent in 1851 for the first ice maker).

This simple, peppery, vinegar sauce is a classic French accompaniment to freshly shucked oysters.

Makes 12 and serves 1 to 2 as a first course

1/2 cup best-quality white or red wine vinegar
1 small shallot, very finely chopped
1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Sea salt
12 fresh oysters

In a bowl, combine the vinegar, shallot, pepper, lemon zest, and a pinch of salt; set aside.

To shuck the oysters, using a towel, hold an oyster flat on the work surface, flat shell up. Insert the tip of an oyster knife into the hinge and twist to open it. Slide the knife along the inside of the upper shell to free the oyster from the shell; discard the upper shell. Slide the knife under the oyster to free it from the lower shell, but leave it in the shell.

Arrange the shucked oysters on two serving plates, preferably oyster plates with wells. If you are using regular plates, cover them with rock salt or fresh seaweed, sometimes available at the fishmonger, to create a nest for the oysters so they don’t tip over. Spoon a teaspoon of sauce over each oyster and serve immediately.

Virginia Willis: Crisp Roasted Duck with Peach Barbecue Sauce

2012-02-05T11:18:00.000-05:00

(Reprinted with permission from Basic to Brilliant, Y’all: 150 Refined Southern Recipes and Ways to Dress Them Up for Company by Virginia Willis, copyright © 2011. Published by Ten Speed Press, a division of Random House, Inc.)

There is no doubt a well-prepared, well-executed roast duck can be a bit of trouble for not a whole lot of meat. You will notice this recipe serves two to four, not the normal four to six. But, oh my, the flavor is worth every bit of effort.

Duck possesses a rich, red-meat flavor. Much in the way that pork has a natural affinity for sweet-tart barbecue sauce, so has duck. When peaches are not in season, you can substitute frozen peaches for the barbecue sauce.

Serves 2 to 4

1 (4-to-5-pound) whole duck
2 bay leaves, preferably fresh
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons canola oil or rendered duck fat
1 onion, preferably Vidalia, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and grated
1½ cups ketchup
½ cup peach jam
2 ripe peaches, cut into ¾-inch chunks
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

Pull any loose fat from the duck. Using the tip of a paring knife, make ¼-inch incisions all over the body of the duck. (This will allow for the fat to render during cooking.) Place the duck on a wire rack set over a baking sheet, and refrigerate, uncovered, until dry, at least overnight or up to 3 days.

Place the bay leaves in the cavity of the duck. Set aside to come to room temperature, about 20 minutes. Fill a roasting pan with ¼ inch water and place on the lowest oven rack. (This will create steam and catch fat as it is released from the duck during roasting.) Pat the duck completely dry with paper towels. Season the duck inside and out with salt and pepper.

Position a second rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 400°F.

Place the duck, breast side up, directly on the oven rack and roast for about 15 minutes, until it starts to sizzle. Turn the duck onto one side, baste it with any accumulated fat, and roast for 15 minutes more. Turn the bird onto the other side, baste it with accumulated fat, and roast for 15 minutes more. Finally, return the duck to its back and continue roasting, basting often, until dark brown and slightly puffed, about 45 minutes. Total roasting time is about 1½ hours. (I know, cooking directly on the rack is a little dramatic. It is a technique I learned from the chef at Four Seasons in New York, once famous for its crisp roast duck. You can also place the duck on a rack in a roasting pan.)

Meanwhile, heat the oil in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and ginger and cook until fragrant, 45 to 60 seconds. Add the ketchup, peach jam, peaches, and vinegar. Season with salt and pepper; decrease the heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens, about 30 minutes.

When the duck is cooked, transfer it to a warmed platter. Cover with foil and let it rest for 10 to 15 minutes before carving. (Turn off the oven and allow the roasting pan of water to cool before removing it. Remember the magic fat? Pour the cooled water into a fat separator. Pour off and discard the water, but save the fat.)

Carve the duck and transfer to a warmed serving platter. Serve immediately with the warm barbecue sauce on the side.

Brilliant: Short Recipe
Quick Cucumber Pickle

Old-school barbecue joints almost always serve barbecue with pickles. Change this Basic, but somewhat fancy-pants roast duck to Brilliant by humbling it with a simple quick pickle. Slice 1 English cucumber into ¼-inch-thick slices. Place the slices in a colander set in the sink. Sprinkle with ½ teaspoon kosher salt; stir to combine. Let stand for 20 minutes. Rinse, drain, and transfer to a large heatproof bowl. Meanwhile, combine ½ cup apple cider vinegar; ¼ cup firmly packed light brown sugar ½ Vidalia onion, thinly sliced; 1 clove garlic, thinly sliced; and ¼ teaspoon mustard seeds in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil. Decrease the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Pour the hot liquid over the cucumbers; stir to combine. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 days before serving alongside the duck. Makes about 1½ cups.

Gabrielle Hamilton: Embracing the hospitable amid life's uncertainties

2012-01-31T19:54:00.000-05:00

This blog first appeared on Culinary Historians of the Piedmont.

Gabrielle Hamilton's years of hard living, coupled with her role as chef/owner of Prune, one of the most celebrated restaurants in New York City, have cemented an image of the quintessential bad-ass chef. She's famously infamous, a woman whose conversation is casually peppered with F-bombs and whose classic food evokes the rapturous praise of the most discerning critics.

So it was a surprise when she sheepishly accepted a glowing introduction last week at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, an event presented in collaboration with Culinary Historians of the Piedmont (CHOPNC). Hamilton read from the newly-issued paperback edition of her best-selling memoir, Blood, Bones & Butter (Random House), which was celebrated this week by Food52 as its No. 1 "favorite food-related find" from 2011. Yes, she assured fans, it is updated to answer some of the questions everyone asks about her children, her Italian mother-in-law, and the ashes of her failed marriage.

The chapter she read recalled her liberating but at times frightening first extended trip abroad. Saved by a fortunate connection that took her from a freaky hostel in Amsterdam to a cozy attic room in small French village, she spent several weeks earning her keep in a working class cafe. It was there that she acquired an ease that allowed her the experience of learning "how we live and eat."

"Don't laugh," she begged of the capacity crowd as she allowed them a glimpse of the girl who two decades later would be named the Best Restaurant Chef in New York City by the James Beard Foundation. They hung on her every word -- even the French ones whose proper pronunciation, required by her demanding mother, made her feel "awkwardly pretentious."

"Can I stop? Ugh, I'll never read that one again," she said, clearly uneasy with the effusive accolades that accompany most everything she says or does. Or wears, like her chunky tortoiseshell glasses or fashionably greying hair caught in a clip, both of which drew admiring whispers.

Hamilton shares intensely personal details in her book, which is subtitled "The Inadvertent Education of a Relucant Chef." Arriving at a place where she could look back at the seeming chaos of her youth, and armed with an MFA in writing earned during a career detour, the book is evidence of a catharthsis -- a crystalization of the good and the "gruesome" that shaped a journey from her mother's kitchen to the culinary world's center stage.

She welcomed a wide array of questions, ranging from how this working mother managed to find the time to write -- "I wrote while nursing, in the middle of the night, and sometimes on the line on torn sheets of brown paper we use to cover the tables" -- to how she traded substance abuse for the addictive passion for writing.

"I'd worked in kitchens since I was 12," she said, noting her rise from dishwasher to "salad girl" to the first of many Star Is Born-like promotions the night a co-worker failed to show up. "It was good, but I always thought to myself, 'I'm living the wrong life.'"

Hamilton hocked her stainless and "took a sabbatical" from cooking to complete the MFA program at the University of Michigan. Nine months after graduation, however, she opened Prune. "I said to myself at the time, 'Put away the fantasy; you're never going to write a book,'" she recalled. Six weeks later, she was published for the first time in the New York Times. The beginnings of Blood, Butter & Bones soon followed.

"The hospitality industry taught me more about writing than grad school," Hamilton said. "It's all about taking care of people."

Hamliton is enjoying a guest gig writing about food for House Beautiful -- her April column, which she intended to finish in her Chapel Hill hotel room, will be about salmon -- but her next book will be a cookbook "with a practical approach to real food."

"I want to focus on the realities of buying food in a grocery store and turning out great meals for your family. At least," she said with a good-humored shrug, "that's the plan."

The quest for the perfect pound cake

2012-01-23T12:41:00.002-05:00

Brenda is a mild-manned co-worker, the sort who answers the phone in a friendly and professional tone, never misses a deadline and is glad to help colleagues solve problems. But there is one thing that gets on her nerves, and it can cause a meltdown as sure as leaving butter in the sun.

“I am on a quest. I am determined to make the best durn pound cake in North Carolina if it kills me,” said Brenda, who has baked several since the holidays and not found one that meets her high standards. “You use all that butter and eggs and it doesn’t work? I tell you, it’s about to piss me off.”

Brenda has scoured her cookbook collection, a 200-plus volume library that mostly celebrates Southern fare, for recipes that sound promising. She’s made pound cakes with whipping cream, sour cream and cream cheese. She’s made them in cold-start ovens and preheated ones. None have yielded the moist, tender crumb and toothsome crust she seeks.

“I made one this weekend that I felt sure would be the one, but it was a terrible disappointment,” she said. “I like to bring them to the office for feedback, but it went straight into the trash.”

Brenda laughs when saying this, but anyone who has tried to master a recipe with costly ingredients will appreciate her struggle. So in the interest of protecting the sanity of a very sweet lady, please share the best pound cake recipe you know – or share this request with others.

Making-Shit-Up-As-We-Go Night

2012-01-20T22:21:00.017-05:00

I decided to surprise my family tonight with a dinner I'd never made before - nor, I'd wager, has anyone else - but it turns out I was the one most surprised. One of my key ingredients was something other than I believed, and I made an unintentional almost-dessert while testing to see if cute cordial glasses could withstand a ban marie.

First, the side. I had a bunch of what I thought were lovely blushing turnips that in fact were rutabagas. Yes, I know, they are entirely different shapes, but it's been a long week. In the middle of a deadline work project today, I found myself thinking about some heavy cream lounging in my refrigerator. Which led, believe it or not, to thoughts of my not-turnips. Which inspired - still with me? - the notion of a gratin.

I trimmed and peeled four big actually-rutabagas and sliced them into thin discs with a mandoline. They seemed too firm to yield a lush gratin, so I added a splash of water, covered with plastic wrap and zapped on high for three minutes. While letting them steam for a few minutes more, I remembered I had a bag of pesto cubes in the freezer. I defrosted three cubes in the mike, as my mother-in-law calls it, and blended with 1/2 cup of heavy cream and an egg.

When cool enough to handle, I layered the drained rutabagas slices into a buttered 9x9 casserole - alternate direction between layers - and sprinkled about a half-cup of feta between the layers, reserving most of it to scatter on top. I then poured the cream mix over the slices, pressing down to compress layers into liquid, and dotted with butter. Bake uncovered at 375 degrees about 45-50 minutes or until tender, browned and bubbly.

Meanwhile, mix about 1/2 cup of plain, non-fat Greek yogurt, 2 tablespoons honey mustard, 1 tablespoon honey and the juice of half a juicy lemon until well blended. Arrange four six-ounce, liberally salt-and-peppered salmon portions on a roasting pan - Whole Foods had Alaskan salmon on sale for $7.99 today! - top each with a generous tablespoon of sauce and ignore for about 30 minutes. Refrigerate remaining sauce. Tuck salmon into oven with gratin and bake 15-18 minutes or until done. Remove from oven and rest on cooktop.

Ideally, salmon and gratin will finish at about the same time. Let gratin set at least five minutes before serving. I thought it was a bit underdone, but Tim and Graham liked that it was still a tad al dente. For the salmon, serve chilled yogurt-mustard sauce on the side, though you likely won't need it, along with a slice of fresh lemon, which I think you will. Pretty damn good for a throw-together dinner.

So the biggest surprise of the night was my experiment to see if I could safely cook in cordial glasses. To simulate a somewhat realistic cooking situation, I filled a 3.75-ounce glass with the same Greek yogurt, tucked it into a pot filled about halfway with water and covered tightly with foil. The recipe I was testing for bakes at 350 degrees, but I went ahead and popped it in the 375 degree oven for the entire cooking time.

The result was an intact glass and a concoction the consistency of, dare I say, faux cheesecake. I drained the accumulated steam, brought to room temperature and then covered the glass with plastic wrap and stashed it in the fridge. An hour later, I topped it with a dollop of homemade orange curd and gave it try. A bit tart, but promising.

Next time - in other words, tomorrow - I'll intentionally stir in some honey and maybe a splash of vanilla or citrus zest, or both.

Oranges two ways - with help from another

2012-01-15T16:13:00.003-05:00

A zested Cara Cara

I'm working to expand my orange awareness by trying new varieties this season. It's hard to imagine I'll find another type as perfect as the satsuma - then again, a birthday delivery of juicy Honeybells is expected next week.

Still, I spied a display of Cara Cara's at the market this week. The pinkish-red flesh and fresh flavor of these distinctive California navels have captivated many food writers lately, so I bought two with the idea of making curd - which, to my mind, naturally leads to making a batch of airy meringues.

I rely on a lovely and simple curd recipe suitable for canning by Rose Levy Beranbaum. I had just enough juice for a double batch, which comes together quickly thanks to her foolproof directions. The result is a sunny curd flecked with bursts of bright orange zest.

I base the cookies on the Lemon Meringue Clouds posted on Food52. I tweaked it the second time around to mix the vivid zest into the egg white mixture at the last moment - the damp zest looked clumpy scattered on the surface and dried to an unappealing dark tone. Since I didn't have orange extract, I used my satsuma triple sec (made with advice from the always clever @MrsWheelbarrow - details to come) and sprinkled them lightly with my own satsuma dust to tint the puffy meringues and punch up the flavor.

Note: The recipe says they'll last in an air-tight container for up to four days, but I can almost guarantee not a single one will be found in my house by sundown tomorrow.

Mark your calendar for slivovitz season

2012-01-01T23:27:00.002-05:00

Homemade slivovitz with
my grandfather's glasses.

The new year creates a great excuse to raise a glass of deep amber slivovitz, a sort of plum schnapps I associate with my grandfather and the familiar comforts likely enjoyed by Eastern European immigrant families who savored the taste of home while seeking a better life in America.

I never sipped it or, to be honest, thought to look for it at the liquor store. But when I saw a post by Cathy Barrow (@MrsWheelbarrow) back in August, I decided I had to try it. I'm so glad I did and, I think, so are the friends and family with whom I shared this luscious elixir at the holidays.

Her recipe used small Italian prune plums, which were not available the day inspiration hit. Wikipedia claims that the Damson plum is most traditional for slivovitz. I opted for a roundish, gold-flecked red variety that was seasonally abundant and on sale at the market.

Because they were larger than the variety cited, and I used a gallon-size Ball jar, the proportions had to be adjusted. One bottle of vodka barely covered the fruit, so I bought another and added an additional pound of plums and proportionately more sugar, orange peel and cinnamon. I also tucked in a small glass ramekin, pushing it down to fill and submerge to help keep the fruit from bobbling to the top.

Before adding more vodka, etc.

The only tricky part of the process is repeatedly turning the jar until the sugar is fully dissolved. I advise picking a jar that screws tight (the lid on mine only pushed on) to avoid any dribbles, which proved quite attractive to ants. Trust me: Like any inebriated houseguest, they can be annoyingly difficult to get rid of.

When the sugar was no longer visible and, to ensure the ants were fully vanquished, I wrapped the jar in a double layer of Target bags -- one from the bottom up, the other top down, then secured with tape -- and tucked it out of sight for the requisite three months. It emerged from its cocoon with the elegance of a Monarch and, once relieved of its spent ingredients, yielded a glistening pour with a pleasingly smooth finish.

Don't bother imagining what you can do with those booze-soaked plums. They have given their best to the brew and will be fit only for the trash -- or perhaps the mulch pile, so long as it's not near anything combustible.

So take that new 2012 calendar, flip to August and make a note to yourself to make some slivovitz. I certainly will.

The gift of family - and the friendship of a cook

2011-12-27T20:57:00.007-05:00

Tonight marks the last night of Hanukkah, and we've already lit candles and opened our final gifts - an experience made all the more special by the company of our "other boy," Graham's best friend, Ryan. But I actually received one of the best gifts ever back in August when Facebook made a suggestion that has proved to be one of my life's great understatements.

Jennie Schacht, Farmer's Market Desserts

Under the usually not-extraordinary heading "People You May Know" was an especially interesting name: Jennie Schacht. I'd noted it previously in posts by other culinarily inclined Facebookers, but for some reason I felt compelled that evening to learn more.

I clicked on her page and studied the friendly face and hands that lightly clutched a bounty of farmer's market fruit. I gazed at pictures of delicacies from her kitchen and was instantly reminded of my great aunt Yetta -- who I don't think I ever met but know as the legendary sister of my grandmother, the one who was so gifted in the kitchen that she could bake a cake in a hat box. My grandmother, not so much.

I never knew if Yetta's hat-box miracle was a sort of Depression-era compliment or a statement of fact, but it got me wondering. Here is another baker .. one with her name on three published cookbooks ... and the same last name as my grandparents. Was it possible that she and I were related?

Stranger connections have been made through social media, so I took a chance. At 11:33pm on August 14, I sent this message:

My grandparents were Lou and Ella Schact, who owned businesses in NYC when they were young and later retired to NJ, where I grew up. There also was family in Connecticut, I think. It's an uncommon name anymore -- I don't suppose we have a connection?

I shut down the computer and started to wonder if I'd made a mistake. Perhaps the Jennie on the other end would send the equivalent of a sorry-wrong-number reply, or just ignore me.

But she didn't. Her enthusiastic response, fired back just minutes later but not seen until the next day, was so fabulous that thinking of it still gives me goosebumps. Her grandmother was indeed the famous Yetta, sister to my grandmother Ella. And to make the connection more complete, her grandfather Ben was the brother of my grandfather Lou. Two brothers married two sisters, all long gone -- and now two cousins, happily connecting over decades and miles and a long-buried family dispute that took weeks of sleuthing to finally figure out.

Jennie, named for our grandmothers' mother, promptly sent a treasure trove of old photos and a family tree created by younger cousins for a bar mitzvah project. I can hardly describe the thrill of seeing my name on the tree, full of leafy branches I knew virtually nothing about. I quickly updated our twig and sent it back, thus staking a claim on seeds that took root and flourished mostly on the west coast.

This has been a joyous discovery, one that has connected me with other Schachts and their kin in the months since. I have especially enjoyed the fact of Jennie's celebrated cooking skills, which blossomed as a second career -- an accomplishment I likewise hope to enjoy. Knowing that it contained a chilled plum soup that remains a favorite of her 96-year-old dad, I quickly added her Farmer's Market Desserts (Chronicle Books) to my collection. If you enjoy seasonal cooking, you should do the same.

I've baked several entries from this beautifully illustrated and affectionately annotated book, which features a positively swoony endorsement from David Leibovitz and has earned raves from reviewers in various publications since its release in April 2010. I'm especially keen on her Cornmeal Cake with Fresh Corn & Berries, which seemed the perfect choice when my brother David and his girlfriend Michelle visited for Labor Day weekend.

I decided to use it as my guide once again for Tim's Dec. 24 birthday. We're not traditional birthday cake eaters here, so there's always an opportunity to hunt for something scrumptious to make. We settled on Apple & Honey Bundt Cake, a recipe Jennie suggests as a Rosh Hashanah dessert. Sticking with the seasonal theme, we tweaked it by substituting Harry & David Royal Riviera pears -- an annual and much appreciated Hanukkah gift from Tim's brother -- and even used pear cider for the glaze, creating the ideal birthday-Hanukkah-almost-New-Year's celebration cake.

Jennie shared the above recipe on her blog, Jennie in the Kitchen. Since she welcomes (and even sugggests) creative substitutions, I made a unplanned change by using yogurt when I realized I'd forgotten to buy buttermilk. The resulting cake was rich and moist, with shiny chunks of pear dotting every slice.

It's a delicious if untraditional birthday treat and, factoring in the bonus of being related to the chef, an unexpected sweet. Both are things to be savored.

A kugel and a cocktail! L'chaim!

2011-12-22T12:25:00.026-05:00

Grandma Ruthie, my mother, had little interest in lite or reduced-fat products but might have been swayed by some of the flavorful options available today. This updated version of her high-octane Hannukkah classic is just as satisfying but causes less guilt -- well, just enough, considering it's creamy roots are definitely Jewish.

If you have access to fresh ricotta (check Trader Joe's), ignore the calories and use that instead of the processed reduced-fat type. Also, feel free to substitute your favorite jam (but not mixed berry, trust me) or crispy cereal, or add handful of golden raisins or other dried fruit.

A special tip regarding golden raisins from my friend Norma Kessler, baker and pastry chef at the highly-regarded Carolina Inn in Chapel Hill, paired with related a cocktail suggested by me:

Plump golden raisins by simmering them for a few minutes in a small saucepan with equal parts dry white wine, orange juice, white rum and simple syrup. Drain and reserve liquid, stirring raisins into kugel mix before baking.
Add a jigger of rum to the remaining liquid, pour into shaker with crushed ice and shake vigorously. Strain into glasses with a few ice cubes; top with ginger ale and an orange slice for a festive sip.

16 oz. reduced-fat cottage cheese (such as, Light 'n Lively)

16 oz. fresh or reduced-fat ricotta

8 oz. reduced-fat sour cream

4-6 tbps. butter, melted and cooled, divided

12-15 oz. jar less-sugar apricot jam (or whatever you like)

1/2 cup golden raisins, optional (see above)

3 eggs, beaten

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 16 oz. bag egg noodles

4 cups Frosted Flakes (or similar crispy cereal), crushed

vegetable oil spray

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cook noodles in salted water 8 minutes or until al dente. Drain and rinse lightly with cool water.

While noodles are cooking, mix cheeses, sour cream, eggs and half of the melted butter in a large bowl until well blended. Add jam, salt and golden raisins (if using), stir again until jam is mostly incorporated -- a few blobs here and there are not only fine but also desirable (if you're lucky enough to get that slice). Add cooled noodles into mixture and fold until well blended.

Coat 9x13 baking pan with vegetable spray. Pour in mixture and lightly smooth top. Put cereal in zip-top bag and crush coarsely with mallet or rolling pin. Sprinkle evenly over mixture then drizzle with remaining melted butter. If you like, gild crumbs with a spritz of vegetable oil spray to make sure it's all coated.

Bake 45-50 minutes or until tester comes out clean and top is crispy and lightly browned. Let cool at least 10 minutes before slicing.

Sweet satsumas yield intense seasoning

2011-12-17T23:07:00.001-05:00

I've been a fan of oranges for a long time. As a child, while visiting my snowbird grandparents in Florida, I remember eating them fresh picked. Years later they became a pregnancy obsession, when for nearly nine months I'd eat several juicy globes daily. More recently, I've transferred my allegiance to petite clementines, whose fresh scent often attracts curious co-workers when I devour them at my desk.

In the past few weeks, however, I've become acquainted with the satsuma, the much sexier cousin whose deep flavor, abundant juice and shimmery zest has assumed a starring role in my kitchen -- where I often can be found eating them over the sink. I've made luscious curd and will soon sample homemade triple sec. I've used their juice to glaze roasted beets. I've also made satsuma dust.

That's right. Dust.

I got the idea from Pen & Fork, which recently posted a blog on Mandarin Orange Dust. I made some tweaks -- most notably, I had no luck slicing the satsumas with my mandoline, which tore these precious gems into shreds and wasted juice. The food processor fitted with a medium slicing blade yielded consistently wafer thin, glistening slices.

Making satsuma dust is a time-consuming process, but most of that time is hands off waiting for the slices to slowly dry in the oven. Depending on how thin the slices are, expect a minimum of two hours and up to about three. The slices need to be fully dried and cooled for effective processing in an electric grinder. The addition of kosher salt and sugar helps to achieve a fine grind as well as balance any bitterness from the peel.

About 2 pounds of fruit made a generous batch of powder, much of which I've packaged in 1 ounce containers to share with friends as holiday gifts. It would be good sprinkled on shortbread or sugar cookies, blended into a vinaigrette or used to punch up just about anything that could stand a citrus kick. Mixed with an equal amount of mild smoked paprika, I've used it to make a terrific dry rub for pork loin. Rub liberally on the meat, then seal in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least an hour. Let sit on the counter about 20 minutes to loose its chill before grilling.

Satsuma Dust
2-2 1/2 lbs. satumas (or other variety)
Kosher salt
Sugar

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

Wash and dry satsumas. Place two at a time in feed chute of food processor fitted with medium slicing blade. Use light pressure to ensure even slices and minimal juice loss. Arrange in single layer on parchment paper over baking sheets and place in oven.

Start checking after about 90 minutes but expect the drying to take two to three hours. Slices should be dry to the touch and deep orange or lightly browned. If necessary, pluck out quick-drying slices and let the rest continue cooking.

When all slices are dry and cooled, mound by the handful in bowl of a spice grinder. Top each load with 1/2 tsp. sugar and about 1/4 tsp. salt. Pulse until broken into bits, then grind to a fine powder. Transfer mix to a bowl and continue until done.

You may need to adjust salt/sugar at the end to ensure an appealing balance of flavor. The dust should pack an explosive orange punch without bitterness. If you need to add more salt or sugar, return a few spoonfuls of mix to the grinder to ensure consistent texture, then blend well into balance of dust before packaging.

Tiny California satsumas with big flavor have been available lately at our local Whole Foods store, which recently ran a special for $4.99 a bag -- plus one free if you bought three. They're wonderful, but they've got nothing on the bigger ones grown in Louisiana and sold by L'Hoste, the state's largest provider of organic citrus.

Sadly, the season has passed and this family-run operation will not have more satsumas until next year, but I was lucky to get one of the last boxes. The price sounded steep at $38, but they were packed with care and are almost shockingly delicious. They were sent with a handwritten invoice -- a sign of confident trust from a farmer that surely sees a lot of return business. I can hardly wait for next fall to get more.

Clockwise from top: Navel orange, L'Hoste
satsuma and smaller California variety.

What Would Judah Maccabee Eat? Like all good food, latkes should be local and seasonal

2011-12-13T21:56:00.003-05:00

This blog first appeared on Culinary Historians of Piedmont.

Passover is the Jewish holiday known for its Four Questions, but Hanukkah has a few of its own, and they are serious enough to tear families asunder at a time of togetherness.

Apple sauce or sour cream? Shredded or mashed potatoes? Potatoes or not potatoes? What about sweet potatoes, roasted beets, carrots or zucchini?

Marcie Cohen Ferris

The annual obsession to reinvent the traditional latke – broadly defined as a potato pancake – is a hot topic for culinary magazines, blogs and family dinner tables. The December issue of Bon Appetit, for example, features Celery Root and Mushroom Latkes with Onion Applesauce.

“Wow. It sounds kind of wonderful,” said Marcie Cohen Ferris, UNC Associate Professor of American Studies and author of Matzoh Ball Gumbo: Culinary Tales of the Jewish South (UNC Press). “I might make it, but not at Hanukkah. I’m kind of a traditionalist. If I made that for family, it would be like, ‘What’s wrong with the latkes?’”

Familiar tastes and smells are essential aspects of family traditions, Ferris said, and the latkes one savored in childhood tend to be the same sort they later serve as adults. While delicious any time of the year, these bites of golden-fried goodness will return to tables the world over when the eight-day celebration begins at sundown on Dec. 20.

Just as the Jewish tribes scattered, latke recipes traveled the globe and generated considerable variation. The Sydney, Australia-based blog Monday Morning Cooking Club last week posted a version elegantly topped with crème fraiche, smoked salmon and salmon roe. On Food52, the online food community led by Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs, posts range from more humble, traditional options to Korean Latkes and Methodist Latkes. Even Emeril Lagasse has a latke recipe posted on his website, and it’s surprisingly Bam!-free.

Still, some recipe mishigas leaves one scratching one's head. Southern Living, hardly the bible of Jewish cookery, this year suggests a sweet potato version that’s a close cousin to the one favored by Ferris and featured below. But in past years, it promoted ones with savory sides of salmon-olive or lemon-date “relish.” Go figure.

Then there are those who favor the packaged mixes, such as the ubiquitous Streits or Manischewitz boxes that appear in stores this time of year. “I’ve never had a box-mix latke,” Ferris said. “Holidays should make you slow down a little and enjoy things. It really doesn’t take much more effort to make them from scratch.”

Alan Adler of Streits, whose wife uses the family brand, said the company introduced its popular potato pancake mix in the late 1950s or early 60s – the same era in which Peg Bracken of “The ‘I Hate to Cook’ Book” fame became a pitchwoman for Bird’s Eye frozen vegetables. Such products were part of a new convenience marketing concept that encouraged tired housewives to embrace pre-packed products as a means to escape the drudgery of daily cooking. Ferris decries the era for “de-skilling women” and minimizing the inherent health benefits of fresh food.

So at Hanukkah, should Jews tear open a box of mix, visit the frozen aisle at Trader Joe or roll up their sleeves, pour forth the oil and scrape their knuckles on rough box graters? Or, to put it another way: What Would Judah Maccabee Eat?

It's a question that may stump many a rabbi or bubbe, but not Ferris. It’s all good, she said, so long as you start with local and seasonal ingredients.

“I think my favorite, because we live in North Carolina, is the sweet potato latke,” said Ferris, acknowledging North Carolina’s time-honored status as the national leader in production of sweet potatoes. “And I like them with applesauce and sour cream.”

Ferris sometimes bakes her latkes in a super-heated cast iron skillet, “but this time of year you really need to cook them in oil.” Oil is meant to recall the time when the Jews reclaimed their temple from invading Syrians and rededicated it by lighting the one remaining vial of oil that should have lasted a single day. Miraculously, it burned for eight days and nights, allowing the ancients to make more – and us moderns to fry these crispy nuggets without guilt.

Currently on sabbatical to write "The Edible South," which will trace the historical basis of Southern foods, Ferris said she discovered little variation in latke recipes when conducting research for "Matzoh Ball Gumbo."

"There is an American trend of adding whatever vegetable is on hand – kale, zucchini, carrots – and that’s certainly true in the South,” she said. “Southern cooks also tend to pep them up a bit. It wouldn’t be unusual to find Cajun spices in latkes made in New Orleans.”

If you really want to be Southern, she added, “You could run over to the Krispy Kreme and get some jelly doughnuts,” apparently giving the OK to skip making scratch sufganiyot so long as you keep things ‘old-school’ with your latkes.

No matter what recipe you choose, the bottom line for Ferris is that making latkes is a great excuse for a party. “Whether you’re making them for children or adults, it’s all about having a good time,” she said. “It’s a process, and that’s a wonderful ritual.”

North Carolina Sweet Potato Latkes with Apples
Recipe by Miriam Rubin, provided by Marcie Cohen Ferris

1½ pounds sweet potatoes (about 3 medium), peeled
1 large Granny Smith or Honey Crisp apple, unpeeled, cut into quarters and cored
1 large carrot, peeled (optional)

3 scallions, thinly sliced

4 large eggs

¾ cup matzoh meal or all-purpose flour

1 tsp. kosher salt

¾ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

Canola oil for frying

Fit a food processor with the grating/shredding blade. Cut the sweet potatoes into pieces that will fit in the food processor's feed tube. Using the food processor (or by hand, with the coarse side of a box grater), coarsely shred sweet potatoes and apple – and carrot, if using.

Transfer to a large bowl. Add the scallions, eggs, matzoh meal, salt and pepper. Mix well with your hands, until mixture is cohesive. Using a rough ¼-cup mixture for each, make 2½-to 3-inch patties, shaping them firmly yet gently, so they don't compact too much, yet don't fall apart. Place patties on a sheet of foil or baking sheet. Heat the oven to 200°F to keep latkes warm.

In a large, heavy skillet over medium heat, warm 3 tbps. oil until hot. Add 4 to 5 latkes; don't crowd the pan, and cook, turning once or twice, until nicely golden and crisp on both sides. (Watch carefully as these scorch easily.) Transfer cooked latkes to paper towel to drain, and then transfer to a platter to keep warm in the oven. Repeat frying latkes, adding more oil to pan as needed. Serve warm.

Makes 20 to 22 latkes.

Slap that stollen

2011-12-10T22:49:00.000-05:00

Watch baker Chris Astraikis of Guglhupf prep dough for some of the nearly 4,000 stollen he'll prepare to meet demand for the holiday classic: https://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=2849314031478&set=vb.1218277259&type=2&theater

Read more in my post on @Durhamfoodie: http://johannakramer.com/2011/12/09/forget-the-fruitcake-and-treat-yourself-to-classic-stollen/

Links to Two Previously Posted Blogs...

2011-12-07T12:51:00.000-05:00

I enjoyed writing two blogs that ran Thanksgiving week on Durhamfoodie and then lost track of linking them to my home base. The first was A Thanksgiving Toast to Eugene Walter, whose vivid writing about southern foodways is celebrated in “The Happy Table of Eugene Walter: Southern Spirits in Food and Drink” (University of North Carolina Press).

It's a wonderful book whose broad appeal extends well beyond the fall festivities -- indeed, it would make an excellent holiday gift for anyone who enjoys colorful and insightful writing, southern fare and the occassional tipple. Take for example his recipe for mint julep, which reads like a love letter to the cool clear waters that make Kentucky bourbon de rigueur for any well-stocked liquor closet.

The other blog was Have Jars, Will Travel: Building Sustainability, One Jam at a Time, a feature on Ben Filippo and Ali Rudel of This & That Jam, who have since celebrated the birth of their daughter Esme. They conduct community workshops with the goal of demystifying canning and encouraging support of local growers. Participants, who trim and chop ingredients -- some of which they have either never seen before or never seen in their fresh-from-the-dirt state -- all leave with a jar of still-warm jam they helped to make.

The couple relocated to Chapel Hill last summer from Brooklyn, where they sold such intoxicating flavors as Honey Pepita Butter and Tangerine Sea Salt Curd at the popular Brooklyn Flea Market. In January, their will launch their North Carolina enterprise using the community-supported agriculture (CSA) model. Jam Supporting Agriculture (JSA) canned goods will be made with seasonal ingredients and provided monthly by six-month or yearlong subscriptions. For details, visit their website.

Mussels with Artichokes and Capers

2011-12-04T21:03:00.000-05:00

This has been the weekend of North Carolina seafood. Last night we devoured a mountain of briny clams. Tonight, mussels.

We have a good-bad habit of almost always cooking mussels the same way -- the Mario way, with tomatoes and sweet red vermouth. Which is great. But tonight I decided to punch it up a little with some pantry staples. The dish went from the refrigerator to the table in under 15 minutes, but the good flavors linger longer.

1 cup red onion. diced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tbsp. olive oil
3 tbsp. capers, drained
1 can petite diced tomatoes
1 can artichoke hearts, drained
1/2 cup sweet red vermouth
2-3 lbs. fresh North Carolina mussels, scrubbed
salt and pepper

Sautee onion in olive oil 2 minutes, add garlic and continue until tender. Add artichokes and capers, stir to coat. Add tomatoes with juice and bring to a boil. Add vermouth and boil 1 minute.

Add mussels and cover. Shake pan occasionally until mussels open, about 4 minutes. Scoop out mussels and vegetables; transfer to serving bowl. Boil remaining stock to reduce, adding salt and pepper as needed. Pour over mussels and serve.

Excellent over sauteed greens with crusty bread. If greens are not your thing, consider pasta or polenta.

What’s on the menu? For Randy Fertel, it’s got to be local

2011-11-14T17:22:00.000-05:00

This blog was first published by Durham Foodie.

As the son of one of America’s best-known fine dining entrepreneurs – Ruth Fertel of Ruth’s Chris Steak House – Randy Fertel is understandably choosy about eating at restaurants.

“My mother always avoided the word ‘chain’ and called Ruth’s Chris a ‘family’ of restaurants, but chains pretty much are a deal breaker for me,” Fertel said during a recent call from his New York home. “It’s important to me that a restaurant sources its foods in a local and sustainable way.”

Randy Fertel’s memories of family meals and a flourishing restaurant business – and a life sometimes soured by the eccentric behavior of his charismatic parents – is chronicled in The Gorilla Man and the Empress of Steak: A New Orleans Family Memoir (University of Mississippi Press).

He will talk about the book in two local appearances: Nov. 15 at The Regulator Bookshop in Durham, and Nov. 16 as the guest of Culinary Historians of the Piedmont (CHOPNC) at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill.

The global Ruth’s Chris empire is no longer family owned, but it did make good use of the abundance of the bayou when his mother bought the 17-table Chris Steak House in 1965. Fertel said New Orleans’ post-Katrina restaurant scene has inspired a resurgent interest in locally-sourced foods – not only among the Crescent City’s best-known chefs, but also its home cooks and youngest diners.

“We lost so much with Katrina, and the impact is far from over, but today chefs and communities are reconnecting with the land and have a real appreciation for what it provides,” Fertel said. “Through the Ruth U. Fertel Foundation, which supports education, I’ve been able to bring Alice Waters’ Edible Schoolyard to New Orleans. We have five projects and will add another soon. It’s as important that children and families understand where food comes from as it is for top chefs.”

Fertel believes the farm-to-table movement is more than a hip dining trend as it has deep roots in family traditions. “My mother would talk about her great-grandmother, who would send the men out at Thanksgiving to dig up 17 bags of oysters from the bayou,” he said. In turn, the elder cook would create “the best, richest oyster stuffing in the world” – which still graces his groaning holiday table every year.

While familiar with the top spots in New Orleans and New York, where he divides his time, Fertel said that no matter when he eats he seeks out the elements that made the original Ruth’s Chris a legendary success.

“Of course people knew they’d get a great meal, but they also got great service,” Fertel said. “The trend at the time was for the best restaurants to be very formal, and they all had male servers only. My mother hired people like herself: single mothers with spunk who she could count on to work hard. Her dining room was friendly and warm.”

Knowledgeable servers not only see to a diner’s comfort but also ensure that they “see the chef’s hand on the menu.” The deft assistance that helps to define a chef’s inspiration – as well as suggest a satisfying appetizer-to-dessert experience – is the best way to cultivate regular customers, he said.

As for the dishes created in his own kitchen, Fertel described himself as “a typically male cook.” “I love to make classic New Orleans-style foods and things that cook in pots: braises and roasts. There is nothing quite like a good roast chicken,” he said. “I’m an intuitive cook but I find myself using cookbooks a lot more lately. I’ve realized I can stretch myself if I have a great book as a guide.”

There is only one recipe included in Fertel’s memoir, and it’s not a dish made famous at Ruth’s Chris. Instead, it was a meal prepared by the maid he interviewed and hired at age 10, when his mother was too busy to get home for the appointment. Earner (“er-nah”) Sylvain worked for the family for 42 years.

“My mother liked to say she taught Earner how to cook, but she was a terrific cook when she came to us,” Fertel said. “Her crawfish bisque was the best I’ve ever had.”

Fertel shared Earner’s Crawfish Bisque for @Durhamfoodie followers, but be warned: you’ll need about 40 pounds of bayou-fresh crawfish, which is not exactly local or sustainable. This recipe will feed your family plus everyone in your neighborhood.

EARNER’S CRAWFISH BISQUE
Recipe Courtesy Randy Fertel, from The Gorilla Man and the Empress of Steak: A New Orleans Family Memoir

1 sack crawfish (about 40 pounds)

Scald crawfish in almost boiling water for about 15 minutes. Drain and cool. Peel crawfish and save the fat in a separate bowl. Grind the crawfish. Clean about 200 heads to stuff.

For the Gravy:
2 large onions
4 ribs celery
¼ bell pepper
4 cloves garlic
10 sprigs of parsley
1 cup cooking oil
2 cups flour (about)
4 tsp. tomato paste (heaping)
1/2 of crawfish fat
9 cups hot water
2½ cups ground crawfish tails
5 tsp. salt
2 tsp. red pepper
6 green onions

For the Heads Stuffing:
2 large onions
3 ribs celery
¼ bell pepper
4 cloves garlic
10 sprigs parsley
rest of ground crawfish tail
¼ cup cooking oil
rest of crawfish fat
2 eggs, beaten
2 cups dry bread crumbs (or more)
4 tsp. salt
2 tsp. red pepper
flour
6 green onions

To make gravy:
Grind onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic and parsley. Make roux with oil and flour. Stir constantly until browned. Add ground seasonings. Cook on low fire about 30 minutes. Add tomato paste and crawfish fat. Cook about 30 minutes. Add hot water and let cook on low fire. Add ground crawfish tails, salt and pepper. Cook on high fire about 20 minutes.

To make stuffing for heads:
Preheat oven to 400º F. Grind onions, celery, bell pepper, garlic and parsley. Fry crawfish tails and ground seasonings in hot cooking oil; cool. Add crawfish fat and eggs. Mix in bread crumbs, salt and pepper. Stuff heads. Dip the stuffed part of head in flour and place on cookie sheet. Bake for 20 minutes.

Add baked crawfish heads to gravy. Cook on low fire about one hour. More hot water may be added if too thick. Stir carefully.

Serve in soup bowls over rice.

Garnish with green onions.

A jelly good enough for Jean!

2011-11-14T00:06:00.000-05:00

This has been a damn good weekend. On Saturday, I drove up to A Southern Season in Chapel Hill, where Jean Anderson -- the James Beard Cookbook Hall of Fame goddess who happens to make her home close by -- was appearing for a book signing event.

I was fortunate to meet her a few weeks ago at a swank event to launch Sandra Gutierrez's wonderful "The New Southern-Latino Table." I'd had a brief exchange with Jean earlier that same day on her Facebook page, where she had posted a photo of a baked sweet incorporating wild persimmons, which will be featured in a book scheduled for 2012 release. I told her that I had been foraging wild persimmons at the time and used them to make jelly, and she kindly wrote back.

I first realized the reach of Jean's influence when her name was reverently dropped by Sara Moulton, on whose live show she occasionally appeared in the early glory days of the Food Network. I was happy to hear Sandra also credit Jean as a gracious mentor and immediately told Tim that I had to find a way to say hello. I eventually made my way to her table, where she was engaged in a lively conversation, and waited for my chance.

Andrea Weigl, Beard-honored food writer for The News & Observer, saw me and asked if I was waiting to meet Jean. "You'll wait a long time," she joked. "She knows everyone."

Andrea leaned in, hugged Jean like a favorite aunt and introduced me. The timing could not have been better. I grabbed a chair and wound up chatting with her for so long that Tim, who had driven separately, decided to head home and let me savor the moment.

I had planned on ordering her new and highly regarded "Falling Off the Bone" for Tim as an anniversary gift -- braising is his favorite style of cooking -- and, on Jean's recommendation, decided to hunt for a copy of her out-of-print "Green Thumb Preserving Guide" as well. I brought both with me to the book signing on Saturday, as well as my stained copy of "The New Processor Cookbook," which I bought in the early '80s when it really was new after buying a gizmo called a Cuisinart.

I also brought a little jar of wild persimmon jelly, which I decided to give her in thanks for the many great meals and inspiration she has provided. She accepted it and allowed me to get a photo.

About an hour ago, I checked my Facebook page and found that she had sent me a lovely message:

Jean: Great to see you yesterday at A Southern Season, Jill. Your wild persimmon jelly is PERFECT! Had some this a.m. on whole-wheat toast. DELICIOUS! Thanks so much for sharing! ja

Me: You are awesome! Thank you so much for these kinds words. You can't imagine how stunned and happy I am to read them. Tim was thrilled to have his copy of "Falling Off the Bone" personally inscribed. He made your succulent slow cooker pork shanks today. Can't wait to work our way through the book!

So here I am, giddy with the knowledge that my jar of jelly was on Jean Anderson's breakfast table this morning. Tim turned in early and doesn't know yet, but Graham has been high-fiving me with shared joy. I believe I'm going to have some wild persimmon jelly on whole-wheat toast for breakfast tomorrow.

A life in food: Sustaining tradition and fostering fine dining

2011-11-13T20:19:00.000-05:00

This blog was first published by Culinary Historians of the Piedmont (CHOPNC).

Randy Fertel

The notion of sustainable, farm-to-table eating is the hot trend in home cooking and fine dining, but it’s nothing new. It’s how Randy Fertel grew up in New Orleans, and how his parents and their parents – indeed, the whole extended family – made its indelible mark on modern dining.

“My mother was a child of the Depression, but she always said she never realized they were poor,” he said of Ruth Fertel – the Ruth of Ruth’s Chris Steak House, the international chain that his mother established in the Crescent City in 1965. “There was always food available at arm’s reach. Their larder was the most unbelievable Eden. Oysters were there to be grappled from the swamp. Duck, rabbit, red fish, shrimp. It went on and on.”

Randy Fertel’s memories of family meals and a flourishing restaurant business – and a life sometimes soured by the eccentric behavior of his charismatic parents – is chronicled in The Gorilla Man and the Empress of Steak: A New Orleans Family Memoir (University of Mississippi Press). He will talk about the book as the guest of Culinary Historians of the Piedmont (CHOPNC) at 7 p.m. Nov. 16 at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill.

Fed up with working as a poorly paid lab tech at Tulane, his mother cemented her reputation as a bold risk-taker when she bought the 17-table Chris Steak House – which later became Ruth’s Chris – after seeing it offered in a three-line ad. She parlayed a $22,000 mortgage on the house won in a bitter divorce settlement into one of the most successful “families” of restaurants, a term Fertel always said she preferred over “chain.”

She created a sort of fusion dining experience that paired the abundance of the bayou with the Old World techniques already in use at the restaurant. Its former owner taught her his methods of cooking steak, including a finishing technique that became an icon of the Ruth’s Chris empire.

“The guy she bought it from was from Plaquemines Parish, where she was from, but his family was from Croatia,” Fertel said. “I imagine in Croatia they used oil, but at the restaurant they switched to the butter culture in New Orleans. This tradition of steak with butter poured over it was probably a transformation of an Old World treatment. That became a signature: steak that sizzled with butter.”

Another enduring hallmark of the Ruth’s Chris menu – its decadent creamed spinach – tracks directly to Fertel’s great-uncle Martin. “I was told only recently by a cousin that this was his recipe,” said Fertel, who is as generous about crediting others as his mother was stingy. “If you got sick, that’s what would be made for you. It was our family’s chicken soup.”

Ruth Fertel added another special element to the dining atmosphere that was missing from the era’s high-end haunts. “She hired people like herself: single mothers with spunk who she could count on to work hard,” Fertel said. “Unlike Galatoire’s and other more formal restaurants, her dining room was friendly and warm.”

The promise of excellent food and discrete service proved immensely popular. Regular customers could count on finding their favorite cocktail waiting at their table. Romantics at curtained banquettes could signal a call for seclusion by turning on a tiny light – a classed-up sock-on-the-door, if you will. And politicos regularly booked private rooms to conduct what ordinarily would be termed the public’s business.

“There’s a famous story about Gov. Edwin Edwards – who was known as the Ragin’ Cajun – bringing his entourage in one night and asking for Shirley, a waitress who was famous for telling jokes,” Fertel said. “She joined him at the head of the table and asked him to put his hand in a doggie bag, and Edwards obliged. ‘I told them in the kitchen that once I got you into the sack you wouldn’t know what to do,’ Shirley said. It was typical of the sort of thing that would happen there. You could tell his entourage all looked at him for permission before laughing.”

Not everything at Ruth’s Chris or the Fertel household was so good humored, however. Fertel writes about his parents’ ugly divorce, his mother’s obsession with work over family, and his father’s famous campaign for mayor, which was based on a single-topic platform of getting a gorilla for the local zoo. The so-called Gorilla Man suffered an embarrassing defeat but later made good on his pledge with a pair of gorillas named Red Beans and Rice.

After working his way up from busboy to manager, and watching the family-owned business turn into an international conglomerate, Fertel eventually made the heartbreaking decision to sue his mother after a multi-million dollar business deal went bad. The resulting rift took years to heal.

Fertel said he came to a new, if different, appreciation of his parents in their waning years. He now oversees two foundations bearing the family name: The Fertel Foundation, which celebrates whistleblowers and investigative journalists, and the Ruth U. Fertel Foundation, which supports education in New Orleans. Through the latter, Fertel worked with another legendary female in the food world – Alice Waters of Chez Panisse – to bring the Edible Schoolyard to New Orleans.

“I write in the book about my belief that my mother and Alice Waters are the two women who have had the largest impact on the way we eat in America,” Fertel said. “They did it in different ways, but they both had strong messages and refused to compromise.”

While the Ruth’s Chris empire grew horizontally, and eventually out of control, Fertel said he admires Waters for “expanding vertically.”

“She went down into the real depths of what food means and what it means to use it,” he said. “There’s only one Chez Panisse, but she’s seeded the universe with chefs. Why do we know today where a piece of pork comes from? It’s because Alice started listing it on her menus in the early 1970s.”

Working with Waters, Fertel planted the first Edible Schoolyard in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina as a way to help feed and reconnect communities. Five such projects are now flourishing, with another on the way.

“We are going to add one at a school that’s being built with FEMA money. It means a lot to me because it replaces the school I attended as a child,” Fertel said. “It’s all very moving to see what’s grown from the little seed I helped to sow.”

Cranberry Apple Chutney

2011-10-30T19:00:00.005-04:00

One of the first recipes I remember clipping and saving was for Cranberry Apple Chutney. I don't know much about its origins, other than it likely ran in the early 1980s in the food section of The Indianapolis Star, where I was hired as a reporter after college. It has been my must-have Thanksgiving side ever since -- except for the bleak years when the recipe went missing.

Those were dark, pre-internet days. I begged for copies from friends with whom I enthusiastically shared the recipe and tried several variations -- one boasting the endorsement of the White House kitchen. Nothing was quite right. Even my mother-in-law, who politely ate an annual dab even though it's not her thing, was heartbroken on my behalf.

Last year, however, when my husband declared that it was time to clear the attic of long-ignored boxes and install additional insulation, I experienced one of those moments of cosmic bliss where I was reunited with this now yellowed bit of newsprint. I made a batch right away, and several since. I have even enshrined the recipe in a frame that sits in a place of distinction in my kitchen.

Other that that one spontaneous batch, this remains a creation I needlless indentify expressly with Thanksgiving. Its tangy sweetness would be just as delicious slathered on a turkey or grilled cheese sandwich today, or in the middle of summer. And, preserved in small jars, it could be the enjoyed and emptied instead of spoiling amid the forgotten excess of post-holiday leftovers.

I made a triple batch (two full bags of fresh cranberries) for canning purposes, making just a few amendments to the original: I skipped the cloves, because I despise them, and while I've always used Granny Smith apples in the past I used honeycrisps because they are awesome. To extend safe shelf life, I also added a half-cup of cider vinegar and 2 cups of white sugar, neither of which resulted in a significant flavor variation.

When done, the cranberries should be mostly popped, or easily crush with light pressure from a spoon. The texture will be similar to jam or conserve. The mix will appear a bit wet when hot but, trust me, will set up nicely when cooled.

Process in prepared jars for about 10 minutes in a boiling water bath. Remove to heatproof surface and leave undisturbed until fully cooled. Be sure to bring some if you are traveling for Thanksgiving -- you never what sort of suspect cranberry concoction you'll find on even the most elegant table -- but don't wait until then to enjoy. I brought a jar to a canning workshop this weekend and spilled it over a block of cream cheese. Serve with crackers and be sure to grab a bite for yourself before it's gone.

Part II: Pear Sage Jelly

2011-10-24T22:36:00.001-04:00

In addition to the bounty from this weekend's excellent pear-pumpkin butter, I had the good fortune to think ahead and save the pear peelings and cores to produce an impressive yield of stock. Its pale color and potent aroma was just the stuff to make jelly.

I wanted to pump it up with something and eventually settled on sage from our garden, which has flavored countless meals all summer. I made a simple infusion with 1 packed cup of fresh-picked leaves and a cup of fruity white wine, which yielded about 2/3 cup of heady sage-pear stock. I then used the Sure-Jell insert's directions for apple jelly, which seemed a reasonable equivalent.

The resulting jelly finished with a fairly soft set that firmed up perfectly in the fridge. The only change I'd make is to add a handful of the smallest sage leaves you can find in the last few minutes of boiling instead of dropping them into the prepared jars just before filling. I had hoped the leaves would scatter and "float" in the clear jelly, but instead they gathered on the surface. Live and learn.

Pear Juice

peel and cores from about 6.5 lbs pears

16 cups water

Bring mix to a boil the reduce to a simmer for about 15 minutes. Remove from heat and cover, allowing to steep for another 30 minutes, or longer if you got busy doing something else -- like make pear-pumpkin butter. Pour into jelly bag over a large pot. Leave it alone for about an hour. Resist the urge to squeeze the bag.

Ditch trimmings and refrigerate stock until ready to use. I used about half of the stock to make the jelly.

Pear-Sage Jelly

1 cup fresh sage leaves, packed

1/4 cup tiniest sage leaves, reserved

1 cup fruity white wine

6 2/3 cups pear stock (more or less*)

9 cups sugar

1/2 tsp. butter

1 pkg. Sure-Jell pectin

Coarsely chopped 1 cup sage leaves and place in small pot with wine. Bring to a boil then simmer 3 minutes. Take off heat and cover, allowing to steep for 30 minutes. Strain and pour stock into measuring cup. You should have about 2/3 cup.

Add enough pear stock* to measure 7 cups. Add package of pectin and butter to juice and bring to a boil. When it hits a full rolling bubble, add sugar all at once and stir until incorporated.

Bring mix to a second boil; just before the lava-like bubbles erupt, add the reserved handful of tiny sage leaves. Stir often until it reaches a boil that cannot be stirred down. Give it 1 full minute then remove from heat. Skim foam well before ladling into prepared jars.

Finish in boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Turn off heat and leave in water for about 5 minutes, then remove to heatproof surface to cool completely. Made about a dozen half-pints.

Pear-Pumpkin Butter

2011-10-23T20:54:00.004-04:00

I've been planning to make pumpkin butter this year but wanted it to be a little different -- a little lighter and fruitier, but with the same undeniable taste of fall. My pear-pumpkin butter turned into a two-day process, but it was time well spent.

I hadn't intended for this to get so involved, but when I asked Tim to bring me two small pumpkins from the farmer's market I expected little orange globes and not the voluptuous baking variety he delivered. The 8-pound orb I used had a dull exterior but bright flesh that filled the kitchen with an intoxicating aroma. I roasted it into tender submission.

Tim helped me peel and core about 6 1/2 pounds of firm pears, a mix of green D'anjou and red Bosc, chosen because they happened to be the varieties on sale. I reserved the trimmings to make pear stock for jelly; more about that later. The chopped pears joined the pumpkin pulp in a stock pot -- use your biggest one with a heavy bottom -- along with a quart each of pear nectar and water, spices and sugar. The rest takes patience and a lot of time, but a lot of that time is unattended. Indeed, I slept through much of it. I didn't even both with a food mill, opting instead to buzz the brew with a stick blender.

Because the process of making fruit butter is more forgiving than that of jam or jelly, consider the directions below more a recommendation than a carved-in-stone recipe. And have lot of jars ready because it will reward you with plenty to savor and share.

1 8 lb. baking pumpkin

6 1/2 lbs. pears

1 cup cider vinegar, divided

1 cup water, divided

1 quart pear nectar or juice (such as Loozo)

1 quart water

1 tsp. fresh ground cardamon (about 20 pods)

1/2 tsp. fresh grated nutmeg

1-2 vanilla pods

3 cups sugar, divided

2 cups brown sugar

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Cut pumpkin in half and scoop out seeds; reserve to roast later. Cut each half into four pieces and arrange in two baking dishes. Pour 1 cup of cider vinegar and 1 cup of water into measuring cup; distribute evenly over pumpkin in both pans.

Cover with foil and roast about 45-50 minutes or until tender. Remove foil and turn pumpkin pieces; return to oven and continue cooking uncovered about 20 minutes or until most liquid is absorbed. Remove pans from oven. When pumpkin is cool enough to handle, scrape flesh into a large heavy-bottom pot.

Peel and core pears; reserve trimmings for jelly stock (details to follow). Chop pears coarsely and add to stock pot with pear nectar, remaining water, spices and vanilla pods. My stash of pods were fairly dry so I used two and snapped each into inch-long pieces before tossing them into the pot.

My standard jelly pot (the base of my pasta pot) turned out to be too small for the job so I transferred about half of the mixture into my crockpot. To each container add 1 cup sugar and 1 cup brown sugar; mix well. I set the crockpot to high and used a medium-high flame under the rest to cook at a more aggressive boil.

Stir every 20-30 minutes, especially the pot over the burner, being sure to sweep the bottom of both to prevent scorching. When the pears are soft enough to crush with the back of a spoon, use a stick (immersion) blender and process for several minutes. It doesn't need to be perfectly smooth, but let it rip until no pear chunks are obvious.

My goal was to reduce both batches enough to combine it all for an overnight simmer in the uncovered crockpot. After about three hours of mostly unattended cooking, the mix filled the crock to the brim. I left it on the low setting overnight to minimize the chance of scorching. Return to high in the morning and stir every half hour, or whenever you get curious. Be warned that the lava-like mix may spit while bubbling.

How long it will take to be "done" will depend on how thick and/or sweet you like your fruit butter. I added the remaining cup of sugar in the last hour to boost the sweetness, which also helped to boil out the remaining liquid. Place a few spoonfuls in a small bowl and refrigerate 5-10 minutes to check if you like the texture.

Leave about a half-inch of head space in prepared jars -- try to include a bit of vanilla pod in each jar -- and process in a boiling water bath for 15 minutes. Turn off heat and leave in water about 5-10 minutes to settle, then remove and set jars on heatproof surface to cool undisturbed.

I used a variety of jar sizes but the batch yielded about a dozen pints, with a little leftover for the fridge. My first use was to dollop on fig bread and make sandwiches with ham and thin slices of honeycrisp apple. It tasted like something you'd spend too much on for lunch at a nice cafe.

I suggested to our favorite mostly-vegetarian neighbor that it also would make a delicious grilled sandwich with apple and cheddar. She apparently imagined a whole apple in a sandwich and dismissed the idea as crazy. Apparently, after she had time to think it over, she changed her mind.

Carolina Shrimp Burgers

2011-10-18T23:57:00.000-04:00

Last week, Whole Foods ran a special on fresh shrimp -- fairly large, sweetly plump specimens for $7.99 per pound. I dispatched Graham with my credit card and directed him to arrive early to snag about three pounds.

We sauteed about half the bounty that night with tender green beans in a house-style piccata sauce that employs variable amounts of capers, butter, white wine and my all-time favorite condiment, Gulden’s Zesty Honey Mustard. Sure, we pass the Grey Poupon now and then, but this golden stuff is too good to limit to the occasional ham sandwich.

The whole thing took about the same time to prepare as a pot of couscous steamed in vegetable stock. It was fabulous, and proof that really fresh seafood can be prepared simply and quickly -- with a fairly fancy results -- for a minimal amount of money and effort.

I planned to save the other half to make shrimp burgers the next day, but Olive’s culinary curiosity exerted itself. Turns outs that about a cup’s worth of raw shrimp – consumed standup style like chic countertop dining in a nice tapas restaurant – is the simplest preparation of all.

The remaining shrimp, perhaps just more than a pound, was transformed into sweet, crispy sandwiches for lunch. I had planned to use fresh bread crumbs but my bread of choice had gone stale and resisted my Cuisinart’s mighty effort to slash the chunks into feathery bits. Instead, I used about a half-cup of moist leftover couscous, but use a similar amount of whatever you’ve got on hand should work.

Makes about 5

1-1¼ lbs. fresh shrimp, peeled½ cup cooked couscous
¼ cup sweet onion, diced
½ small jalapeno, diced (or more, to taste)
1 tsp. kosher salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 egg white
2-3 tbps. canola oil
Soft potato rolls
Tartar sauce

Place first seven ingredients in work bowl of food processor. Pulse-chop into coarse blend; shrimp should still be chunky and not ground into a gummy paste. Use ice cream scoop to measure about 5 balls of shrimp mix. Set on a plate and chill in refrigerator at least 15 minutes.

Pour oil into nonstick skillet and warm over medium-high heat. When oil is shimmery, add shrimp mix, flattening lightly to burger shape and size. Cook undisturbed about 3-4 minutes or until golden brown and crisp. Turn carefully and finish cooking.

Serve on toasted potato rolls with a generous smear of tartar sauce.

Late season tomato tart

2011-10-10T20:45:00.004-04:00

My neighbor has pulled the tomato plants from her farm, leaving just a few trays of late-summer globes left to enjoy. I grabbed a handful this weekend with the goal making fried green tomatoes, but instead thinly sliced a mix of green and red to make a beautiful brunch tart.

1 pie crust
8 large eggs
2 tsps. herbes de provence, divided
1 tsp. kosher salt
4 tbsp. creme fraiche, divided
8-9 medium firm tomatoes, green and red

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

If using a ready pie crust, let sit on counter about 15 minutes to become pliable. Dust surface with flour and roll to smooth dough and stretch just enough to fit into a fluted tart pan with removeable bottom. Tuck into pan, pressing into fluted sides. Crumble a sheet of parchment paper then smooth and lay over crust. Fill with pie weights -- I use a mix of mix of beans and rice that can use saved and resued -- and blind bake for about 7 minutes.

In the meantime, core tomatoes and slice thinly; use a food processor or mandoline, if available. Transfer to colander and let drain about 5 minutes, then blot dry. Set tart pan on a baking sheet. Arrange tomato slices in concentric circles atop blind-baked crust. Set tart pan on a baking sheet.

Break eggs into a mixing bowl. Add a teaspoon of herbes de provence, salt and 2 tablespoons creme fraiche. Whip until frothy then pour over tomatoes. Transfer tart pan on baking sheet to oven. Bake about 35-40 minutes until well set but still a bit wet on top.

Remove to cooling rack. After 10 minutes, lift tart from pan ring. Continue cooling another 10 minutes or until it looks like it will slice cleanly. Top slices with a dollop of creme fraiche and sprinkle with herbes de provence.

It's still summer in my coffee cup

2011-10-09T17:51:00.006-04:00

Yes, I am well aware that if is officially fall. I wore pantyhose last week and the menfolk in my house already have twice set the fire pit ablaze in our backyard.

This time of year I usually, reluctantly, stop my ritual of freezing coffee cubes for my daily fix. Usually, I return to hot chai. But not this year. Not yet.

I have given up freezing coffee cubes, but I am still firmly entrenched in my morning routine. The difference, and perhaps the reason for my continued interest, is that I've learned how to make a cold-brew concentrate that reduces the acidity while producing a bountiful exilir that's about as simple to prepare as it is to enjoy.

While I didn't deploy Larry's Beans for this batch, I did learn the trick during a recent tour of the company's uber-sustainable business near downtown Raleigh. Their site-roasted coffee is terrific, their ethic is responsible, and their staff -- led by the charismatic Larry himself -- makes you feel even better about buying local. Whether you're local or not, next time you need coffee, consider Larry's Beans.

That said, since Tim has been enjoying Larry's rich Ethopian and Mexican blends for breakfast -- and I still had an unopened tin of Trader Joe's respectable fair-trade Bolivian Blend, which I've used before and like, that's what I used. I followed the simple ratio they used at Larry's to make a massive cooler of cold-brew coffee for the open house: 1 pound of coarsely ground coffee to one gallon of water.

Larry enthusiastically shows off the repurposed
cooking oil that fuels their delivery vehicle.

Since I'm the only who likes iced coffee here, and I only consume one travel-mugful daily, I halved that sum to use 8 ounces of freshly-ground coffee to a half-gallon of water. Make sure the container you choose is large enough to accommodate the grounds; I barely made it with the jar shown.

Use a funnel to make sure every crumble of coffee all gets into the jar; I found a canning funnel is perfect for the task. Stir between grinds to incorporate and make room for the next addition.

When done, refrigerate at least 24 hours, swishing the jar a few times whenever you get curious enough to check on progress. Next day, strain well into a clean jar. I use a jelly bag to catch all the grounds, then rinse and repeat. If you don't have a jelly bag, use several layers of damp cheesecloth or, if all else fails, damp white paper towel (avoid colorful printed varieties) in a colander. The resulting concentrate is decadently aromatic and lusterous.

Use about 1 ounce of concentrate per 6 ounces of water. I use an old measure saved from expensive chai mix to transfer 2-3 scoops into a tall travel mug filled about a third of the way with ice, then top with water -- be sure to leave room for a good glug of milk. I also add a generous shake of stevia per mug to sweeten.

I got creative with my first batch of concentrate and hope to share a success story in a few weeks. I had about two-thirds of a bottle of a middling brand tequila leftover from a canning project. I read that Patron recently introduced a coffee-infused brand, so I figured, why not? I added 4 ounces of concentrate and 3 tablespoons each of coarsely ground coffee and sugar. I shook it faithfully for a few day then tucked it away to do its thing. If anyone I know receives some as a holiday gift, you'll know it worked,

Friends don't let friends make bad bok choy

2011-09-27T20:36:00.001-04:00

Forgive me, friends, for we have ruined perfectly good, farm-fresh bok choy. It is my hope to save you from similar disaster.

Usually, we trim and slice bok choy, tossing the crunchier bits first in the wok and adding the leafy greens for just the last minute. A little oil, a little garlic, maybe a splash of white balsamic vinegar and some salt, and it's done.

It's possible that a braise would work, but not the one we tried. Simmered in a little vegetable stock with a sprinkle of Asian spice, it had good flavor but quickly turned to mush-- or, as Tim put it, "like snot."

I concede the dogs liked it, and especially liked the stock dribbled on their kibble, but it did not redeem the failure. Also, we only let them eat a few pieces for fear of a fiberific experience.

Savor the End of Summer with Basil Jelly

2011-09-26T20:39:00.002-04:00

Even hundreds of miles away in Ohio, my mother-in-law could sense the shift.

"Grandma just called to ask if Dad is planting pansies this weekend," Graham said on Saturday as we both watch Tim bag faded summer annuals and tuck in cheerful yellow pansies. "How did she know that?'

Because as much as I hate to admit it, it's time. Despite a miserably hot and humid summer, I try each year to turn a blind eye to the onset of fall. While the Twittersphere seems full of people happily making chili, talking about football and even hauling out cardigans, the appearance of my leggy basil plant launched me into anticipatory mourning for leafless trees and the horror of winter tomatoes.

Tim gently suggested that it might be time to put the basil out of its misery. Even the once plush sage plant that has been its faithful neighbor has given up and become bug feed.

I freeze pureed basil evey year to make winter pesto and pump up soups and rice, but I felt like I needed one more fresh use before bidding it farewell.

I've been in a canning frenzy lately, so I started to wonder if you could make basil jelly much in the tradition of mint jelly. There is considerable variation of the theme available online, but since we had already agreed to hack the poor thing to bits I wanted to be sure I got it right on the first try.

I have no shame in admitting that I relied on the Sure-Jell insert, which is sort of like Jelly-Making for Dummies, but it's never steered me wrong. I wanted to tweak it in some original way, however, and opted to trade some of the infusion water with a sweet reisling. Though its color is pale, I decided against enhancing it with food coloring. One taste and you'll know just how lushly green it is.

2 cups firmly packed fresh basil leaves
2 tbsp. smallest, intact leaves from the bunch
3 1/2 cups water
1 cup reisling
1 pkg. Sure-Jell
5 cups sugar
1/2 tsp. butter (optional)

Prepare canning jars and lids. I've got the timing down pretty well and know when to pull jars from the water to fill with hot jelly. If you're not sure (or don't want to be rushed), line up jars upside-down on a clean dish towel; top with another fresh towel, sweater-style, to help them stay warm. Keep lid on water-bath canner to retain heat or maintain on low heat setting.

Wash and pat dry basil leaves, separating smallest ones for later use. Chop finely or, better yet, toss in food processor and buzz. Scrape pulversized puree into non-reactive pot. Pour 1 cup reisling into work bowl and pulse to incorporate any basil liquid and remaining puree. Pour into same pot, along with water.

Warm over medium-high heat then add box of pectin, stirring well to combine. You can add a little butter to reduce foam; I usually do but I'm not sure it makes much difference. Stirring often, bring to a full rolling boil.

Add sugar all at once. Stir with gusto until it all melts, then occassionally as it starts to boil. When it hits the boiling stage that can't be stirred back down, watch the clock for one full minute then remove from heat.

If there is an accumulation of foam -- more accurately called scum -- be sure to remove it, especially if you plan to give these as gifts. No one wants goo in their jelly and it's especially noticeable in light-colored jellies. I use a large metal skimmer that allows the good stuff to dribble back into the pot.

Scatter a few reserved basil leaves in each prepared jar and quickly fill with hot jelly. Wipe rims clean with a warm, damp cloth, then add lids and bands. Carefully place in water bath, bring to a boil and process about 5 minutes. Turn off heat, remove lid and let the jars sit for a few minutes to settle. Then carefully remove and place on a steady rack or heatproof surface where they can stay undisturbed until fully cool.

If you did it right you will be rewarded with pale clear jelly the shade of peridot -- if perdiot had tiny basil leaves in it, of course -- and a symphony of pings as the jars complete the sealing process. While Sure-Jell says the batch will produce 4 cups of jelly, this bountiful brew actually filled three half-pint and nine 4-ounce jars. Good thing, as my boasting has led friends and family to ask that it be included in their holiday gift assortment.

If you plan to make jam or jelly more than once, and I heartily recommend that you do, invest in a canning set that includes a jar funnel, magnet-tipped lid wand and a jar lifter. It's not much more expensive than a big bottle of aloe and way cheaper than a visit to the emergency room.

Onion Jam with Balsamic Cherries

2011-09-23T16:27:00.018-04:00

My love of jam is not limited by the jewel tones of plump fruit enrobed in sweet syrup. One of my favorites, in fact, is Stonewall Kitchen's savory Roasted Garlic Onion Jam. While I doubt he ever tasted it, each time I indulge I find myself thinking of my dad, who could eat a raw onion like an apple and considered garlic salt the ideal seasoning.

Though easily found, and delicious on everything from crackers to grilled burgers with melty blue cheese, I cringe at paying $7.95 per jar of jam. Each time I scrape out the last bits, I think to myself, "I could make this." Well, I finally did. And if I say so myself, it's pretty damn good.

I hunted online for an onion jam recipe that looked reasonably similar but didn't find anything. This version struck me as a solid base, however. I tweaked it by adding both black cherry balsamic vinegar and dried cherries, as well as the piney punch of fresh rosemary. It grows in abundance by our sunny sidewalk, making visits to our mailbox an enjoyably fragrant experience.

1 large head garlic, roasted
2 tsp. olive oil, divided
8 cups Vidalia onion, diced
2 cloves fresh garlic, minced

1 tbsp. fresh rosemary, minced, plus a 4-inch stalk, whole

salt, pepper
1 3/4 cups natural-style apple juice
3/4 cup apple cider
1/2 cup black cherry balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup dried cherries, coarsely chopped
4 cups sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 pkg. dry pectin (such as Sure-Jell)

Trim point from head of garlic to reveal flat surface with moist white cloves. Place atop a sheet of foil and drizzle with 1 tsp. olive oil. Seal and roast in 375 degree oven about 40 minutes or until tender. Unfurl foil wrap to cool, then squeeze to release soft cloves.

Pour 1/2 cup cherry balsamic into a microwave-safe cup. Add chopped cherries, cover with plastic wrap and microwave on high for 45 seconds. Set aside.

Using a large pot with a heavy bottom, saute onion and fresh minced garlic in remaining 1 tsp. olive oil over medium heat. Sprinkle generously with salt and pepper, add minced rosemary and one intact bushy stem; stir well and cover for about 5 minutes. Uncover, stir again and roasted garlic. Simmer another 5 minutes or until onions are soft and translucent.

Increase heat to medium high. Add apple juice and cider vinegar, cherry balsamic and dried cherries; simmer about 5 minutes more. Add 1/4 cup sugar and package of dry pectin; stir to ensure both are well incorporated. Bring to a boil and let bubble 3-4 minutes.

Add remaining sugars and boil hard, stirring constantly, for about 5 minutes or until "jammy." Test by placing spoonful on plate tucked into the freezer for a minute or two. If still runny and loose, give it a few more minutes.

When ready, pluck out rosemary stem and set aside. Skim any foam then ladle jam into hot, sterilized jars with fresh lids. Process in water bath about 10 minutes, then allow to cool fully.

My first batch made six delicious half pints but I waited several nervous days to for it to fully "set up." Not sure what I did differently, but the second try yielded seven half pints that were firm when cool.

Chicken Enchiladas: From Sandra Gutierrez's Southern-Latino Table to mine

2011-09-12T07:26:00.002-04:00

A few years ago, I spent a tortured afternoon trying to dazzle my husband by making a linzer torte for his birthday. My optimism dimmed as the dough got increasingly messy and melty, and I was downright angry by the time I gave up on creating its classic lattice lid. While he dutifully ate it, I decided that day that there are some things that just aren't worth making at home. At least by me in my home.

Things that fall in this category often aren't terribly complex, but I don't lose sleep over investing my trust, my dollars and the ease of not messing my kitchen to those who have a demonstrated knack for making things I like to have brought to me on a plate I don't have to wash.

Chicken enchiladas used to fall into this category. I never imagined them to be especially difficult to prepare -- and now that I've done it, I can vouch that it's really pretty simple. Perhaps I was intimidated by all that cheese -- which, really, isn't that much per enchilada. It could have been any number of excuses, but they're all blown now that I made and we all thoroughly enjoyed Sandra Gutierrez's Chicken Enchiladas with Tomatillo Sauce from her new book, The New Southern-Latino Table (University of North Carolina Press).

I was fortunate to be among a group of bloggers invited to preview and write about her new book as part of the “Southern-Latino Dinner Party.” While I made dinner, others made appetizers and desserts. You can find all of the special event recipes – today, next Monday and Sept. 26 – at http://sandraskitchenstudio.com/ and http://uncpressblog.com/.

The ingredients for these tasty enchiladas are easy to gather and the recipe is simple to follow. My only quibble is that, when a recipe starts by telling me to preheat my oven, I think it's reasonable to assume that dinner is soon to follow. In fact, long after the oven was cranked and ready, I was still simmering tomatillos and hadn't rolled a single chicken-filled tortilla.

In the interest of time, I opted for a few shortcuts, such as zapping the tomatillo sauce with my immersion blender instead of waiting for it to cool and pouring it into a standard blender. Next time I'll even make this ahead. I also used a reliably tasty roasted chicken from my neighborhood market, which yielded the needed six cups of shredded chicken.

Regrettably, I did make one tweak that I would recommend against. We're weenies when it comes to chiles, but the otherwise mild flavors of this dish can stand up to the four serranos and one jalapeno Sandra includes. We cut back and the result, while delicious, lacked zip. Be bold and trust her list.

While you're at it, have a few extra tortillas on hand, too. I measured my filling to make sure it made a dozen enchiladas but actually would up with three bonus rolls. I baked them in a small dish with sauce and cheese, then popped them in the freezer to enjoy another day.

We barely made it through the full batch before I retrieved the frozen ones. Trust me, you won't be able to resist them, either.

I made another of Sandra's recipes, Green Mango Salad with Pepitas, to serve with the enchiladas but unfortunately cannot quote the recipe. It's an even tastier version of what she made when I first met her at a class last summer and blogged about it here. If the enchiladas did not provide sufficient temptation to get her book, this beautiful salad should seal the deal.

Chicken Enchiladas with Tomatillo Sauce
From The New Southern-Latino Table by Sandra Gutierrez

The tender chicken in this casserole is wrapped in delicate corn tortillas and baked under a bubbly and vibrant sauce flavored with cilantro and chiles. Monterey Jack cheese blankets the enchiladas, adding a mellow counterpoint to the spicy chiles. A perfect main dish for a party, it's served with a variety of colorful, refreshing garnishes. The recipe is easy to multiply, freezes beautifully so you can prepare it ahead of time, and, once baked, keeps warm for a good while, making it an ideal addition to any buffet table. A favorite of children and adults alike, this is one of the most requested recipes by my cooking students.

20 tomatillos, husks removed
2 cups chopped white onion
2 large garlic cloves, peeled and left whole
1 cup water
4 serrano chiles, seeded and roughly chopped (leave seeds for more heat)
1 jalapeño, seeded and roughly chopped (leave seeds for more heat)
2 cups chopped cilantro (leaves and tender stems), packed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

12 warm corn tortillas
6 cups cooked and shredded chicken (dark and white meat)
2 1/4 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese

Garnishes (optional)
2 cups shredded iceberg lettuce
1 1/2 cups sour cream
1 cup seeded and finely chopped plum tomatoes
3/4 cup finely chopped cilantro (leaves and tender stems)
3/4 cup finely chopped red onion
1/4 cup finely chopped serrano chiles (with seeds)

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Butter a 13x9x2 baking dish. In a large Dutch oven, combine the tomatillos, onion, garlic, water, chiles, and jalapeños; bring to a simmer and cook until the tomatillos have popped, about 15 minutes. Cool for 10 minutes. Working in batches, transfer the tomatillo mixture and cilantro to a blender (or food processor) and blend until smooth; season sauce with salt and pepper. Return the sauce to the pan and simmer, uncovered, until it has thickened, about 20 minutes.

Place 1/2 cup of the tomatillo sauce in the bottom of the baking dish. Working with 1 tortilla at a time, dip the tortillas into the warm sauce in the pan. Place 1/2 cup of the chicken on the tortillas, roll them up, and place them seam side down, snuggly together, in the baking dish. Cover with the remaining tomatillo sauce; sprinkle with the cheese. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbly and the cheese has melted. Serve hot, with garnishes.

Yield: 6 servings

Are you up to the challenge? $5 says you are

2011-09-11T18:24:00.000-04:00

Slow down. You move to fast. And you spend too much money; on food, that is.

Slow Food USA is making a big impact this month trying to convince Americans that delicious and nutritious meals -- not to mention ones that are simple to prepare and make creative use of pantry staples -- can be put on the tables for $5 or less. Talk about a happy meal.

Think it can be't be done? There are a lot of major media outlets and food bloggers who would beg to disagree. Time magazine launched its health-minded coverage on Sept. 9, though some commenters grumbled that canned chickpeas really aren't a "slow food" while others described the suggested sandwich recipe as appealing as "cardboard."

Cooks have been more supportive on Food52, the online food community run by the New York Times' Amanda Hesser and her culinary partner, Merrill Stubbs. Its recent post features popular recipes submitted by some of its most popular bloggers, who share recipes and tips on every imaginable food topic. It even features Foodpickle, which offers timely assistance from knowledgeable cooks decicated to getting like-minded (but not necessarily experienced) home cooks out of a, well, pickle.

I found the recipe I wanted to try there. Temptingly titled "World's Easiest Falafel and Tzatiki," it includes just one tricky step. The technique is called Pre-Planning, a challenge for even those who enjoy daily cooking. The requisite dried gazbanzo beans require an overnight (or at least eight hour) soak to plump with absorbed liquid.

Since part of the goal is to keep costs down and use what's on hand, I made a few minor tweaks to the recipe. I substituted fragrant Middle Eastern za'atar seasoning for the cumin and parsley for the cilantro, and added a few tablespoons of bean water to puree the mix to a smooth paste. I also added some extra cucumber and tomato, which I served in thin, sandwich friendly slices.

Graham was initially excited about lunch because the cooking method is reminiscent of making latkes. He gamely tried one but soon remembered that he simply does not like falafel. Fine with me; there's enough left over for Tim and I to enjoy leftovers for work lunches.

Whether you make this or something else, consider taking the Slow Food USA challenge and make a delicious home-cooked meal on Sept. 17. For just $5, what have you got to lose?

Coconut-Banana Popsicles

2011-08-21T22:29:00.002-04:00

A fortunate coincidence occurred in my kitchen this weekend, thanks to a half-empty can of coconut milk and a few fast-ripening bananas.

These creamy, tropical-tasting pops can be tweaked easily depending on what's in your fridge. Substitute plain or vanilla yogurt, or perhaps add some peanut butter and honey. Taste before pouring into molds and adjust sweetness as needed.

3/4 cup light coconut milk
3 large bananas
2 pkgs. Dannon Light & Fit Toasted Coconut Vanilla yogurt
2 tbsp. agave syrup
1 tsp. vanilla
pinch of salt

Add all ingredients to blender and blast until smooth. Pour into popsicle molds and freeze. Makes about 10.

Not sure why but these do not slide out of the mold as easily as others I've made. While still in mold, run under hot water about 15-20 seconds and let sit for a minute, flexing plastic if you can, before releasing.

Dinner with Sandra

2011-08-16T21:53:00.000-04:00

Sandra's Chilled Avocado-Buttermilk Soup with Crab Salad
Nacho, served with our take on watermelon agua fresca.

About a year ago, I took a class on Latin Street Food offered at a Williams-Sonoma store. I expected to be served samples of what was demonstrated but was surprised to be served a memorably delicious and generous meal.

It was the first time I'd eaten food prepared by Sandra Gutierrez, a Cary-based chef who mentioned that night that she was working on her first cookbook. Today, with The New Southern-Latino Table in hand, I plan to enjoy many more meals with her help.

I was fortunate to receive a preview copy of her book, from which I made a delicious summer dinner on Sunday, a few weeks before its official release by the University of North Carolina Press. While filled with temptations, I noticed the recipe for Chilled Avocado-Buttermilk Soup with Crab Salad Nacho when I first flipped through its pages. Except for the crab, I had most of the ingredients on hand, making it an ideal first try.

I can't quote ingredients, but suffice it to say the soup is a completely no-cook affair that should be prepared at least an hour before meal time. I will say that it called for a pinch of cayenne, which I was surprised to discover absent from my spice rack. We substituted about a half-teaspoon of Peruvian Chile Lime Seasoning. After tasting just before serving, we decided it needed a bit more zip and added a splash of hot sauce.

Tim made the soup and the crab salad, which exemplifies Sandra's signature of blending Southern and Latin flavors. We also made a substitution here: while she recommends claw meat only, we opted for less costly backfin instead. The larger chunks will deliver a more handsome presentation, but we were satisfied with the tasty results.

At showtime, the creamy soup is topped with a fresh-made torilla chip that serves as a sort of float for a dab of crab salad. I'd never made my own chips before, but I will again. I used corn tortillas made by Tortilleria Calientitas, which has one of those automated tortilla-makers common to Mexico but a rare and welcome sight in Raleigh. A baker's dozen, wrapped in paper while still warm, was just $1. The shop, which hopes to open a small restaurant in coming months, is located in the Walmart plaza at 1725 New Hope Church Road.

The combination, served with remaining chips and crab salad on the side, was as tasty as it was pretty -- and we made it even prettier with an agua fresca made with a lovely orange-fleshed watermelon Tim scored at the State Farmer's Market. Made with just pureed melon, lime juice, a little sugar and ice, it was the perfect accompaniment to a delicious meal -- just the thing to raise to toast to a local chef sure to become a national name.

Peach cobbler, hold the cobble

2011-08-12T10:23:00.000-04:00

Tim declared last night that we must eat our remaining peaches before their sweet juiciness suddenly converts into something furry and far less appealing. I've been eating at least one of these gems daily with my lunch, and sometimes another while making dinner, but I would never balk at a third pitch -- especially a stone-free Elberta with barely detectable fuzz.

While we all agreed that peaches would make a perfect dessert, the puzzle was deciding what to do with them. Pie or cobbler was too much effort. We had just consumed a fabulous but starchy dinner of take-out Peruvian chicken, sweet plantains and indescribably delicious black beans and rice from Mami Nora's, our new favorite splurge. By splurge I mean caloric, not cost. Our massive feast -- including a luscious horchata for the delivery girl -- was about $27, and there's still plenty for a hearty lunch.

With the goal of minimal prep and maximum flavor, I opted for a roast to bring out their natural sugars. I just cut them in half, removed the stones and arranged on a pie plate coated lightly with vegetable oil spray. I drizzled the halves with agave syrup and placed in a 425 degree oven for about 25 minutes -- just enough time to lie down and recover from my splendid if indulgent dinner.

The peaches were browned in some spots and shimmery with red puddles of juice-tinged agave in others. A poke with the tip of a sharp knife released a fragrant dribble of nectar, so I quickly transferred them to serving bowls with a dollop of Greek yogurt and an extra drizzle of agave. It was kind of like cobbler without the cobble, and so soothingly lush that Graham didn't even gripe about the yogurt.

Shrimp with sage oil and pistachios

2011-07-17T16:19:00.115-04:00

I have a large and fragrantly abundant pot of sage growing right next to my kitchen door. It is sufficiently plush as to attract admirers from even a sidewalk view. And yet ... I never use it.

Until Sunday. One huge stalk, with thick, mature leaves shading an inner rung of tiny ones, yielded about 2 cups of loosely packed greens. I chopped them roughly to expose their suddenly shiny edges and set them in a heavy-bottomed sauce pan with about 1 1/2 cups grapeseed oil. Any neutral oil will do; this just happened to be what I had in abundance.

Warm the oil slowly, then leave the mix at a slow bubble for about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and cover with the pan lid. Set the timer for an hour.

After the alarm rouses you from your nap -- or whatever useful thing you were doing -- set a fine strainer over another pot and line it with cheesecloth. Pour out this lovely pale green tincture, squeeezing cloth to get every sagey drop. Pour into sealable bottle (such as a now-empty and de-labeled grapeseed oil container). Take a moment to admire it before tucking into a cool, dark cupboard.

Graham was inspired to assist when I took a photo of the oil and determined that a pop of citrus would be visually appealing. It looked like it needed something else, like maybe a handful of pistachios --which, by the way, would make an excellent crust for the fresh shrimp on ice in the refrigerator. Shrimp with pistachios, pasta with sage oil and lemon; viola!, dinner.

1/2 lb. angel hair pasta
3-4 tbsp. sage oil
1 lb. medium shrimp, preferrably local
1 large lemon, juiced
1/2 cup pistachios, toasted and chopped, divided
1 cup panko crumbs
2 egg whites
1/4-1/2 cup canola oil, divided
1 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. butter
1/2 cup white dry wine
2 tbsp. small sage leaves
aged parmesean, finely grated (optional)

Bring large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Cook pasta to al dente; drain, reserving about a cup of pasta water. Return to pot. Add sage oil, toss to coat, then cover with lid to keep warm.

Meanwhile, lightly toast pistachios until fragrant. When cool enough to handle, chop (by hand or pulse-chop in processor) to fairly small bits but do not pulverize. Reserve about 2 tbsp. nuts; add rest to a medium bowl with panko. Stir to mix. Juice lemon and set aside.

Peel shrimp. Dip lightly in beaten egg white, then press into coating. Cook in batches in non-stick skillet coated with 2-3 tbsp. canola, adding more oil as neeeded. When shrimp is crispy and browned, transfer to small plate and sprinkle lightly with kosher salt. Repeat until done. (If you run out of crumbs, cook the last few naked.)

There will be a bunch of crispy crumbs left in the pan. Remove any that look burnt but leave the rest. Add butter, lemon juice and wine. Simmer 2-3 minutes until slightly reduced, then add the sage leaves. Give it another minute, then pour over pasta and toss until well distributed. If too dry, add a few tablespoons of reserved pasta water and stir through.

Transfer to pasta to serving bowl, then top with shrimp, reserved chopped pistachios and, if feeling luxe, some finely grated parmesean. Garnish with a drizzle of sage oil. Eat and be happy.

Drink your melon

2011-07-17T14:46:00.000-04:00

I asked for Graham help today to cut up some fruit so I wouldn't have to strain my hand. He initially balked but wound up helping me make a batch of really good watermelon agua fresca as well as style a photo for fresh-made sage oil that turned into a promising dinner plan. More about the latter later.

He had a little trouble conceptualizing how half of a seedless "baby" watermelon would fit into the blender, but that worry broke down as quickly as the pink chunks liquified into a fragrant puree. He really got into then, debating the amount of lime and sweetness needed, and brightening as if a light literally switched on at Tim's last-minute suggestion of a generous pinch of salt.

It took just slightly more time to make this than to consume it. Made four fabulous glassfuls.

1/2 seedless watermelon, trimmed and chunked
juice of 1 1/2 large limes
1 tbsp. agave syrup
1 generous pinch salt (kosher or sea salt)
1 glassful of ice

Add about half of the melon to the blender, pulse on high about six seconds to mostly liquify. Add the rest of the melon, lime juice, agave and salt, blend again. Taste and adjust if necessary. Should be refreshingly tangy and not overly sweet. Add glassful of ice and blend until incorporated and frothy. Serve immediately.

Note: My popsicle molds are currently occupied, but I feel sure this would make excellent pops.

Coconut Peanut Sauce, two ways

2011-07-12T21:57:00.001-04:00

I can't begin to count the times I've made peanut sauce. Problem is, I don't think I've ever made it the same way twice. Sometimes it's been lick-the-plate yummy; sometimes, not so much.

This week, I gave in and sought professional help. I checked several of my most reliable sources and settled on the variety favored by BrokeAss Gourmet, which Gabi Moskowitz humbly titles Basic Peanut Sauce. Since it calls for a half-can of coconut milk -- and I (1) hate discovering a forgotten half-can of coconut milk in the back of the refrigerator and (2) felt fairly certain it would be a hit -- I made a double batch.

Glad I did. It was delicious on Sunday drizzled on tender Asian long beans, but even better tonight used as a simmering sauce for chicken and carrots.

This whole search started when Tim brought home two bundles of aptly-named long beans, which in this case were probably at least 18-20 inches. He gets them from a vendor who sells at the Midtown Farmer's Market at North Hills on Saturday mornings. Sometimes she has Gobo, or burdock root, which looks even more strange but is likewise well worth trying.

Since I made a big batch of Basic Peanut Sauce figured I may as well make a double batch of rice, too. Graham could live on rice, so leftovers never go to waste in my house. I didn't think of it in time, but both of these dishes would be nice garnished with a crunchy handful of chopped dry-roasted peanuts.

Asian Long Beans with Sauce

2 bunches Asian long beans (or 1 1/2-2 lbs. fresh green beans)
4 cups vegetable stock (or water)
2 cups brown basmati rice
2 large cloves garlic, peeled and smashed
1 small bunch cilantro, minced
Basic Peanut Sauce

Bring stock or water to a boil with garlic. Add well-rinsed rice, cover and reduce heat. If the lid does not make a tight seal, crumble a piece of parchment paper larger than the pot, then smooth out and tuck under lid. Cook about 45 minutes or until tender and liquid is absorbed.

(My preferred method is to make the rice early, even several hours ahead. Turn the heat off after 45 minutes regardless of absorption and keep covered. Warm gently on stove or zap just until hot right before serving.)

When rice is nearly ready -- or ready to finish -- fill a large pot with salted water and bring to a boil, as if to cook pasta. Wash and pat dry long beans. Trim ends and cut to desired length. I usually just cut them in half. They are long beans, after all.

Cook about 5 minutes or tender crisp. Drain well and transfer to a serving bowl. Drizzle generously with Basic Peanut Sauce and minced cilantro. Serve over rice, with extra sauce on the side.

(Next day, even if all those lovely beans are gone -- trust me, they will be -- warm leftover rice with a few spoonfuls of sauce.)

Tonight's dinner started with a quick stop at Petra Grill and Mediterrean Market, which features a Halal butcher (and really terrific fresh-made falafel). I asked for 1 1/2 lbs. of boneless chicken thighs, which the butcher promptly asked if I wanted cut up and trimmed of fat. I assumed it was a kindness offered because I have a huge splint on one hand, but this is a standard and free service. Just like once upon a time. Yup, I'll be back.

Chicken and Carrots with Coconut Peanut Sauce

1 1/2 lbs. skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into small bites
2 tbsp. canola oil
salt, pepper
1-2 tsp. Rogan Josh (or curry powder)
1 bunch fresh baby carrots, scrubbed and sliced into thick coins
1 cup cherry tomatoes, preferrably Sungolds
2 tbsp. butter
1 small bunch cilantro, minced
Basic Peanut Sauce

1 cup vermicelli
2 tsp. canola oil
2 cups chicken stock

Add vermicilli to pan with oil and cook over medium heat until lightly but mostly browned. Add stock, reduce heat and cover. Simmer for 15-20 minutes or until liquid is absorbed and pasta is creamy.

If you're not lucky enough to have a butcher to do it for you, prep your chicken. Season liberally with salt and pepper and lightly with Rogan Josh (or curry powder). Pour oil into large nonstick skillet over medium-high flame. When oil shimmers, add chicken, turning occasionally, and cook until well seared but not done. Remove to bowl.

Add butter and carrots to same skillet over medium-low heat. Add about 2 tbsp. water (or a splash of beer or wine, if consuming while cooking), scrape up any browned bits, and cover. Try not to peek but jiggle pan now and then to make sure they're not sticking.

Check after 4 minutes. When the tip of a knife will just poke through carrots, add chicken and any accumulated juices and about 2 cups Basic Peanut Sauce; stir well and cover. (Don't worry if the sauce thickened in the refrigerator. It will loosen up as soon as it hits the pan.)

Simmer about 10 minutes, then add Sungolds, stir through and cover pan. Cook about 5 minutes more then transfer to serving bowl. Sprinkle with fresh cilantro and serve with vermicelli.

Gazpacho, a bowl of summer

2011-07-10T22:53:00.000-04:00

I haven't been writing or cooking much lately, but the abundance of heirloom tomatoes has proved an irresistible source of inspiration. I'm sure this adventure breaches the strict parameters of post-op hand surgery, but the result was totally worth it.

There is a staggering variety of gazpacho recipes online, but the one constant is the reliance on the freshest and prettiest vegetables available. I started with an especially colorful collection of tomatoes Tim gathered from local farm stands.

I did not bother peeling tomatoes and suggest that you don't, either. All you need to do is squeeze or scoop out seeds, then chunk or dice, depending on which step of the recipe. Save the most colorful tomatoes for the second step.

In a blender, add the following:

5 cups mixed heirloom tomatoes, chunked
2 gloves garlic, peeled and smashed
1/2 japaleno, seeded and diced
1 large lime - zested and juiced (about 2 tbsp.)
1/4 cup sherry vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup water
1 tsp. kosher salt

Blend on high about 10 seconds or until mostly liquified. Add 1 cup loosely packed mixed fresh herbs, such as parsely and basil. Pulse a few times until incorporated. Pour into large sealable bowl.

Cut the following into a small dice:

1 cup mixed heirloom tomatoes
3/4 cup red bell pepper
3/4 cup cucumber, peeled and seeded
1/4 cup sweet onion

Add to tomato mix and stir to coat. Cover and refrigerate about two hours.

Before serving, scoop about 3 cups of the mixture into blender -- or, if you have an immersion blender, into a tall container. Puree, then pour back into bowl and stir through. Serve with a drizzle of olive oil and sherry vinegar.

Optional: If the vinegary brightness is too bracing for you, do as Tim did and stir in a small dollop of sour cream.

Eat your greens -- ice cold!

2011-05-30T15:01:00.002-04:00

I'm still obsessed with my Breville and found a great source of smoothie recipes on the Cusinart website. I was especially curious about the Avocado-Orange Smoothie, which I tweaked to make deliciously creamy popsicles.

I love the idea of a healthy, satisfying dessert. The recipe fills a dozen standard popsicle molds -- I got mine last year at Target -- and yields a luscious green pop. Despite its signature color, I feel sure that if you served it to someone who didn't know what was in it, they'd have a tough time guessing.

Run mold under warm water to loosen before trying to remove. This blend would be terrific spiked with a shot of good tequila, and a sprinkle of chile-lime seasoning inside the mold before filling.

2 ripe avocados
3 cups orange juice
3 tbsp. agave syrup
1 tsp. vanilla

Put all ingredients in blender bowl and buzz until smooth. Transfer to popsicle molds, filling to the brim. Freeze at least four hours or overnight.

(Weight Watcher PointsPlus: 3 points each)

Matzo brei with blueberries

2011-05-29T21:31:00.000-04:00

Given the choice between French toast and matzo brei, my son will choose the latter every time. And now, with a quick pre-brunch lesson, he can make it himself whenever he pleases.

While some insist it should be savory, and others only make it during Passover, we like it a little on the sweet side and any time of year. In fact, we like it best when summer fruit is sweet and abundant.

Start with a standard ratio of two sheets of matzo to 1 egg and a glug of milk, then add whatever is at its peak. Top with a dusting of cinnamon sugar, maple syrup, fruit compote or whatever you like.

6 sheets matzo
3 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. salt
1 pint fresh blueberries
2 tbsp. canola oil
1 tbsp. butter
1 tbsp. cinnamon sugar

Break matzo into chunks and place in a colander. Rinse well with warm water to soften; drain well.

Beat eggs, milk and vanilla in a large bowl. Add matzo and stir to coat. Let sit a few minutes to absorb.

Pour oil into nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. When oil becomes shimmery, pour in egg-matzo mix and sprinkle with salt. Resist the temptation to stir until underside is golden. Use spatula to flip in sections. While still moist, add bluerries and stir through.

Continue cooking until nicely browned but still tender and berries are warm and bursting. Dot with butter and give it one more stir before serving.

Top with cinnamon sugar and serve immediately, with optional toppings on the side.

The smoothie king

2011-05-22T21:50:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, my trusty KitchenAid blender bit the dust. It was in the honorable service of making a smoothie when a puff of stinky smoke rose from the base. This weekend, after considerable research and consultation, I became the proud owner of a Breville BBL600.

Despite its price and advance praise, and even after seeing it featured in Giada's TV kitchen, I didn't expect it to be much more than a power blender. But for smoothie lovers, this thing is the bomb. A dedicated smoothie function whips and pulses frozen fruit and yogurt into submission, yielding a sublime blend that looks like something you'd pay too much for at a specialty shop.

My first effort produced a drinkable mix of frozen strawberries and fresh peaches. Tonight's concoction was thicker, more the texture of ice cream, featuring frosty local blueberries and frozen peaches. Substitute any mix of fresh fruit or frozen you've got on hand.

2 containers plain non-fat yogurt
2 cups frozen peach slices
1 pint fresh blueberries
1 tbsp agave syrup
1/4 cup juice, such as Tropical Splash

Set both cups of yogurt and rinsed blueberries in the freezer for about 45 minutes, until firm but not frozen solid. Transfer with all other ingredients to blender jar. Blend to desired consistency and pour into three dessert glasses. Serve immediately.

Quick nut oils, a la Patricia Wells

2011-05-04T23:10:00.001-04:00

It doesn’t happen nearly as often as I’d like, but my family has grown accustomed to me returning home giddy after a close encounter with a culinary legend. Tonight it was Patricia Wells, who was in town for a reading at Quail Ridge Books to promote her new collection, Salad as a Meal.

“So charming,” I enthused, as Tim – who has given me several of her books as gifts – asked if she’s the one who wrote The Talented Mr. Ripley.

“She showed slides of her place in Provence, with its garden full of lettuces and 40 different kinds of heirloom tomatoes,” I added, still swooning from the sight of curious, colorful varietals clinging to drops of morning dew. “Plus, she wore seriously cute shoes.”

Wells, whose sister lives in Raleigh, has become something of a regular at Quail Ridge Books, where she likely will return in November to promote her 13th cookbook, “Simply Truffles.” It was clear that the room was full of regulars, including one woman who has travelled to France three times to take her weeklong cooking classes and another who impressively name-dropped having worked with MFK Fisher.

For someone who has enjoyed an extraordinary career – her first job out of college was as art critic for the Washington Post, then she worked alongside Craig Claiborne and Pierre Franey as a food writer at the New York Times before becoming très apprécié in France – she is engaging low-key about her success, making it all sound as organic and natural as the olives and grapes that thrive on her estate.

“I was always surrounded by good and healthy food,” Wells said, crediting her mother for always serving fresh and delicious meals. “She never got flustered in the kitchen, which I found inspiring.”

Wells said that “beginning with the freshest ingredients you can find” is the best way to approach any kind of cooking. The salads in her book, she said, typically blend seasonal ingredients with crunch for textural satisfaction.

“Sometimes I make polenta croutons or add a sprinkling of curried pumpkin seeds,” she said. “I love crispiness and crunch.”

Noting that her new book includes sides and soups as well as salads, Wells listed some of her personal favorites: Tomato and Mustard Tart with Artichokes, Salmon and Halibut Tartare, Frisee au Lardons, Ham and Cheese Bread (“One of my Top 10; I make it all the time”); and Provence on a Plate, an elegant stack of eggplant, tomato, tapenade and goat cheese.

Since her remarks focused on salads, I asked Wells about her favorite oils during the Q&A. She and her husband produce a small batch of oil from their own olives, she said, but she is keen on nut oils – especially pistachio oil.

“It’s actually quite easy to make your own nut oils,” she said, describing a technique recently discovered when she demonstrated a recipe at Google headquarters, whose kitchen lacked needed pistachio oil.

“The chef toasted the nuts, ground them and marinated them in warm oil for a few hours,” she said. “It worked there and I’ve since made oil with almonds at home, where I drizzled it on asparagus. I didn’t even strain it; the bits looked pretty on the spears.”

Wells said to use whatever nut you like best to make a specialty oil. Use a 1-to-1 ratio of toasted nuts to mild canola oil – not olive oil, which may be too strong. Try about 1/3 cup nuts to 1/3 cup canola. You can refrigerate any unused oil, but Wells suggests making small portions as needed.

Beet the clock

2011-05-01T21:17:00.000-04:00

Spatial reasoning has never been my forte. I was reminded of this today after asking Tim to peel a few beets for a surprisingly delicious cake that was making a return appearance for dessert. I needed two cups of shredded beets but my guesstimation yielded something closer to four.

Confronted with this unexpected abundance, I decided to add the last three beets I had planned on roasting. Turned out to be one of my better mistakes. In less than 10 minutes, I had a terrific beet dish on the table.

1 bunch beets, trimmed and peeled
2-3 tbsp. walnut oil
salt
¼ cup walnuts, chopped

Using a vegetable peeler, clean beets and coarsely shred in processor or by hand.

Warm 2 tbsp. walnut oil in skillet over medium heat. Add shredded beets and salt lightly. Cook for about 5 minutes or until tender. Add chopped walnuts and stir though. Add salt, if needed, and drizzle of walnut oil to garnish before serving.

Cookies of affliction, or how I finally made kichel

2011-04-18T22:49:00.002-04:00

I have spent the last two weeks searching for the elusive Holy Grail of Passover recipes: egg kichel.

The humble holiday staple, at least where I grew up in the suburban wilds of New Jersey, made its grand appearance in every grocery store this time of year. Towering display of Manishewitz and Streits matzo, tins of macaroons and my beloved kichel filled me with a sense of happy expectation. The chocolate covered marshmallows and sugared jelly slices didn’t hurt, either.

Commercially prepared kichel has become a sad shadow of its former self. Those lovely light pillows of cookie, coated with a crackled sugar glaze and begging to be dunked in coffee – or Coffee Time, if you’re trying to get in touch with your inner shayna madela – appear to have come under the command of health freaks. What I found in stores this year, in much smaller and more expensive sani-wrapped boxes, were tiny salt- and sugar-free biscuits that look like they should be floated in soup. I feel sure even our dogs, Gimel and Olive (formally, Olive Bette), would sniff these and decline.

Feh, I thought as I wheeled my empty cart away. Better to have no kichel than those kichel.

As I wandered through the store, however, I started to think how easy it should be to make them yourself. They’re just airy puffs, after all. Some egg, oil and matzo meal, probably salt and definitely sugar. Easy, right?

Not so fast. After not finding recipes in any of my Joan Nathan or holiday recipe books, I did find a few online – but they were, well, weird. Some called for rolling the dough flat and cutting it into strips; others included up to a quarter-cup of poppy seeds.

“Poppy seeds?” said my brother Alan, an edge of horror in his voice. He’s both a Jewish doctor and a regular at his synagogue, so his disdain gets double points. “That I’ve never heard of.”

Next I sent pitiful, begging postings to any Jewish foodie I could think of on Facebook, and even tracked down several more from freelance articles posted in newspapers across the country. I felt confident and awaited a shower of recipes to fill my inbox, not unlike manna appearing just in time to sustain the Isrealites in the desert.

But lo, the majority of responses I received were on the order of “sorry, no, but great idea!” Adam Roberts of the amusing Amateur Gourmet had never heard of them and politely wondered if perhaps I meant kugel. Levana Kirshenbaum, who created a tantalizing chocolate-beet-coconut cake, got my hopes up when she referenced a terrific recipe in the Libuvitcher Cookbook – but she had no access to her copy. “Oy, so sorry,” she wrote. Grrrr.

When I typed that vague title into Amazon.com, it of course did not find her treasured book, which may well have been a Hadassah fundraiser. The search did produce a link to Amanda Hesser’s aptly-titled “Essential New York Times Cookbook.” I was proud to be among the first to snag a copy, but alas, even the venerable Times has lost interest in kichel.

Not surprisingly, though, Hesser wrote back promptly, recommending Food52’s “food pickle,” a terrific go-to resource for culinary stumpers. A regular there advised me to expand my search from kichel to kichlach, where I was assured there were multiple entries.

My excitement dimmed when I saw that nearly each entry was the same, literally – is it possible that there’s really just one Jewish grandmother left in the world? – and nearly all included the perplexing poppy seeds.

Alan had come to the rescue the previous week with a surprise kichel care package that truly ranged from the sublime (chocolate and cinnamon-sugar variations) to the ridiculous (salt- and sugar-free.) Amused to be part of the hunt, he is carrying the request to his cantor. In desperation, I decided to ask someone outside of the tribe.

I mentioned my efforts to a tech-savvy friend who suggested trying Google’s Canadian search engine. “They have a large Jewish community in Montreal,” observed Joey, a sometime Southern Baptist. “I was there once during Passover and they were really into it. Even the Coca-Cola was marked kosher for Passover.”

Joey was quite amused when he quickly found a kichel recipe credited to someone’s bubbie, and photos of another that really look like the real deal. “That took about two seconds,” he said, declaring his abiding faith in his phone’s 4G speed. “And I’m not even Jewish!”

The funny thing here is that the bubbie found by the Canadian search engine was from Nashville, Tenn., and a photo showing gluten-free kichel credited to Anshe Emeth Sisterhood Cookbook came from Mrs. Louis Kugelman of Youngstown, Ohio. Go figure. I’ve tweaked it a bit further, but here is the original link.

They’re not as light or as crispy as I remember, but for cookies of affliction, they’re pretty damn good.

Passover Egg Kichel

6 whole eggs, separated
9 tbsp. sugar, divided
½ tsp. salt
½ to ¾ cup canola oil
1 cup matzo meal
½ cup potato starch
½ tsp. lemon extract
½ tsp. almond extract
1 tbsp. cocoa powder
2 tbsp. sliced almonds
zest of one lemon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Zest lemon and set aside in small bowl with 1½ tsp sugar. Add almond and 1½ tsp. sugar to mini-processor or chop finely.
.
Sift dry ingredients. Beat eggs yolks until light in color; add oil and salt, mix well. Add matzo meal and potato starch, stirring until just combined.

Beat egg whites until foamy and soft peaks begin to form; add sugar gradually and beat until fully incorporated. Add about 1/3 egg whites to mixture, folding in to lighten batter, then fold in the remainder.

Divide batter among two bowls. In one, add lemon extract and stir. In the other, add almond extract and cocoa powder, blend well.

Drop from a teaspoon about an inch apart onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Sprinkle lemon cookies with zest-sugar and the chocolate ones with almond-sugar. Bake for 20 minutes and then reduce the heat to 300° F for an additional 15 minutes.

Cool on a rack and store in an air-tight container, if they last that long. By the time I got to the kitchen to box them, most were gone.

bittycakes are big on flavor

2011-04-17T21:32:00.002-04:00

When Kim Hammer decided to stop dabbling in baking and open her own business, her goals were small. Literally.

“I’ve always loved making cupcakes, so bittycakes was the perfect concept,” she said over coffee at Café Helios, where regulars enjoy her handmade, seasonal and cleverly-named baked goods. “People here are really into good food and local ingredients, so I can be really creative – even in winter when all I can think about is fresh strawberries.”

To answer a challenge from the Raleigh Downtowner, Hammer dipped into her stash of frozen local strawberries to create a Passover-friendly treat. She used them to whip up her signature buttercream frosting, which top flawless flourless chocolate cupcakes.

“I called a friend in New York for advice because she has a sweet tooth and always tells me how hard it is to find something really delicious during Passover,” said Hammer, who may well qualify for honorary member-of-the-tribe status for her efforts. “It’s not really kosher, and I was fighting my inner Slow-Food Movement to use frozen berries, but it’s as close as I could get.”

Though they would not pass rabbinical review, these delights are sure to satisfy moderately observant Jews and anyone else who swoons to think about the luscious marriage of chocolate and strawberries. While she graciously provided her recipe, she warned that they are technically tricky and a bit costly, given the fine chocolate and other ingredients.

“I enjoy making these, and we’ll have them at Helios during Passover,” she said. “But for just $3 a cupcake, honestly, it’s easier to just stop by and get some.”

The Raleigh native, who bears an old-school heart tattoo that proclaims her love of butter on one shoulder and a lush trail of strawberries on the other, is not a product of culinary school. Her innate love of baking was little more than a hobby before the arrival eight years ago of her son, Max.

“I started thinking about every bite of food I fed him, and it completely changed the way I look at things,” she said earnestly. “If realized that if I really wanted to feed him all natural, seasonal food, I had to do it myself.

“Also, baking is my Zen. It teaches me patience,” she added. “There’s something about the quiet simpleness of it all. If more than a day goes by and I don’t bake, my hands get itchy. I’m miserable.”

With the help of a small business loan, Hammer created bittycakes and started selling her baked goods four years ago at the Carrboro Farmer’s Market. Max practically grew up there, she said, and she still relies of many growers for her organic ingredients.

bittycakes originally focused exclusively on, well, itty-bitty cakes, but Hammer said customers having been trending toward pie, scones and other confections. “I love pie, so that’s fine with me,” said she, noting her Nutty-as-Your-Ex-Sweet-as-Your-Grandma Pecan Pie is among her most requested slices.

“The only ones who are sad about pie are my kids, because I can’t deliver a pie missing a slice,” she said, adding that 3-year-old Evie Jo has mastered turning her sweet face into a mask of pity when she learns mom is baking for work. “Their favorite, and mine, really, are Whoopie Pies. I always make a few extra for them.”

Helios customers can follow her at www.twitter.com/bittycakes to get advance notice of what she’s baking for delivery to the shop. Fans also can place catering or special orders there.

Hammer credits the time she spent living in New York City for opening her eyes to extraordinary flavors and fueling her commitment to use only the best ingredients.

“One month I chose to not pay my phone bill because I just had to have this lobster sandwich,” she said, a dreamy look in her eye. “It was $35 and worth every bite.”

Hammer applies this same logic to the ingredients she bakes with today. About the only exception to her requirement of locally-sourced, just-picked goods is her treasured 10-pound slabs of Valrhona chocolate.

“A lot of bakers bend the rule for Valrhona,” she said. “It’s the only thing I’d consider for something as chocolate-dependent as a flourless chocolate cupcake.”

bittycakes flourless chocolate cupcakes

Makes one dozen

12 tbsp. butter (1½ sticks)
5 oz. bittersweet chocolate, at least 60% dark
4 egg yolks
5 egg whites
Pinch of cream of tartar
¾ cup sugar
2 tbp. Dutch-process cocoa powder, sifted
1 tbsp. coffee liqueur
1/3 cup almond flour, or ½ cup blanched almonds

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Place paper baking cups in muffin pan. If using blanched almonds instead of flour, use a food processor to grind them to a powder; set aside. Combined the butter and chocolate in a double boiler, or stainless steel bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. Stir until the mixture has almost completely melted, remove from the heat and stir until smooth. Set aside to cool.

Using a standing mixer with whisk attachment, beat the egg yolks and ¼ cup of sugar on high speed for about 8 minutes. The eggs should become paler in color and build to about four times their original size. With a rubber spatula, gently fold the egg yolk mixture into the chocolate mixture. Once these are incorporated, slowly fold in the cocoa and coffee liqueur until combined smoothly. Next, sprinkle almond flour (or ground almonds) over the mixture and again slowly fold in until fully incorporated.

Using a clean bowl in your standing mixer, beat egg whites with cream of tartar for about one minute, or until soft peaks form. Add the remaining ½ cup sugar and beat for one minute more until medium peaks form. Stir 1/3 of egg white mixture into chocolate mixture to lighten the batter. Then fold in the remainder of egg whites until just barely incorporated. Do not over-mix.

Spoon the batter into cups. Bake for 20 minutes, rotating once, after 15 minutes. These cupcakes will be loose in the middle when hot, so a toothpick inserted in the middle to check doneness will not come out clean. Let cupcakes cool in pan for 10 minutes, then remove and allow to cool completely on a rack.

This cake can be topped with buttercream frosting, but is also delicious simply dusted with powdered sugar, cocoa or a dollop of whipped cream.

Passover recalls the tastes, smells of home

2011-04-17T21:17:00.002-04:00

Even amid the glories of spring in the Carolinas, there are few things that make transplanted Jews miss their hometown more than the arrival of Passover. No matter how cosmopolitan our grocery chains and privately-operated eateries may be, the faith-based culinary restrictions of the holiday remain a sharp reminder of the tastes and smells missed even by those of us who make no effort to keep a kosher kitchen.

A native New Yorker, Judy Katzin moved to Raleigh as a bride in 1958. “Talk about culture shock,” she said. “No Jewish delis; no kosher butcher. It took years before I found a decent bagel.”

In an attempt to feed her soul, Katzin started buying pre-packaged Lender's bagels, which she found in the refrigerator case of her local grocery store. “I’ll never forget, one day when I was buying some I looked up and saw someone wearing a Brooklyn College sweatshirt looking back at me,” she said. “He asked me, ‘Are they any good?’ I answered, ‘It depends on how long you’ve been living here.’”

Things have changed, of course, but today there is not a single kosher restaurant in Raleigh. Jewish-style delis arrive with fanfare and promises of overstuffed pastrami sandwiches and real knishes only to vanish weeks later like yet another diaspora.

Even stalwarts like Katzin are considering hanging up their aprons. “I love it, but it’s a lot of work,” said the grandmother of four, who typically prepares a seder feast for about 30 friends and family. “Who knows? We’ll see what next year brings.”

Many area supermarkets feature displays of Passover products, notably matzo, macaroons and candies. Personally, I pine for egg kichel, those airy, dry little rounds perfect for coffee dunking that were crowned with a glaze of crackled sugar. Not unlike the polar ice cap, the icing got thinner over time and the cookies got smaller – and now, at least locally, the mere mention of them stumps even the most customer-friendly grocers. (The link above, from Amazon, sadly invites shoppers to sign up for possible availability.)

Observant Jews know – and those likely to feed them should be on the lookout – that many commercially-prepared baked goods and sweets that look the same probably aren’t this time of year. That innocent box of Tam-Tam crackers left over from bridge club? Not unless it’s specially marked as kosher for Passover.

Products not labeled kosher for Passover may contain hamtez, leavened “impurities” that are OK other times of the year but not during this period of reflection on the hasty escape from bondage in ancient Egypt. If you look closely, you’ll find a whole range of unexpected products marked this way, including Coca-Cola and mini-marshmallows.

Passover-approved recipes sometimes do not compare favorably to everyday choices. When my brothers and I balked at taking matzo sandwiches to school, my mother baked unleavened rolls by the dozens. When they were fresh out of the oven, their steamy goodness fragranced the kitchen. The next day in the lunch room, stuffed with tuna salad, not so much.

You can find an abundance of Passover recipes online – Joan Nathan is an ideal source – but Raleigh Downtowner readers are lucky that Katzin has share her most-requested seder dessert: Chocolate Sponge Cake, developed by her own mother some 70 years ago.

We also persuaded Kim Hammer, the wonderful baker at Café Helios and owner of bittycakes, to share her flourless chocolate cupcake (see related story). It’s not truly hametz-free, given that they are produced alongside other sweets with Passover-forbidden ingredients, but it’s close enough for those who take consolation in a Lender’s bagel when they really crave a New York classic.

JUDY’S CHOCOLATE SPONGE CAKE

8 eggs, separated
11 tbsp. sugar, divided
8 tbsp. matzo cake meal (available seasonally at local grocers or online)
1 tsp. vanilla
3 tbsp. cocoa powder
1 cup bittersweet chocolate chips
water

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Beat egg yolks with 8 tbsp. sugar until they change in color from golden to buttery yellow, then add vanilla. Add matzo cake flour, folding lightly until just blended.

Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form, about 5 minutes. Add about one-third of egg white to egg-flour mix, folding in to lighten. Then fold in the rest of the egg whites, taking care to not over mix.

Pour about 80% of the batter into a well-greased heavy bundt pan.

Into the remaining batter, add 3 tbsp. sugar and 3 tbsp. cocoa. Blend well, then pour in a ring centered over the original batter. Using a spatula, poke chocolate layer to tuck into plain batter, creating a tunnel of chocolate.

Bake for about 40 minutes (check after 35 minutes) or until toothpick comes out clean. Cool completely in pan over a wire rack.

When cool, invert onto a serving plate. Set a glass bowl over a pot of barely simmering water, making sure the bowl does not touch the water. Place chocolate chips and a few spoonfuls of water in the bowl. Melt and stir until a thin stream trickles from a spoon, then drizzle over top of cake.

Getting the perfect grill marks

2011-04-16T11:31:00.009-04:00

As with most of her suburban New Jersey friends, my mother had her hair set and starched every Saturday morning. I went sometimes, skipping cartoons for the chance to sit in the foot space under the mirrored counter and watch in wonder as women got their hair curled and teased and lacquered for the week ahead.

What made it worth missing Mr. Peabody and The Jetsons was those special days when she or others put on moon hats and the smocked beauticians painfully plucked strands of hair with a crotchet hook before plastering them with bleach. It was fascinating, but the fumes could singe the insides of your nostrils. I didn’t mind, though, so long as I got my own congratulatory crown of Aquanet for having been well behaved.

That wasn’t the best part of going to the beauty parlor, though. That came when we’d walk just a few doors down to where a heady aroma greeted you before your hand even touched the door. Our local deli was owned by the son of one of my mother’s friends. She was greeted there with queenly flourish and, usually, a complimentary tub of sour dill pickles.

An intoxicating mist of vinegar and garlic hung over the place and pint-sized regulars like me knew to stand near the bread slicer, where you’d soon be handed the heel of a still-hot loaf. There always was a long line after Saturday morning services, but it was the only place my mother would buy my father’s Depression-era favorite, boiled tongue. I vividly recall feeling faint when I realized it was an actual cow tongue that landed with a thunk when tossed onto the slicer. I still cringe at the thought, but one bite of that pink meat, piled onto warm rye bread with a bracing slice of raw onion and a smear of spicy brown mustard, brought a beatific smile to his face.

No, what I wanted was the other house specialty: perfectly grilled kosher hot dogs, tucked into toasted rolls and stuffed with steaming house-made sauerkraut. They’d be tightly wrapped in foil, along with fragrant knishes, and placed in a large brown paper bag for the ride home.

As soon as we hit the car, the begging started: Can I have mine now? No. Pleeeeease? No. I won’t spill. No.

Delicious? Yes. Fun? No.

On the rare occasions I indulge in a hot dog today, I still insist on a kosher dog – typically a Hebrew National, which as you might recall answers not to the government but the dietary laws of a Higher Authority. Inspired by a jar of Boar’s Head Sweet Vidalia Onion Sauce, we had some just last weekend.

I mentioned this to a co-worker, a lifelong aficionado of those red hot dogs that have been banned from most of the civilized world but are still popular in the South. When he mentioned fixing his in the toaster oven, I could have blown Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry Soda through my nose.

"I thought that was normal. That’s how you get those nice grill marks,” he protested. “You cook yours on the grill? Huh. It didn't occur to me to cook hot dogs on the grill."

Since it is a blessing to protect the innocent, let’s call my colleague J.

J added that using a toaster oven is energy efficient. “Plus, it’s great if you want a grilled cheese sandwich, too,” he said. “What? That’s also weird?”

Not surprisingly, J has a time-tested technique for toaster-oven grilling hot dogs. “Preheat to 350 degrees and make sure the bars are hot enough to impart authentic-looking grill marks,” he advised. "I always wipe it down before I cook hot dogs, of course, because I don't want them coming out tasting like pizza."

After preheating, hot dogs will be sizzlingly ready in about five minutes, give or take. "I just put them in and walk away until I smell them," he said. "Another sign is the sound. When they're ready, they kind of go 'pssssst'."

J, who says he has sworn off red hot dogs in favor of kosher ones – “I like knowing what's in my food; at least, sometimes" – acknowledges that they’d be simple to prepare at work, but wrong.

"Easy as it would be, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “You know, I never thought this was odd, but now I feel kind of bad about making fun of inmates who make grilled cheese with an iron."

J expressed one last bit of praise for his toaster oven, which he also swears by for baking potatoes.

"My toaster is a culinary miracle. Seriously, it has completely changed my life," he said, pausing as the words hung in the air, than snapping back into the moment. "That is, as a single person. Who is not old."

Mrs. Baum's Apple Cake

2011-04-03T14:48:00.000-04:00

More than 20 years ago, when I was pregnant with Graham and eager for delivery, another friend who was pregnant with her late-arriving daughter called me with news. "I heard that eating hot and spicy Thai food will bring on labor," she said. Suffice it to say, we were soon in the car and heading out to meet them for dinner.

Before midnight, her water broke and their daughter soon followed. I went into labor that day and Graham arrived early the next morning.

I have shared this story with many women who, while excited to finally meet their baby, looked miserable at the prospect of having to carry it for even one more day. I told my next-door neighbor about the hot-and-spicy Thai trick a few years ago when she was a few days past due. Her mother excitedly shared the news the next day that it had worked. It also worked for with her next arrival.

I feel sure there are other things at play here, but the scientific weight of my theory led me to share this tip with another new neighbor a week or so ago. They were rounding the corner for home after walking their dog and, with hand on heavy belly, she declared they were going out for dinner. As soon as possible.

Days went by and we saw no banners or balloons. Tim heard today that their son had indeed joined the family, so I decided this time to offer something I'm certain works: Mrs. Baum's Apple Cake, from Anita Pritchard's Back-to-Basics American Cooking (Putnam, 1983). As you can see from years of splotches, it's something I've made many times. It's easy, delicious and often can be made from just pantry ingredients, which was the case today.

Once cooled, Tim delivered it and learned that little William Carter arrived last Saturday -- which, come to think of it, might have been right around the time they went out for Thai dinner...

Spring spinach pesto with almonds

2011-03-23T21:49:00.005-04:00

I'm certain I can make this better, but for a first pass this is pretty delicious. I used a huge bag of fresh-picked spinach from the farmer's market.

1 large bag fresh spinach
2 cloves garlic
1 cup lowfat cottage cheese (such as Light 'N Lively)
1/2 cup sliced almonds, divided
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 14-oz package whole wheat spaghetti
fresh-grated Parmesean

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil; I used a pasta pot with colander insert.

Soak spinach in cool water to release sandy grit; swish, drain and repeat until water is clear. Trim and whirl in batches in salad spinner, then dump entire batch into boiling water. Simmer 2-3 minutes until limp but not defeated and still bright green. While cooking, add several cups of ice to spinner bowl, then insert strainer and fill about halfway with water. Remove colander insert from pasta pot and transfer drained spinach to ice bowl.

Return colander to pot. Bring water back to a boil and add pasta, cooking according to directions.

While pasta is cooking, drop garlic into food processor workbowl and pulse-chop. Add cottage cheese, salt and well-drained spinach, pulse-chop again. Add all but 2 tbsp sliced almonds and about 1/2 cup water; blend until creamy.

Drain al dente pasta, reserving 1-2 cups pasta water, then return to warm pot over low flame. Slosh in a good glob of reserved pasta water and spinach pesto, stirring well. Add more reserved water if needed. (If not, save to any leftover to keep reheats moist.)

Transfer to serving bowl and top with reserved sliced almonds and parmesean.

Note: The truly thoughtful hostess also will provide floss.

Almond-scented orange muffins

2011-03-20T10:04:00.001-04:00

This morning, with much sadness, I threw out a half dozen Honeybell oranges that had spoiled from neglect. I greedily ordered an overly large box this year and, after the initial thrill, lost track of them. There were enough, fortunately, to try a variation on a simple recipe I found online for orange muffins.

I followed the instructions generally, but I decreased the oil by a tablespoon and substituted an equal amount of applesauce. I also added a teaspoon of almond extract and topped the muffins with a scattering of about 2 tablespoons of sliced almonds. While the original calls for a baking time of 20-25 minutes, I found that 18-20 was plenty for them to set and develop nicely browned tops. Given that they are a bit dense, I suggest not fretting about cooling time and dive in right away.

The aroma while baking made me feel a little less terrible about dumping all those oranges into the compost bin. Now that the has butter melted, I think I'm over it.

Raise a glass to your favorite ACC team

2011-03-17T11:54:00.001-04:00

Whether it’s to celebrate a win or drown your sorrows, an ACC-themed adult beverage seems the ideal accompaniment along the road to the Final Four. The Raleigh Downtowner asked three bartenders to create a cocktail that incorporates the essence of the coaches and players of our local teams: Duke’s Coach K and the Blue Devils; Carolina’s Coach Williams and the Tar Heels; the Wolfpack with former coach Sidney Lowe.

So get some ice and a shaker, and get ready to mix a new brew for the NCAA Championships: http://raleigh2.com/dont-cry-in-your-beer-have-an-acc-cocktail-p2907-167.htm

The power of Penzeys

2011-03-03T22:34:00.000-05:00

I've been curious about Penzeys since the early days of Food TV, when Sara Moulton and others would comfortingly reassure viewers that an unfamiliar spice could be ordered from the Wisconsin-based chain. I often imagined how a package filled with precious saffron, Vietnamese cinnamon or herbes de provence would magically transform my kitchen, but I never did order anything.

Now that North Carolina's first Penzeys has opened practically around the corner from the office, I no longer need to wonder. I get it. Indeed, I get it so much that I need a bigger spice cupboard.

Check out my new post in The Raleigh Downtowner.

Specialty oil and vinegar inspires spontaneous Meatless Monday

2011-02-28T22:27:00.004-05:00

Dinner tonight was supposed to be ridiculously simple. A nice thick steak had marinated overnight in a light sesame-ginger bath. Bok choy fresh from the farmer's market was ready to be stir fried. Then the sky grew dark and the TV started beeping.

Call me chicken, but I don't grill during a severe storm warning. I've never mastered the broiler, so it was time for Plan B: a spontaneous Meatless Monday.

Fortunately, before the rain started, I stopped in Midtown Olive Press at North Hills to cash in a Groupon coupon. This is my kind of shop: dark wood tables topped with great, spigoted tins of goodness, each bearing an eye-level label boasting of fragrant infused olive oils, nut and seed oils, and a giddy array of vinegars. After using bread cubes to soak up some samples -- and tossing back others from tiny white cups -- I settled on wild mushroom-sage oil, Sicilian lemon white balsamc vinegar, and decadent black cherry balsamic. I used the first two to make a simple vinaigrette; the latter smells so good, I'm tempted to dab some on my wrists.

1 16-oz package short pasta
1 24-oz pkg, frozen florets (or large bunch fresh, cut into florets)
8 oz mushrooms, trimmed and halved or quartered
1/2 cup diced onion
1 tbsp olive oil
salt, pepper
3 tbsp. wild mushroom-sage oil
2 tbsp. Sicilian lemon white balsamic vinegar
Parmesean Romano, freshly grated

Cook pasta in salted water according the package directions.

Meanwhile, sautee onion in 1 tbsp. plain olive oil under medium-low heat about 3 minutes or until just softened. Add mushrooms, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and continue cooking until lightly browned and tender, about 6-8 minutes.

At the same time, cook broccoli. Drain if necessary then add to mushroom mix; stir to combine. Reserve 1 cup pasta water. When just al dente, transfer drained pasta to pan with mushroom-broccoli mix; add pasta water and simmer 2-3 minutes.

When fluid is reduced and pasta is tender, pour mushroom oil and lemon balsamic into small lidded container and shake well. Pour over pasta and stir to combine; check for salt and pepper. If delicious, and it should be, transfer to serving bowl and top with freshly grated parmesean.

Pineapple-orange smoothie

2011-02-25T22:45:00.000-05:00

I have a terrific problem: I have a huge box of luscious Honeybell oranges in my kitchen. I ordered them weeks ago, long before the frost that zapped much of Florida's prized crop. They are practically bursting with juice and could be consumed, like fresh-steamed lobster, while wearing a bib. Or at least leaning over the sink.

I've been taking sliced oranges to work for days, slurping them surreptiously to avoid having to share. I am thinking about stuffing them in a chicken before roasting, using them to glaze grilled scallops, and maybe baking a cake and dousing it with fragrant, sticky syrup.

Tonight, however, I opted for the quickest path to turn them into a not-so-decadent dessert. It was unseasonably mild here today so I went for a pre-summer smoothie.

1 16-ounce bag frozen pineapple chunks
juice of three Honeybell oranges
three scoops low-fat vanilla frozen yogurt
1 tbsp honey
1 tsp vanilla

Dump everything into a heavy-duty blender and let it rip. Pause to poke with a spatula several times and whirl until mostly smooth. Pour into three glasses and serve immediately.

Raleigh Downtowner Magazine

2011-02-14T09:25:00.001-05:00

I have a new food column in the Raleigh Downtowner Magazine! I'm not in the monthly print version yet, but here is a link to the online edition, which is updated frequently. To find me, click on Food & Dining, then select Cooking & Recipes.

Please support the magazine by joining the Raleigh Downtowner on Facebook. Let me know if you have story ideas, especially those involving downtown eateries, chefs or shops.

PB&B Muffins

2011-02-13T11:03:00.001-05:00

Between trying my best to reduce my carbon footprint at the market, and being appalled at their price, I don't often buy bananas. But when I find them shrink-wrapped and balanced lightly in the markdown bin, I grab them.

Last week I picked up a big, barely freckled bunch for just 52 cents. I enjoyed them sliced in cereal and straight up for days. I awoke thinking about melty peanut butter on toast topped with banana, but alas we are a toast-free household today.

So this morning, a full week after snagging my bargain, the remaining bananas are finally brown enough to consider baking. I checked several cookbooks without success to find a peanut butter and banana variation. So this is what I tried:

1 1/4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp kosher salt
2 eggs, room temperature
1/4 cup canola oil
1/4 cup applesauce
3/4 cup sugar
2 ripe bananas, mashed
1/4 cup peanut butter, such as Jif Reduced Fat Creamy
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup dry roasted peanuts, chopped and divided

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat a 12 cup muffin pan with vegetable oil spray or use paper liners.

Lightly spoon flour into measuring cup or sift with baking soda and salt. Transfer to small bowl and set aside.

In large mixing bowl, add eggs, oil, applesauce, sugar, mashed bananas and peanut butter; stir until well blended. Add flour mixture and half the chopped nuts, stirring to blend (but do not over mix).

Divide evenly among 12 muffin cups, about 2/3 full. Sprinkle with remaining nuts and bake 20 minutes, until golden and a toothpick tester comes out clean.

Cool 10 minutes in pan on rack. Lightly slip a teaspoon under muffins and gently remove; cool another 5 minutes on rack.

As I'm writing this, Tim and Graham have both had at least three muffins each, which I consider a good measure of success. Terrific as is or with a smear of cream cheese or jelly.

(PS: Enjoy slowly. Just realized these are 6 Weight Watchers points each.)

Slow-baked beans with kale

2011-02-07T22:39:00.002-05:00

Until fairly recently, it was my considered opinion that lima beans were little more than unwelcome lumps that lurked in otherwise innocent vegetable soup or, worse, besmirched a nice bowl of sweet corn. I decided this early in life, long before I moved south and became obsessed with butter beans -- the petite, pale green and obviously better-born cousin of the bloated, starchy blobs I routinely refused.

On those nights when my manners earned me a seat at the table by myself, long after dinner was cleared and everyone else was excused to watch the Wonderful World of Disney, I never imagined I'd not only tolerate limas but even seek them out. Their annual return to summer farmer's market tables truly is a thing of joy.

I've surprised myself by contentedly nibbling frozen limas, too -- they've come a long way since Peg Bracken conviced harried housewives of the late '60s that Bird's Eye brand had eliminated the drudgery of preparing fresh vegetables in a modern kitchen.

While I'm now an admitted fan of fresh and frozen limas, it wasn't until this week that I finally cooked a batch of dried beans -- this time under the tutelage of Martha Rose Shulman, who featured them in her engaging New York Times Recipes for Health column. Easy to fix and easy to enjoy, Slow-baked beans with kale lived up to Shulman's luxurious praise.

Unlike my mother, though, I did not make Graham sit alone at the table when he declined to eat them. Who says some things never change?

Grilled oysters and clams

2011-01-27T22:21:00.000-05:00

I love oysters. I've enjoyed them Rockefeller'd in New York, slurpled them raw with a spash of local hot sauce in Houma, La., and devoured them fried to melting perfection at the Carolina coast. I've even lightly breaded and fried them at home with reasonable success.

I have not, however, ever cooked them from scratch -- that is to say, still tucked inside their rock-hard shells. Technically, I still haven't, since Tim wisely consulted James Peterson's Fish & Shellfish and grilled the ones we had for dinner.

We knew we'd be dining well tonight because oysters and clams were the promised fresh catch from Walking Fish CSA, which makes weekly deliveries from Beaufort to Durham to its appreciative members. While it seems obvious now, we had not anticipated that the oysters would arrive unshucked.

Grilling oysters is a bit trickier than grilling clams, which yield luxuriously and reveal a shiny puddle of briny juice in a matter of minutes; lift them gingerly to a serving bowl avoid sloshing these salty droplets, which add welcome brio to pasta or rice. According to Peterson, oysters will be done after about three minutes, when their lids loosen enough to easily pull off.

Unlike clams, it is not obvious when oysters give in to the grill, so you have to trust that they have in fact steamed in their own juice. Some needed to be tweaked open with the tip of a sharp knife -- one actually required a few robust whacks with a table knife -- but most did indeed open as predicted. While a dip in creamy basil mustard was tasty, these plump bites really needed no adornment short of a light squirt of lemon.

We served the oysters and clams atop an absorbant bed of bulgur pilaf with sauteed shallot and asparagus.

2 cups water or chicken stock (or mix)
1 cup dry bulgur pilaf, or medium bulgur
1 shallot, minced
1 lb asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1" pieces
1 tbsp tomato paste
1 tbsp olive oil
juice of 1/2 lime
drizzle of Persian lime oil (or olive oil with lime zest)
salt, pepper

Bring water or stock to boil with a generous pinch of salt; add bulgur and stir to combine. Reduce heat and cook covered 10-15 minutes until liquid is absorbed and pilaf is fluffy. Remove from heat and keep covered.

Meanwhile, saute shallot in olive oil over medium heat 2 minutes, then add tomato paste and stir well. Add asparagus, salt and pepper, and cook over low flame about 10 minutes or until tender and lightly browned. Remove from heat and stir in lime juice.

Turn pilaf into large bowl; add asparagus mix and toss to combine. Adust seasonings (it needed a fair amount of salt) then transfer to serving dish and drizzle with lime oil.

Shrimp dip with roasted bell pepper

2011-01-17T19:27:00.004-05:00

We had the pleasure of cooking for a friend last night we had not seen in months and likely won't see again for many more, given that he now lives in California. He mentioned a longing for North Carolina seafood, so I decided to use some in an appetizer.

I bought about 3/4 pound of plump shrimp and thought about the Lee Brothers' delicious shrimp burgers, which lightly poach shrimp in an Old Bay-ish spice mix then chops them to form tender patties. I also thought of a luscious red bell pepper I'd roasted and peeled that morning.

I was pretty sure this "hmmm" moment would translate to "mmmm," so I started to scan the store for other assorted nibbles. I was briefly tempted by housemade pimento cheese, but while it fairly screamed North Carolina, I set it out of my mind in favor of the healthier option I already picked.

Surprisingly, though, after poaching and then dicing the shrimp in the processor with the roasted pepper, the result look strikingly like pimento cheese (sadly, the photo does not do it justice). Serve chilled with lavash crackers and vegetable crudites.

3/4 lb. fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 tbsp. Old Bay, or to taste
1 medium red bell pepper, roasted and peeled
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
2 tbsp. mayonnaise
hot sauce, to taste
kosher salt, freshly-ground pepper

Fill a large sauce pan about half way with water, add Old Bay and bring to a boil. Add shrimp and stir. After 2 minutes, or just until pink, turn off heat and leave in broth another 2 minutes. Drain and cool slightly.

Chop roasted bell pepper coarsley and place in processor with shrimp; pulse to combine. Add mayonnaise, hot sauce, salt and pepper. Pulse until coarse chopped and well blended. Taste to adjust seasoning -- it wanted more salt than I'd guessed. Refrigerate at least an hour or until ready to serve.

NYTimes: How the Microplane Grater Escaped the Garage

2011-01-12T09:45:00.000-05:00

I'm a longtime fan and have given their superior graters as wedding and birthday gifts, but I had no idea Microplane was so diverse. Received a pair of their snazzy kevlar "cut-resistant" gloves just last night to use with my new Super Benriner.

Bulgur-cashew veggie burgers

2011-01-08T19:14:00.000-05:00

Hats off, once again, to BrokeAss Gourmet. The mix of nutty bulgur and nuts is inspired. I was out of cumin and substituted rogan josh. Also, instead of spicy aoil, I opted for tadziki with cilantro in place of dill. Even Graham pronounced them delicious.

Shrimp piccata, hold the pasta

2011-01-07T21:10:00.000-05:00

Shrimp and pasta with a light piccata sauce is one of our favorite quick dinners. However, a variation we made tonight ditched the pasta in favor of delicious pan-seared cauliflower and tomatoes that simmer briefly in the savory sauce.

Start with a Weight Watchers recipe for sauteed cauliflower and tomatoes as the base. Once done, pour into a covered serving bowl to keep warm.

Add a tablespoon of oil to the pan, then a pound of plump peeled and devined shrimp. As soon as they turn pink, add about a half-cup of white wine, 2 tablespoons drained capers and a tablespoon each of butter and honey mustard (substitute the more traditional Dijon, if you prefer). Stir well to combine and bring to a bubble. Return cauliflower-tomato mixture to the pan, cover and simmer 4-5 minutes. Transfer to bowl and serve.

Tip: If you have culinarily alert dogs, drizzle any leftover sauce on their kibble. I cannot begin to describe how happy our pups are right now.

A French Table-inspired New Year's feast

2011-01-01T20:59:00.002-05:00

Some folks swear by collards or black-eyed peas. Others vouch for downing a dozen grapes at the stroke of midight to guarantee 12 sweet months.

We have no set New Year's Eve traditions, other than typically spending the last night of the year at home. Our menu varies from year to year, though the one in which Tim made a big pot of gumbo does stand out as particularly memorable.

This year's inspiration came largely from Dorie Greenspan's excellent new Around My French Table. I waited my turn to try out this critically acclaimed book from the library, but I'm certain I'll soon have a copy for my permanent collection.

When I checked out the book, the librarian sighed deeply when she saw the title, then set about scanning the index for her personal favorite. Flipping to Marie-Helene's Apple Cake, she grabbed a sticky note and pressed it on the page. "You must make this," she said. "It is sooooo good."

Never one to argue with a librarian, I took her advice to heart. After a quick skim, I decided to not only make the cake but also Dorie's salmon rillettes and tadziki. Each was simple and delicious. Actually, the cake, which was the grand finale to our New Year's feast, was sublime.

We built up to these tasty morsels gradually, starting with take-out sushi (blue crab and eel) and a flavorful shaved seaweed salad. Next up was the Weight Watcher's-friendly tadziki, her traditional take on a classic, with a colorful plate of veggies, pretzel crisps and mixed nuts. Then came a simple bruschette of grilled baguette slices rubbed with garlic, topped with melting blue cheese or feta (Graham's preference) and crowned with a twist of rare roast beef.

Things got serious with the salmon rillettes, which Graham helped make by dicing the salmon, managing the quick poach and gently mashing in the smoked salmon and butter. The mixture set beautifully and made a most elegant spread. I foresee using leftovers in a fritatta dotted with dabs of creamy chevre.

The pièce de résistance, as I think the French might say, was indeed the highly recommended apple cake, which features chunks of four different types of apples (whatever you like best) and a lush, buttery batter. It smelled divine while baking and looked like something you'd be glad to be served at your favorite bistro.

While it certainly needed nothing more than a fork, I could not resist a drizzle of caramel sauce on the dessert plates before serving -- an addition I mentioned when I wrote with grateful praise on Dorie's popular Facebook page. Her reply was, indeed, the icing on my New Year's cake:

ME: Oh Dorie. The librarian was right: the apple cake was sublime! I gilded the lily by serving it on a puddle of caramel sauce. Also made salmon rillettes and tadziki. So good!

DORIE: A puddle of caramel sauce sounds perfect! I'm delighted that you liked the cake and the rillettes and tatziki, too. Happy new year!

Burger with bulgur

2010-12-30T22:56:00.000-05:00

I started the new Weight Watchers PointsPlus program a few weeks ago and am working hard to rethink my approach to high-fat, low-fiber, carb-clogged and generally points-heavy foods. So far, it's been a creative and mostly satisfying experience, but not everything can be made points friendly. Or can it?

I've been craving a juicy grilled burger but was appalled by the points value of how I prepared them. Tonight, eager to take our new Cusinart Griddler for a spin, I decided to dial down the fat while boosting the volume, fiber and flavor. I did it with some coarse bulgur (the real deal, imported from Turkey) and fresh ground beef from a local halal butcher.

I started with just 3/4 lb ground beef for two generously sized burgers and one, mine, a little smaller; I used to make three big boys out of a full pound. Then I boosted them with nutty bulgur. In a small ramekin covered with plastic wrap, I bloomed 2 tablespoons of the golden grain in hot water for about 10 minutes. After draining thoroughly, I added this to the meat, along with about half of a small onion (grated), and 1 teaspoon each Worchestershire sauce, herbs in duxelle and Mexican oregano. Just before grilling, I added a generous surface sprinkle of hearty hickory-smoked sea salt.

The bulgur did not affect the meaty flavor; in fact, you could barely detect the secret ingredient. Graham had no idea and practically inhaled his. Even tucked into an onion knot bun from Fresh Market, it was so much leaner and tastier than my old standard that I felt no guilt topping it with a melty (if thin) slab of blue cheese.

Roasted butternut squash, al orange

2010-12-21T22:06:00.011-05:00

It sat on the counter for nearly two weeks like a giant scold daring me to make soup. No, I thought. Not this time.

I have an arsenal of cookbooks to help me with such tasks, but I had a vision -- not of sugarplumbs, mind you, but of a slightly sweet and savory glaze that would transform a hulking 5-pound-plus butternut squash into proper size chunks of glistening beauty. And, I'm happy to report, it worked.

The key ingredient was blood orange-infused olive oil, a vacation souvenir that has surprised me with its extraordinary shelf life. A light drizzle proved to be just the thing that turned common roasted squash into something geninely special.

If you're not so lucky as to have blood orange-infused olive oil in your pantry, add the freshly grated zest of an orange -- then eat the orange. They've been really, really good this year, and you deserve it.

If you opt to try this with a small squash, which makes sense unless you want to eat leftovers for lunch for several days (I did, and it was great), adjust ingredients accordingly. Likewise, if you go ginormous, you could add some broth, pull out the stick blender and turn the balance into terrific soup.

1 5 lb. butternut squash
2-3 tbsp blood orange-infused olive oil (or olive oil and orange zest)
2 tsp cinnamon
2 tsp sugar
1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
salt, pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Trim ends, scoop out seeds and cut squash into manageable 3-inch chunks. Arrange, skin-side down, on baking sheet covered with foil and coated with vegetable spray.

Blend seasonings together and distribute evenly over squash, then drizzle with oil. Roast about an hour or until tender, nicely browned and glistening. If you're like me, grab the best-looking piece for a taste test, then arrange the rest on a serving dish. Devour.

Stuffed cabbage, but not from grandma

2010-12-19T15:19:00.000-05:00

My grandmother lived in an apartment across the street from my high school. It was a great pleasure for me to slip off campus now and then to meet her for lunch. I have a particularly strong memory of her calling one night to invite me to join her the next day for stuffed cabbage, one of my all-time favorite comfort foods.

I instantly said yes; not only because I adored her, but also I was astounded that this woman -- who rarely cooked anything that required more than a toaster oven or a single pot -- was willing to go to such effort to please me. The only recipe I knew she relied upon was one I still view as an ideal party snack: equal parts dry-roasted peanuts, chocolate chips and golden raisins, served in a classic Stangl bowl that is now mine.

I never said a word when, after she served the already-plated dish, and I praised and devoured every last bite, I noticed the tell-tale Stouffer's box in her trash can.

I've always wanted to make stuffed cabbage myself, but I imaged it to be one of those highly complicated affairs best left to employees of Jewish delis, or perhaps Mrs. Stouffer. But now that I've seen how easy it is, I'm disappointed that I denied myself this pleasure for so long.

Chef Ricky Moore, a North Carolina native who honed his skills in kitchens around the world and once battled Michael Symon on Iron Chef, last week lead the first in a promising series of classes at Bickett Market, a rustic little shop in Five Points that sells seasonal produce and a variety of artisan foodstuffs. It's a natural progression for owner Jason Stegall, a proponent of all things local and good.

Moore's recipe -- unfortunately, scaled for the group class and not the home cook -- was simple and flavorful. The cabbage bundles were braised in an almost translucent and tangy tomato au jus and served atop a creamy blob of smoked grits. I don't mind admitting that I had seconds.

The grits contained the fun culinary trick of the evening. Moore guaranteed success if cooked in a ratio of one part grits to four parts liquid -- in this case, one cup of Carolina Grits & Co. stone-ground grits to 2 cups water and 2 cups of 2% milk. I was surprised to see his assistant quickly dump the grits into the mix. The last time I tried that it turned into one great gluey grit.

Moore explained that, if added while the liquids are at a rolling boil, the grits will join the party and stay reasonably separate. It took a fair amount of stirring, and a little more water was added to ensure creamy results, but they came out as perfect as promised.

The fun twist of the recipe was the smoked part, which came from smoked, whole heads of garlic. Moore said he smoked them indoors in a jerry-rigged contraption made from a cast iron skillet and a lot of singed foil, but I suspect it would be easier (and more smoke-alarm friendly) to try his alternate method of smoking them outdoors on a grill. Either way, plan on 15-20 minutes on the heat, then another 15-20 minutes off heat but still snugly cocooned in foil. When squeezed, the smoked cloves oozed forth like browned butter, just as if they had been slow-roasted more traditionally in the oven.

There are a few kinks to be worked out in the Bickett Market cooking series -- a modest overhead video set-up, designed to slide from work station to cooktop -- was tempermental, making it difficult to observe technique for more than a few minutes at a time. But those attending were more amused by the fickle camera than annoyed, and Moore was gracious about demonstrating steps and making sure all questions were answered.

This debut class was informative and fun, the dish was delicious and I'm confident I can recreate it. Additionally, the foodies I dined with were great company, and the upcoming roster is full of tempting classes. To borrow a phrase, how bad is that?

Roasted cauliflower with gremolata bread crumbs

2010-12-04T21:46:00.005-05:00

One page from the stack of new recipes I intended to make for our Thanksgiving feast last week got set aside when the reality of how much I'd already cooked for three diners eventually dawned on me. I finally made the last side dish tonight, and I won't wait until the next holiday to make it again.

I wish I could take credit for the idea, but Roasted cauliflower with gremolata bread crumbs was first posted on Food52. I made a half-batch with a deep purple variety -- found at Kroger, not usually my first choice for fresh produce -- and it looked glorious when speckled with roasted brown spots.

Suffice it to say, I haven't been to the store today and still have no panko crumbs. In their place I tore up a potato sandwich bun and tossed it into the processor, which converted it into appealingly feathery bits.

The recipe is self-explanatory and the gremolata bread crumbs come together quickly. Since it was served with another vegetable side Graham dislikes, he assumed it was all for him, leaving us just a sampling. By the end of the meal, all that was left was some flavorful crumbs, which Graham used to jazz up the kibble in the pups' bowls. Glad to report they, too, are content members of the clean plate club.

Latke night!

2010-12-03T21:06:00.008-05:00

As a child, I'm not entirely sure I associated latkes with potatoes. All I knew for certain is they appeared, along with the electric menorah, each year at Hanukkah. The arrival of that familiar little box from Manischewitz -- or Streit's, depending on what side of town my mother shopped that day -- was a happy sight. Just add an egg and water, let the oil shimmer in an electric skillet and, l'chaim, latkes.

As recently as a few years ago, I used boxed latke mix for our annual Hannukkah soiree, during which Tim regaled neighbors with his coloful version of noble Judith tempting wicked Halofrenes with salty cheese and jug wine. I'm a bit embarassed by that now -- not just because I used a mix for guests, but because the real deal not only is easy to make but also takes scarcely more effort.

This year I decided to try Golden Panko Latkes, one of the recommended picks on Food52. Just before dinner, though, I realized I had no potatoes. Or applesauce. Or sour cream.

After returning from the store, I wished I'd taken another look at the recipe before I left, as I only had a handful of the key namesake ingredient. While it's generally smarter, not to mention better culinary etiquette, to make a recipe as directed the first time, I decided I'd rather punt than return to the store.

So after adding a pouch of cheddar mashed potato mix to the panko -- don't snicker; I've done it before and it works -- I decided I might as well change it up some more. I added about half of a small onion, shredded, and a handful of minced parsley.

The mix yielded a generous batch of latkes, which hardly absorbed any oil. That was a good thing because -- must I say it? -- I was almost out of canola, too. Not sure if I should credit the miracle of the everlasting Hannukkah oil or the seemingly oil-repellent coating, but about a cup of oil was plenty for the entire recipe.

Serve with sour cream and applesauce, of course, and crank up Hanukkah Rocks by The LeeVees.

Browned-butter sage pesto with pepitas

2010-12-01T21:58:00.000-05:00

Last week I splurged on two small bags of handmade pumpkin pasta, which I intended to use in some sort of post-Thanksgiving feast. It got lost, however, in my overstuffed refrigerator. When rediscovered, it was no longer the pale tender curls admired on day of purchase, but I was pretty confident it would improve if coated in a shiny glaze of brown-butter sage pesto with pepitas.

I was right. And it could not have been easier.

1 stick unsalted butter
3-4 tbsp fresh sage, minced
1/4 tsp red pepper flakes
1/4 cup fresh pepitas (pumpkin seeds), toasted; reserve 1 tbsp for garnish and chop the rest
1 lb fresh pumpkin pasta (or whatever you've got)

Cook pasta according to directions. Save about a cup of pasta water and set aside before draining.

While pasta cooks, melt butter in pan with heavy base on medium-low heat. Stir in sage and red pepper; simmer until it begins to turn amber. Add chopped pepitas and stir to combine. When the sauce turns an irresitible brown, add the drained pasta and a splash of reserved pasta water; blend thoroughly. Tongs are the perfect tool for this task. Add more pasta water if needed.

Transfer to serving bowl and top with a sprinkling of pepitas.

If you have leftovers, add a little reserved pasta water for improve reheating.

Adobo chicken with rice

2010-11-28T21:33:00.001-05:00

I've been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the first Penzys spice shop to open in the Carolinas, but my neighbor beat me to it. It's OK, though, since she thoughtfully brought me a spice blend that I didn't even know had been woefully absent from my cupboard.

I am now the happy owner of an aromatic jar of Adobo seasoning, which Penzys says includes onion, garlic, Tellicherry black pepper, Mexican oregano, cumin and cayenne pepper. Sounds simple enough, but there really is something quite lovely about the balance that made tonight's dinner so good that it was gone before I thought to take a photo.

I used a cupful of rich, gelatinous turkey stock, the final gift from our holiday bird, which I feel sure was the magic that pulled all the flavors together. It's an indulgent ingredient, however, and one that I'll use in Scrooge-like fashion until the last luscious cube is gone from the freezer. If you're not so lucky, substitute your favorite store-bought broth.

2-3 tbsp canola oil, divided
6 skinless, bone-in chicken thighs
2 tsp Adobo seasoning (or to taste)
salt, pepper
1 small onion, diced
2 tbsp dry sherry
1 1/2 cups brown rice
1 can diced tomatoes with jalapeno
1 cup homemade turkey broth (or store-bought chicken broth)
1 cup water
1/2 cup shredded sharp cheddar (optional)

Pour 1-2 tbsp oil in clay cazuela or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Generously sprinkle meatier side of chicken thighs with Adobo, arrange spice-side down in pot. Dust other side lightly with salt and freshly ground pepper. Cook chicken until lightly browned, about 5 minutes, then flip. When done, remove to a dish and keep warm.

Add remaining oil to pot along with diced onion. Reduce heat and sweat 4-5 minutes, then add sherry, stirring well to loosen any browned bits. When mostly reduced, add rice and stir well to coat. Add stock, can of tomatoes (with juice) and about a cup of water. Increase heat and bring to a boil then reduce heat and simmer, covered, about 10 minutes.

Give the rice a stir then tuck in the chicken pieces and any juices. Cover and simmer about 30 minutes. If rice is still soupy, remove chicken and simmer uncovered until thickened. Return chicken to pan for last minute, then serve. If desired -- and we did -- garnish with cheese.