Burning Pasta

The Nearly Instant Appetizer: Grilled Clams alla Basilico

2011-08-30T17:13:00.003-04:00

August, while full of sunshine and long, warm days, can can be a very long month for shellfish lovers.

As the old rule goes, oysters are best in the "ber" months -- September, October, November, December -- the later in the year the better. In August, with water temperatures right where bacteria like them, fans of raw bivalves often find themselves looking for alternative ways to fulfill this craving.

The good news is, all hope is not lost -- right now is the best time to indulge in littleneck clams. Silver-dollar sized, these morsels of fresh brine and milky flesh are a great way to add life to any meal. Best of all, in late summer they're safe to eat, cheap (about four dollars a pound if you know where to look), and, using this recipe, ready to eat in minutes.

Let's get right to it.

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Grilled Clams alla Basilico
Feeds about two hungry people, or four as a appetizer

3 Pounds Live Littleneck Clams
10-15 leaves fresh Basil
1/4 cup Olive Oil
Fresh Cracked Black Pepper

1 Baguette (optional)
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[EDITOR'S NOTE #1: If you can't find littlenecks, feel free to sub in baby New England "steamer" clams. They're a fine replacement. That being said, don't go trying this recipe with Quahogs or something silly like a Geoduck. You'll just be setting yourself up for a rubbery mess.]

Start by heating up your grill. Charcoal is best, followed by an electric smoker filled with wood chunks (what I used here), followed by gas. Get the grill nice and hot.

Next, rinse your clams in a colander. Run cold water over them, checking each clam, one at a time, to make sure they're sealed shut. If there are clams that won't close after you give them a poke, toss them; they're a recipe for dysentery. Most littlenecks are sold debearded, so this process won't take long.

If you sense there's a lot of grit on the clams, you can also soak them briefly in a quart of water that's had a tablespoon of flour mixed into it. This will cause the clams to expel any sand inside of them. On the other hand, it will also mean you'll lose some of the delicious seawater flavor inside, so consider this judiciously.

Quickly place the clams on the grate of the hot grill. Have a friend help you, if there's one hanging around your house; you want to get the clams on the grill and the lid fitted over the entire operation as fast as you can.

Keep the clams covered for five minutes. Open the lid and check to see if the clams are open. If they aren't, cover again, and check every two minutes thereafter. When all but one or two clams are open, move on to the next step (and toss out the closed clams).

Quickly scoop up the clams from the grill grate. While you can use tongs or a spatula to do this, I've found that you lose lots of the delicious, delicious liquid trapped inside of the clamshells. That's good flavor. If you don't care about burning your fingertips in the name of gastronomic enjoyment (my kind of people), pick up the clamshells one at a time and place them onto a plate. Remember that friend who helped you put the clams on the grill? Now is a good time to have them help you again.

At this point, drizzle the whole thing with olive oil, and crack the black pepper over top.

[EDITOR'S NOTE #2: Note the plate is on a grill in this picture. This is not the same grill as I cooked the clams on -- if it had been the same grill, I would (1) have overcooked the clams and (2) risked my plate cracking/burning someone. I happened to put the plate on another grill I had lying around. Just use a picnic table like a sane person.]

Next, get your fresh basil -- this time of year I bet you've either got a big bush of the stuff outside, or you'll find that they're practically giving it away at your local farmer's market/grocery.

Chiffonade (i.e. layer the leaves one on top of the other and slice them very thin) the basil on a cutting board, and sprinkle it over the hot clams.

And that's it! Bring the plate to the table ASAP, and suggest people dig right in with their hands. If you have a baguette lying around, pass around chunks so that folks can soak up the leftover juices.

The final product:

This is the perfect late summer recipe -- bursting with raw, bracing basil, fresh shellfish, and buttery, peppery olive oil. What more could you ask for? Maybe a slice of lemon spritzed on top? Go ahead. It's your dish. I highly suggest you try this; paired with a tall, cool pilsner or pale ale, I can't imagine any better way to while away an afternoon.

Music: Elvis Presley: "Do The Clam"

Summer, By Way of The Spice Trade: Orange-Flower Zucchini Bread with Pistachios

2011-07-10T20:28:00.005-04:00

For most people, Summer means time for fresh, locally-grown produce.

(Not to rub it in, but out here in California, we get the good stuff year round. And there's no humidity. And you can ski and swim in the ocean in the same day. Sure, I'll wait while you book your plane tickets.)

And when it comes to that produce, no vegetable is as prodigious in July and August as the mighty zucchini (a.k.a. summer squash). Sold for cents on the pound, it's a versatile and welcome harbinger of warm weather wherever it appears. Have you had the little two or three inch ones, boiled in salted water and covered with fresh, green olive oil? Or what about the big baseball bats, sliced into long thick strips and thrown on the grill, as meaty and juicy as the best sirloin? Heck, you can even eat the stuff raw.

Of course, my favorite use for zucchini is to grate it and whip it into sweet, perfumed bread. It's light, healthy enough for breakfast, and bears within it just the slightest nod towards the cinnamon and nutmeg-laden season of Fall yet to come.

While there are plenty of old-school zucchini bread recipes out there, I've recently gotten into the mood of introducing some traditional Persian flavors -- pistachio and orange flower water -- into this summer classic. Let's get right to it.

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Orange-Flower Zucchini Bread with Pistachios
Produces two 8 x 4 loafs, or 30 standard-sized muffins, or one 8 x 4 loaf and 15 muffins . . .

3 Large Eggs
1 Cup Vegetable Oil
1 and 1/4 Cups White Sugar
4 cups grated Green Zucchini (about two medium-to-large sized squashes)
2 teaspoons Orange Flower Water
3 and 2/3 Cups all-purpose Flour
1 teaspoon Baking Soda
1/2 teaspoon Baking Powder
3 teaspoons Cinnamon
1 teaspoon Nutmeg
1 and 1/2 teaspoons Kosher Salt
1/2 to 3/4ths cup shelled Green Pistachios
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Preheat your oven to 350 F.

Start by mixing together the eggs, oil, sugar, salt, and Orange Flower Water in a large mixing bowl. The ratios here make for a lightly sweet bread; if you want to really taste the squash, cut the sugar down to one cup; if you want to give your dentist more money, go up to 1 and 1/2 or even 1 and 3/4ths cups.

It's time to grate your zucchini using a box grater or food processor. You want good-sized shreds. Ball-park the measurement to around four cups; if you're a little over, a little under, no big whoop. Just toss it in to the egg/oil/sugar mixture and stir to blend.

After that, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, and nutmeg into a separate bowl. Toss the shelled pistachios into the flour mixture to coat (this will keep them from all sinking to the bottom). Finally, s-l-o-w-l-y and gently stir the dry ingredients into the wet until just mixed.

Place the batter (it should be loose, but substantial) into the refrigerator for 30 minutes. If you're making loaves, coat your pans well with more vegetable oil and flour; you don't want to have trouble freeing the bread later. Be sure to tap out the excess flour into the trash. If you're going to make muffins, use non-stick paper cupcake liners.

After 30 minutes has passed, stir the batter briefly (to make sure the pistachios are still in suspension) and pour into your baking vessels of choice. Bake muffins for 20 minutes, loaves for 50. Before you remove everything from the oven, test the bread with a skewer or sharp knife to make sure everything's cooked through.

The final product:

This is an absolutely treeeeemendous treat; a riot of perfumed orange, creamy, dense pistachio, and the comforting, steady beat of classic zucchini bread pulsing underneath. Make it now, and eat it hot. If you really have a death-wish/appreciation-of-the-good-things-in-life, fry thick slices of it in butter. You won't regret it.

Music: Spın̈al Tap: "(Listen to the) Flower People"

Sunshine in a Glass: Pompelmocello (Bitter Grapefruit Liqueur)

2011-07-05T03:14:00.013-04:00

Ah, summer.

There are few chronological spans more enjoyable than the one that sits between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Living in the Land of Eternal Summer (a.k.a. Southern California), I've become a bit of an expert when it comes to surviving these sultry months. The most important weapon? A tall, cold glass of . . . well, pretty much anything.

But you see, while almost anything works, not all beverages are made the same. The health nuts lug their canteens of water everywhere they travel; the classicists swear by G&Ts; the old men at Guidi Marcello and hipsters alike swim in a river of Aperol and Campari.

As for myself, I've previously written on this page to champion the delights of a well-made Agua Fresca; for sure, it's always a solid choice.

But at the end of a long day on the beach -- bits of sand still stuck in your hair, your skin ever-so-slowly starting to peel, the heat in your bones -- there are few better options than a chilled glass of homemade Pompelmocello, a bittersweet, grapefruit-flavored Italian liqueur. Surely you've tried Limoncello, right? Well, think of it this way -- if Limoncello is Beach Blanket Bingo Barbie, Pompelmocello is Sophia Loren. Got it?

You won't believe how easy this is to make. Let's get right to it.

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Pompelmocello (Bitter Grapefruit Liqueur)
Produces about one liter of liqueur

8 Grapefruit of your choice, with bright, fragrant rinds
1 Cup White Sugar
2 Cups Water
750 ml Vodka (or Everclear)
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Start by peeling -- peeling, not zesting, mind you -- eight grapefruits. Zesting won't work because you want to get some of the white, bitter pith into your infusion; the snappy, nubbish attack is a quite appealing aspect (if not entirely the point) of the beverage. If you're really a wimp about that kind of stuff, go ahead and just use the outside zest. You'l be missing out though.

Place the peels and the vodka into a large, non-reactive container (a glass jar is great for this). Set aside, in a dark, cool space, for three weeks.

After three weeks, the peels will have tinted the vodka a soft yellowish-orange color. Admire it in the sun for a spell.

Meanwhile, mix together one cup of Sugar and two cups of cool water until dissolved. This will form a loose simple syrup.

Strain the peels from the vodka, adding the vodka into the simple syrup. Transfer into bottles, and refrigerate (or freeze). That's it!

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From here, the uses are endless; I think it's best served (1) after dinner, cool and neat, as a digestivo, or (2) before the meal, with appetizers, mixed with a little club soda (or, if you really have no major plans later, prosecco), a fresh sprig of mint, and lots of crushed ice:

Bright, citrusy, ebullient; a simple wonder. Believe me, your guests will rave about your house-infused libation -- and they'll never guess how easy it was to make. Go for it.

Music: Me'shell Ndegéocello: Bitter

Put Up The Harvest: Curried Cauliflower and Jerked Beet Pickles

2011-06-08T13:45:00.016-04:00

"In a pickle." Goodness knows Lafayette (pictured above) finds himself in one quite often.

A phrase with quite a bad connotation, etymologists suggest that it came up from the process of making pickles -- that to do so, you would "stir, confuse, and mix" vegetables, or meat, or eggs in sour broth, and in doing so, preserve them in that particular state. Similarly, when we speak about someone "in a pickle," they are stuck, are bound, are in a state from which they cannot escape.

Frankly, that explanation's fine, if a little pejorative. For you see, while it may describe the life of a pickle -- solitary, sour, suspended (and in my house, soon to be eaten) -- it fails to express the joy that pickles can bring to an eater. The word "pickled," by itself, isn't much better, describing someone three sheets to the wind (if I may mix my metaphors).

And while a good pickle can provide an intoxicating effect, too many people buy them in jars rather than make them at home.

I get it, too -- who wants to sterilize jars, boil gallons upon gallons of water for processing, and, worst of all, wait weeks to eat the final product?

Well, fear no more. Today, I'm going to show you how to make two great "refrigerator" pickles; both of them easy, palate-pleasing, and ready to eat within 24 hours. Best of all, the recipes below are just a framework -- by following these steps, you can create flavors no grocery store will ever match.

Let's get to it.
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Curried Cauliflower and Jerked Beet Pickles
Serves many as an appetizer

Curried Cauliflower
1 and 1/2 Cups White Vinegar
2 Tablespoons White Sugar
2 Tablespoons Kosher Salt
1 Clove Garlic (chopped)
1/2-inch piece fresh Ginger, chopped
4 Cups Water
1 Head Cauliflower
1 Tablespoon Tumeric (dried or fresh)
2 Tablespoons Cumin (whole or ground)
1 teaspoon Cinnamon (ground)
1 teaspoon coriander seeds (whole)
1 Tablespoon hot pepper flakes

Jerked Beet Pickles
1 and 1/2 Cups White Vinegar
1 Tablespoons White Sugar
2 Tablespoons Kosher Salt
4 Cups Water
1 Pound of Golden Beets
1 clove Garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon thyme (dried or fresh)
1 teaspoon allspice (ground or whole)
1/2 teaspoon cloves (ground or whole)
1 Tablespoon onion powder (optional)
2 Tablespoons hot pepper flakes
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Editor's Note: We apologize for the picture quality in this post -- we're in the process of working out a few bugs with our regular close-up camera, and so have had to make-do with a "point-n-shoot."
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Start by peeling your beets and chopping your cauliflower. After that, in two separate saucepans, combine each batch's vinegar, water, sugar, and salt. This ratio will make pretty pungent pickles; if you want a milder snack, lower the vinegar to one cup -- if you're really looking to twist your tongue, go with two cups.

Next, add the respective spices into each batch. Here's the cauliflower brine:

...and here's the beet brine:

Bring both brines to a rolling boil and turn on your exhaust fan. Open a window as well, if you can -- the smell can be quite pungent.

Add the veggies into their respective pots. After five minutes, shut off the cauliflower. After ten, shut off the beets. Leaving the veggies in the brine, remove the pots from the stove and set somewhere to cool.

Once the veggies are cool, transfer them to a glass jar or Tupperware, cover them with cooled brine, and refrigerate until cold; they'll be ready to eat immediately. These "refrigerator" pickles will last up to one week. Of course, that's if you let them. The final product:

These are a wonderful addition to any summer meal: full of flavor yet refreshing, familiar yet original, as welcome next to a hamburger as it is next to a charcuterie plate. Start by making these. I think you'll get hooked. From there, using the water/vinegar/sugar/salt ratio above, sub in almost any veggie and and whatever spices/herbs your heart desires. (Shine on, you crazy diamond.)

Bring these to a picnic (if you don't eat them all first) and leave with some new friends. Next time, we'll be putting together a refreshingly bitter digestivo by way of Italia...

Music: Phish: Sample in a Jar (live)

The Importance of Good Ingredients: Chanterelle Pasta with Black Truffle Butter Sauce

2011-04-09T22:39:00.006-04:00

It's been forever since I posted here, I know. Admittedly, law school has reduced my free time down to a mere pittance; I'm lucky enough if I have enough energy to make a delicious dinner, much less photograph it.

Nevertheless, I decided to put up a recipe this week for two reasons:

(1) This recipe couldn't be easier -- it's a treatise on the fact that if you get your hands on flavorful, good quality ingredients, put them in the same dish, and stay out of the way, you can still make magical things, even on a school night.

(2) Relatively speaking, this is a surprisingly inexpensive dish.

Don't believe me? Read on.

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Chanterelle Pasta with Black Truffle Butter Sauce
Serves 2 as an entree; 4 as a pasta course

1 Pound of dry Pasta (linguini preferred)

1/4 pound of Sweet Cream Butter, unsalted
1/3 pound young Chanterelle mushrooms, fresh, not dried
1/2 oz. of Oregon Black Truffles
A few healthy gratings of Parmigiano Reggiano (or a reasonable equivalent)
A few cracks of fresh Black Pepper

Kosher Salt (for the pasta water)
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Now, I can hear what you're saying: Black Truffles? On a graduate student budget?

Fear not. One of the best parts of living in Los Angeles is the presence of wonderfully -supported and well-larded farmer's markets; without any particular city center or meeting place, these temporary markets are where many folks gather, where familiar faces are always seen.

And why not? This isn't the cabbage and potato-dominated winter market of the East Coast -- we have cheap, handpicked mushrooms (the Chanterelles cost me about four bucks), ripe Oxnard strawberries, same-day harvested San Diego oysters, blood oranges being practically given away...and all this in February, March, and April!

The highlight for me, however, is the presence of Oregon black truffles. At the Santa Monica Farmer's Market for only eight weeks each year, these little beauties smell like real-deal Perigords ($200 an oz., fresh), but sell for one-tenth the price ($20 per oz.) Each little truffle is about 1/2 a ounce; more than enough to generously serve four people. Think about what even a plate of all'amatriciana would run you at a restaurant; this costs about the same.

I know some of you spent 10 dollars this week on a bad sandwich and a cup of coffee; you can afford this. For the rest of you, you'll have to come visit California (or go right to Oregon) to get your fix.

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Start with a good handful of pasta, about a pound. I can spaghetti-cut on hand; linguini would be ideal. Toss it into well-salted, rapidly boiling water.

Using a wet paper towel, rub off any excess dirt from the 'shrooms. Trim off the very bottom of the stems if they look bad.

Grab your hunk of Parmigiano Reggiano. An aged gouda would also work in a pinch. Don't use Pecorino; it's too salty.

Meanwhile, start melting your stick of butter over medium heat. Watching it carefully, let it start to brown ever so slightly; don't stir it. Remove your pasta from the boiling water; it should be al dente by now.

When the first tints of color appear in the butter, toss in your chanterelles and turn up the heat. Saute for about two minutes, then remove the mushrooms and toss the pasta into the hot butter for an additional minute. Crack some pepper into the pan.

Divvy the infused pasta onto four plates, and top with the mushrooms and any extra butter left in the pan. Grate the black truffle (1/8 oz for each person) using a microplane, then quickly grate the parmesan over that.

Immediately -- literally, run it to the table -- serve to your guests, and tell them to stick their noses into the plates first; the aroma of this dish alone is reason enough to make it.

The final product:

This is truly a revelation in flavor, and a reminder that eating well doesn't have to break the bank. There's only one problem; you'll like this dish so much that you'll think about it the other 44 weeks of the year when truffles are out of season. Ah well -- to everything there is a season, I suppose.

Music: The Byrds -- "Turn! Turn! Turn!"

The Fall Classic, Updated: Cardamom Apple Pie

2010-09-28T01:52:00.007-04:00

Fall has always meant one thing to me: Apples.

Apple picking, apple cider, apple pie. Of course, without the picking, the cider and the pie usually don't happen, so it was with trepidation that I entered into my first September here on the West Coast. With the workload that comes with being a 1L, I wondered, would I have the time to get out to an orchard? For that matter, are there apple orchards in Southern California?

Well, there's good news, and there's bad. The good news is that, yes, there are apple orchards in Los Angeles. Well, if by Los Angeles you mean two hours north, in Palmdale. Unfortunately, the bad news is that I barely can spare the time to make a pie, much less gather the fruit for it. The good news is that all sorts of good apple varieties have started to spring up in local markets; I was able to get my hands on some lovely Gala and Granny Smith specimens without wandering too far from my front door.

As I was working in the kitchen, getting ready to cook, a bag of green cardamom caught my eye. For those of you that aren't familiar with it, cardamom is a sweet, delicate spice that brings extra dimension to almost any fruit you pair it with, and a particularly special affinity for oranges and apples, something I learned when I whipped up an Orange-Cardamom Yogurt Cake last year. I had an inkling it would add a lovely and subtle twist to my pie, and oh my, it certainly did.

Now, was my pie as delicious (or as satisfying) as it would have been had I guided it from orchard to table? Nah. But it'll do. That being said, for those of you that can get yourselves out of the house this fall to pick your own, I highly, highly recommend it. it may just become a new tradition for you.

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Cardamom Apple Pie
Makes 1 Pie

8 Medium Size Gala and Granny Smith Apples

2 Tablespoons "Minute" Tapioca
1/2 Cup Sugar
1/4 teaspoon fresh-grated Nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon fresh-grated cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground green cardamom
1 Tablespoon Pure Vanilla Extract

2 Tablespoons Butter
3/4 Cup Water

1 Two-Piece Store-Bought Pie Crust
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[Editor's Note: It's pretty easy to get your hands on cardamom these days, but if you're having trouble, look for grocery stores that specialize in Indian cookery, and -- this is important -- make sure you purchase green (not black or white) cardamom if you're going to use it for baking. If you're really lazy, you can (pay an arm and a leg) and order some at Penzey's.

Start by preheating your oven to 400 F. Peel and slice your apples. You want reasonably fat one to one-and-a-half inch pieces.

Mix together your tapioca, sugar, spices and vanilla. Add your apples, and stir well to mix. Let sit for 15 minutes, stirring once during the waiting period.

Put one piece of your pie crust down into the pie pan. Pour your Apple/Tapioca mixture into the pan, then pour the 3/4 cup of water over that. Dot the top of the apples with the two Tablespoons of butter, cut into small pieces. Cover the top with a lattice of pie crust.

Cover the pie with aluminum foil and place it into the oven for 45 minutes. After the 45 minutes have elapsed, remove the foil and bake for an additional 15 to 25 minutes, or until top of lattice turns golden brown. Remove pie from oven, cool for a little bit, and then serve! The final product:

That's it! This is a fantastically easy variation on a true American classic. The cardamom enhances the natural flavor of the apples in a delightfully-light handed manner -- between the delicate spicing and the low sugar content, this is a dessert that allows the main ingredient to shine. I hope you'll give it a spin. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with the results.

Music: Fiona Apple -- "Paper Bag"

The Acquired Taste: Homemade Bitters & Georgia Prizefight

2010-09-05T02:58:00.004-04:00

If there’s a flavor for whom appreciation only arrives with age, that flavor would be bitterness.

That’s not to say that most people become bitter with age; I would certainly hope not. Rather, I’m speaking about the flavor profile – astringent, sharp, piercing…shocking, even. And yet, so many of life’s more adult (and particularly liquid) pleasures – a well-brewed cup of coffee, the tannic finish on a glass of feisty red, the quinine snap of tonic water – are built if not focused on this unusual sensation.

All of the other tastes – sweet, sour, salty, umami – can be, and often are, appreciated from youth, and appreciated intuitively. Only bitter needs to be learned. It’s been surmised that the aversion to it seen early in life is a deep-ingrained evolutionary memory; the vast majority of poisonous fruits and vegetables found in the wild have a distinct bitterness to them. In short, a few cavemen died, everyone else learned to spit out bitter things, and the natural inbred appreciation and desire for such flavors was lost.

And what a tragedy that is! After all, there is nothing like bitterness to stimulate the appetite. The mouth draws in, saliva washes over the palate, the body begins to crave substance to fill the whole even then developing deep in the gut.

Few civilizations know this better than the Italians, who have turned the enjoyment of pre-dinner bitterness into an art form. Few things prepare the stomach for a feast better than a tall glass of Campari, or a short, fierce dram of Fernet-Branca, the latter of which many imbibe for the purpose after-dinner relief as well. And these, you see, are only two of hundreds of bitters and amari, a multitude of varieties that come in every color, flavor, and mouthfeel you can think of. Once you try a few, you become hooked – the search for the perfect pre-dinner glass can be a committed journey.

Even non-alcoholic examples abound, like Crodino, a sparkling bitter with a lovely orange hue; the friendly color of the glass betraying the deeply resonant lash of herbal intensity found in each swallow. But the truth of the matter is that your search doesn’t have to be restricted to commercial products; making your own is easy, affordable, and fun.

Let’s get to it.

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Homemade Bitters

1 and 1/4 Cups Grain Alcohol or Vodka

10 Sichuan Peppercorns
2 inches of Ginger, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch pieces
Peel of 1/2 Orange
15 Black Peppercorns
1/2 stick Cinnamon

2 Tablespoons Light Brown Sugar

1/4 Cup Water
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Start by preparing your ginger and orange peel.

Next, place the alcohol, Sichuan Peppercorns, Ginger, Orange Peel, Black Peppercorns, and Cinnamon in a mason jar. Seal the jar and place it in a cool, dark place for 24 to 48 hours.

After everything's had time to steep, add the Brown Sugar and Water into the jar. Shake vigorously to dissolve the sugar. Finally, strain your bitters from the contents of the jar, and bottle them.

That's it! This recipe is just one example – what I want you to take from this recipe is the pattern of elements. Every alcoholic bitter includes four elements; an alcohol base, flavoring agents (herbs, spices, zests, and the like), sugar (for balance), and water (for dilution).

This particulars bitters has tremendous flavor; the bright citrusy burst of traditional orange bitters, yes, but with a seriously bracing kick from the ginger, cinnamon, and peppercorns. The Sichuan Peppercorns, in particular, for those of you who haven't had the delight of cooking with them, provide not the hot fire of a habanero, but a numbing, intoxicating heat that leaves your lips tingling for an hour afterwards.

Anyway, this is just a basic idea -- as long as your bitters are, well, bitter, you can accentuate them with any spice, herb, fruit, meat...really, any flavor you can get your hands on. They're easy, fun, and will give your home bar a dash of originality and flair.

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Of course, having made bitters, I couldn't not make a cocktail! I decided to base it on the flavor of some fantastic peaches that I found -- this time of year, pretty much any farmer's market across the country will have some beautiful examples. And what goes better with peaches than bourbon? This would be a lovely libation, and, with the help of my bitters, one with a fresh, fanciful kick.

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Georgia Prizefight

3 oz. Bourbon
1/2 oz. Homemade Orange-Pepper Bitters
1 Peach
1 tablespoon Brown Sugar

Ice
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Gather your bourbon and your peach. Cut a thin wedge from your peach and set it aside.

Take your blender (we have a fantastic Cuisinart hand blender, one of the most useful things in our kitchen), slice up the rest of your peach, and, after adding the bourbon, the brown sugar, and the bitters, liquify the whole thing.

Strain any leftover pulp out from the blended liquid. Pour the strained cocktail into a shaker with lots of ice. Shake vigorously.

Finally, strain out the ice, pour your cocktail into a glass, and garnish with the remaining peach slice! The final product:

This is a tremendous cocktail -- ripe and lush from the fresh peach, resonant and full from the bourbon, and all tied together with the searing lash of the bitters. Get in the ring with it if you like, but watch out for the rope-a-dope.

That's all for now! My apologies that the posts have been so few and far between; law school keeps me more than a little occupied these days. I will keep updating the page of course, and on a semi-regular basis. After all, everyone needs a study break now and then. I'll see you all soon! I've got a wonderfully-indulgent first course just waiting up my sleeve.

Music: The Verve & Jay-Z: Bittersweet Dirt

The Refreshing Variation: "50/50" Blueberry Pie

2010-07-13T18:11:00.005-04:00

At long last, things have settled in here a little bit. The Pasta Burner and I have finally gotten our kitchen in order, and with it, there's a chance to really start exploring the California bounty at our fingertips.

I've been inching to make a pie for a while now. Yes, yes, I know, there have been more tarts on this page than in the wives' seats at the World Cup, but there's just something different, something luscious, indulgent, and summery about pie that other pastries -- including my beloved tarts -- just can't touch. In short, think of it this way: If Tarte au Citron is Grace Kelly, Blueberry Pie is Jayne Mansfield.

That being said, too often pies get gummy and overly sweet -- we've all had more than enough examples that were one step away from being nothing more than a pie shell filled with jam. To that end, then, I wanted to make a pie that would reflect the quality of the fruit out here on the West Coast, that would allow the flavor of the fresh, unadulterated fruit to shine through.

What I came up with was a "50/50" pie; traditional blueberry pie filling, but with fresh fruit folded in and latticed on top. This is a fantastically simple and delicious recipe, and there are an endless number of possible variations. Let's get right to it.

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"50/50" Blueberry Pie
Makes 1 Pie

6 Cups Fresh Blueberries

1/8th Cup "Minute" Tapioca
1 Cup Water

1/2 Cup Sugar
Zest of 1/2 Lemon
1 teaspoon fresh-grated Nutmeg
1 Tablespoon Butter

1 Store-Bought Pie Crust
------------------------

[Editor's Note: You can make your own pie crust from scratch. Indeed, I know some people who would be horrified at the thought of doing any less. I am not one of those people. Do as you like.]

Start by preheating your oven to 350 degrees F. Next, saturate your tapioca with the Cup of water. Let it sit in a measuring cup for no less than five minutes, or until the tapioca expands and becomes springy and soft.

Meanwhile, place three of the six Cups of blueberries into a medium saucepan. Add your sugar. I had some vanilla bean-infused sugar around, so I used that; if you're using regular granulated, you may want to add a dash of vanilla extract.

Add the softened tapioca to the blueberries and sugar. To this, add in the lemon zest and nutmeg. Nutmeg may seem like an unusual addition, but it's a Gauger family secret; my grandmother on my father's side always added it to any and all blueberry-related dishes she made. It really is a wonderful touch -- if you can get fresh (as pictured below), please do. Otherwise, pre-ground will have to suffice.

Meanwhile, blind bake your pie shell. Watching it carefully to avoid it growing air pockets, bake the crust off for about 25 minutes, or until deep golden brown. The pie won't be returning to the oven after this, so be sure to get it cooked through.

As the pie bakes, start cooking the filling. Add an additional 1/2 cup of water and the butter to your saucepan, and heat your burner to medium. Use a whisk to crush the blueberries and whisk the gelatinized tapioca into a smooth and homogeneous texture. Cook until the sauce is thickened and bubbling, about 10 minutes.

Take your hot pie filling and pour it into a large bowl to cool. Let it sit for at least 30 minutes, stirring occasionally to aid the cooling process. Your crust should be finished by now, so let that sit out to cool as well.

After 20 minutes has elapsed, fold two of the remaining three cups of blueberries into the sauce. Set aside for an additional 30 minutes.

Pour the cooled filling into the cooled crust. Top the filling with the remaining Cup of blueberries in an aesthetically-pleasing pattern. The final product:

To be honest, this is a tremendous way to breathe some fresh air into your favorite pie; I can only imagine this would be wonderful with Rainier cherries, blackberries, or even stone fruit. The fresh fruit also makes for a lighter, less sweet dessert; a great way to enjoy these flavors during the summer's heat.

I can't think of a better picnic dessert. Give it a try -- I bet you and your friends will agree.

Music: Fats Domino -- "Blueberry Hill"

The Dish of Unknown Providence: Green Chile Soup with Smoked Salmon

2010-07-08T14:41:00.003-04:00

It goes without saying that posts have been coming slow and without ceremony recently.

The thing is, the Pasta Burner and I are still in transit -- not the transit of sic transit gloria, mind you, but rather a steady and continual progress towards finishing the renovations on our lovely new home, a place where we hope our fortunes will only continue to get brighter with time.

As a result, however, there's been little time to cook; for that matter, there's been little kitchen to cook in.

[Editor's Note: Apologies for the blurry picture; the computer's built in camera is not exactly state-of-the-art.]

This being said, even with the long hours, we're still finding ways to spend a few minutes, here and there, standing over the stove. Living on the fly like this, you end up buying a few odds and ends here, ingredients for future meals, and give them little thought. Produce is purchased but soon forgotten, and before you know it, there's some aging peppers, a can of coconut milk, a chunk of onion, and half a package of smoked salmon staring at you.

Did someone say soup? Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Green Chile Soup with Smoked Salmon
Serves Four

Vegetable Oil (for sauteeing)

1 Tablespoon Garlic, minced
1 inch Ginger Root, minced

3 small Zucchini
2 Chipotle Peppers
1 Jalapeño Pepper
2 Leeks
1/2 large Red Onion

1 Tablespoon Butter
One 32 oz. box Chicken Broth
One 13.5 oz. can Coconut Milk

4 oz. Smoked Salmon
------------------------

Assemble your ingredients.

Begin by roasting your chipotle peppers over an open flame. Char all sides well, then plunge the roasted veggies into cold water to ease the removal of skin.

Once you have removed the skin from the peppers, chop them, and the rest of the vegetables up.

Heat two tablespoons of oil in a large pot over medium heat, then add the minced garlic and ginger. Saute them until they are aromatic, about 30 seconds. Add in the chopped vegetables, and, stirring constantly, cook for an additional five minutes.

Add your coconut milk, chicken broth, and butter to the pot. Reduce the heat to low, and let the contents of the pot come to a slow simmer. Cook for 10 minutes.

Using an immersion blender (or regular blender, or food processor...) puree the soup until it reaches your desired consistency. I like to leave a little texture, but do as you please. Taste, and adjust seasoning with kosher salt and black pepper.

Ladle the soup into bowls, and serve with slivers of smoked salmon. I had some fennel fronds lying around, so I used them as well. The final product:

As you can see, this is a soup that has no pretensions towards legitimacy or authenticity. But it is fairly healthy, quite delicious, and a good way to use up the first of the year's squash harvest. Give it a whirl, won't you?

We'll return soon, with a slightly more intact kitchen and some new recipes for you to try. See you then!

Music: Talking Heads -- "This Must Be The Place"

The Long-Delayed Reveal: Tarte au Citron with Sugar-Roasted Mexican Lime

2010-06-13T23:34:00.002-04:00

It was what -- March? -- when I gave you all a glimpse at this recipe. Three months, six kind comments requesting an expanded post, and three-thousand miles later, this considerably overdue recipe is finally here.

The truth of the matter is that it's absurdly simple, and it utilizes techniques that we've already featured on this website with previous posts. The filling, a simple lemon curd, is a variation on the filling for our Grapefruit Curd Tulips, while the crust is taken straight from our French Fruit Tart with Vanilla Crème -- and to be honest, if you cheat and use a frozen pie crust...well, I'm not going to tell anyone.

Let's get right to it.

[Editor's Note: There's one difference between this recipe, and the one featured in March. No blood oranges, of course! To be honest, even in March, they were going out of season; by June, there's hide nor hair of them anywhere. In southern California, of course, the Mexican Lime is ubiquitous -- they practically give them away to you. I figured it would be an appropriate and attractive (if more tart) substitute. If you're set on blood oranges, which are, to be honest, much better for this recipe, just sub them in during the wintertime.]

------------------------
Tarte au Citron with Sugar-Roasted Mexican Lime
Makes 12 Small Pastries

Crust
1 1/2 Cups All-Purpose Flour
2 heaping Tablespoons Sugar
8 Tablespoons (one stick) Sweet Cream Butter
1 Tablespoon Vanilla
1/8-1/4 Cup Water

Filling
3 large lemons (enough to produce 3/4 Cup juice), and their zest
3/4 Cup Sugar, plus more for dusting
2 large Eggs
3 large Egg Yolks
1 Tablespoon Sweet Cream Butter

2 Mexican Limes
------------------------

Zest your lemons into a large bowl, then juice them, adding the juice to the zest.

Add in your sugar, and then taste. If you desire a sweeter tart, add more sugar. Whisk until sugar is dissolved.

Add your eggs and egg yolks to the lemon/sugar mixture. Whisk everything once again, or until eggs are fully integrated.

Cook the mixture over low heat, stirring constantly as it thickens. If you're nervous about overcooking (letting it get too hot too quickly will turn everything into lemon-flavored scrambled eggs), feel free to heat the mixture over a double boiler.

Once the curd becomes thick (but before solids begin to appear, at about the eight minute mark), remove the pan from heat, and whisk in your tablespoon of butter. This will smooth things out and stop the cooking process. Once the butter is melted and whisked in, pour your curd into a bowl. Place the bowl into the refrigerator and let it sit until completely cooled, about one hour.

Meanwhile, make your crust.

Start by tossing the flour, the two heaping tablespoons of sugar, and the stick of butter (cut into little chunks) into your food processor. Pulse until well mixed. Next, get a one-eighth of a cup of tap water, and, turning the processor on full blast, slowly add it in through the feed tube until the dough just starts to gather into a ball.

Add in a tablespoon of the vanilla, and pulse until it’s mixed in. If the dough doesn’t gather, add more water, again, very slowly, and just until you have a somewhat sticky ball of dough, as pictured below.

Take your warm ball of dough and, tearing it into chunks, smush it into a greased tart or pie pan (you can grease it by rubbing it with the inside of the butter wrapper, but a piece of butter or cooking spray is best). You want to get it nice and thin. Once you’ve coated the bottom (and sides) of the pan with dough, it’ll be time to bake things off. Save a little chunk off to the side for “repairs” later, just in case you need it.

Take a piece of aluminum foil that is just larger than the pan and grease it well. Push it down unto the surface of the dough, and fill the cavity with dried beans, rice, or some other disposable dry good that will weigh it down. Crank the oven up to 425 F (no need for preheating), and pop everything in there for 20 minutes.

Take the tart from the oven. If there are holes in it, patch them with the leftover chunk of raw dough. Even if there aren’t any cosmetic problems, place the entire thing back into the oven for an additional 10 minutes, or until the shell turns golden brown.

[Editor's Note #2: Now do you see why I suggest you just use frozen pie dough? If you do, roll it out into your pan, weigh it down with the beans, and do the 20 minutes/10 minutes blind-baking method.]

Set the crust aside to cool. Meanwhile, coat your lime slices in sugar. From here, there are two different ways you could go. If your crust is already pretty dark, go ahead and roast your limes under the broiler separately before placing then over the curd-filled crust. If the crust is still light in color, then pour your curd into the crust, and layer the sugar-coated limes on top, as seen in the below photograph.

Assuming you haven't roasted the limes yet, place the entire thing under the broiler, and, watching it carefully, let the sugar caramelize over the limes, creating a hard shell. Let everything cool for about five minutes, and then serve! The final product:

This is a pretty easy, and, you have to admit, visually attractive dish. Not only that, it's a neat variation on a French classic. I hope you'll try it.

Music: Citron -- "Radegast"

The Easy Yet Indulgent Dinner: Deep-Dish Pizza, California Style

2010-05-27T15:31:00.011-04:00

California!

Land of endless sunshine, delicious produce, and our new home.

It's been quite a first week here in the Golden State; unpacking, learning where grocery stores and farmer's markets are, avoiding rattlesnakes, and shaking off the jet lag. As the Pasta Burner and I adjust to the SoCal lifestyle, one of my favorite maxims has held true -- one of the best ways to learn about any place is to experience its food.

We could start with the entire concept of MexiCali cooking -- to be honest, the topic deserves its own blog -- an intoxicating melisma of flavors that just one word can't possibly hope to capture.

Then again, what about focusing on the fresh-first school of food pioneered by Jeremiah Tower's California Cuisine in the 1970s?

And let's not forget about the laid-back, anything-goes West Coast approach to curb-side food stands and mobile kitchens; not the fetishized, ritualistic obsessions of Greenmarket devotees, but a belief that delicious food is delicious food, new flavor combinations should be explored simply because they can, and that 79-cent per pound mystery-sourced pork shoulder can taste as good if not better than its grass-fed artisan cousin when it's been cooked by the right hands.

Of course, all of these movements are built on the unbelievable produce out here, which speaks for itself, quite loud and clear.

Needless to say, I think I'm going to be very happy here. Go west, young man, indeed.

But what I'm going to write about today (and I apologize for the lengthy, if enthusiastic introduction), presenting Burning Pasta's first recipe in its new home, is a story that tips my hat to a bona fide California obsession -- pizza -- with a glimpse back at one of the restaurants I wish I didn't have to leave behind in Philadelphia.

While California-style pizza is traditionally based on the thin-crust NY/NJ model, one of my favorite pies in Philadelphia is the deep-dish monster served up by Jose Garces at his eponymous Garces Trading Company. Based upon a slow-simmered tomato confit, Garces, a Chicago native, took his home-town's favorite food, cut down on the dough, upped the cheese, and created an unctuous, stomach-filling pie that fills up even the hardiest belly with only a slice or two.

While Garces' deep-dish had made a believer out of me (that being said, I still think the best pizza on Earth is served at Mack and Manco's, 12th and Boardwalk, Ocean City, NJ), I had been thinking, even before we moved, about a way to get the same flavor out of a lighter, fresher, more...dare I say, Californian structure. Today then, I'm serving up my take on Garces' take on Chicago deep-dish. Perhaps there's something to this anything-goes vibe out here.

Let's get to the recipe.

------------------------
Deep-Dish Pizza, California Style
From an idea by Jose Garces, and with a tip of the hat to David Liebovitz
Serves 6

12 Cups Canned San Marzano Tomatoes, chopped and drained
1/2 Cup Olive Oil
10 Leaves fresh Basil, plus extra for garnish
1 teaspoon Oregano
4 Cloves Garlic, minced
1 teaspoon Kosher Salt
1 Tablespoon freshly-cracked Black Pepper

1 Packaged Pie Crust
or
1 1/2 Cups All-Purpose Flour
1 teaspoon sugar
4 Tablespoons Sweet Cream Butter
1/8-1/4 Cup Water

1 Pound Mozzarella Cheese
1/2 Pound Goat Cheese

1 Orange Bell Pepper
8 oz. Crimini Mushrooms
(or other toppings of your choice)
------------------------

Start by preheating your oven to 400 degrees F.

Next, chop and drain your tomatoes. Place them in a deep, wide pot, and pour in your olive oil. Cook over low heat for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

After 20 minutes, chiffonade and add in five leaves of the basil, the oregano, the garlic, the kosher salt, and the black pepper. Let simmer for an additional 10 minutes, or until the confit thickens.

[Editor's Note: If you'd like a thicker, jammier filling, add in a small can of tomato paste at this point. If you do this, you make need to up the amount of salt as well.]

In the meanwhile, prepare your crust. One of the things that makes this recipe is that it uses a lighter, almost pastry-like crust, instead of a thick, chewy, traditional pizza dough. I totally, absolutely cheat here, and just use packaged pie crust. It works great and saves you a lot of trouble. If you're a purist, and you absolutely must make your own, go ahead. Lay the dough into a mid-sized casserole dish (mine was 9" x 9" x 3"), and stretch it until it just reaches the top of the pan. Feel free to snap off little bits here and there to patch holes. Set the dish aside.

Finally, add in your peppers and mushrooms (or other "toppings") to the confit, and cover it with a lid. Let it simmer for 10 more minutes.

While the veggies cook, slice up your mozzarella into 1/2-inch disks, and pack them in a tight layer along the bottom of your casserole. Feel free to cut larger pieces up to fill in holes -- this is the insulation that will keep your pie water-tight.

By now, your confit should be totally cooked. Drain the liquid -- and I do mean all the liquid -- off from the solids. In fact, if you have a large object handy (a metal spatula will do), press down on the veggies to extract any extra liquid. Juice that gets left behind will mean sloppy, soggy pizza. After you're satisfied with the drainage, scoop that delicious filling into your casserole dish. Cover the top with little chunks of the goat cheese, and the rest of the chiffonaded basil.

Place the whole deal into your oven for 30-40 minutes, or until the crust turns crisp, the goat cheese gets nice and brown on top, and the confit bubbles.

After the pizza is baked, set it aside on a cool surface for 10-15 minutes so that the center resolidifies. Cut it into big squares, and serve with extra chiffonaded basil on top! The final product:

That's it! This is a truly tremendous pie -- the kind of thing you'll be thinking about making again even as you're licking the plate clean. It really is one of the finer recipes we've featured on Burning Pasta, and, I think, a great way to start our tenure here in California.

There's one more very important thing I want to mention! I want to dedicate this recipe to my father, as big a pizza lover as you'll ever find, on today, his birthday. Although you'd never know it (and I hope he doesn't mind me telling you), he's turning 64, a kid at heart, and, frankly, cooler than I'll ever be. Happy birthday, Dad.

Music: Joan Baez (covering Bob Dylan) -- "Forever Young"

The Pantry-Clearer: Red Bean Ice Cream

2010-05-15T17:47:00.003-04:00

My goodness -- Finals season really does take it out of you. That being said, this was a important set of exam and papers here at Burning Pasta, a couple of weeks filled with both satisfaction and big news for the future.

Yes, both the Pasta Burner and I, after several years of working our typing and researching fingers to the bone, are graduating from our University with freshly-minted graduate degrees; hers is a JD, mine is in History.

But wait -- that's not the only exciting news! Yes, after three years of blogging from Philadelphia, we're taking our show on the road, moving permanently to sunny Southern California. The PB will be starting at a law firm, and I'll be adding to the letters after my name with a Juris Doctorate of my own. As a result, we've been busy packing up our lives for the 3,000 mile trip, a task that has precluded me from updating the blog in recent weeks.

We're taking this as a chance to start from scratch, ridding ourselves of almost every ounce of stuff we own. It's proving quite liberating. One of neatest elements of the process is the discovery of long-lost items in the pantry and freezer. You should try it yourself; you'd be shocked at what sort of stuff you'll find back there.

One of the neat things I found in cleaning out the kitchen was a pound of Azuki Beans, the red legumes most commonly found in both Japanese and Chinese desserts. You can find them at almost any health food store or your local Chinatown. Soaked and cooked down with a little brown sugar, they make a wonderfully earthy and sweet paste, perfectly fit for any number of uses. I also happened to have a pint or two of Heavy Cream lying around -- did someone say ice cream?

------------------------
Red Bean Ice Cream
Serves 6

1 Cup Azuki Beans
1/2 Cup Dark Brown Sugar

2 Cups, less 2 Tablespoons, Heavy Cream
1 Cup Milk
2 Eggs
2 Egg Yolks
2 teaspoons Vanilla Extract
------------------------

Start by soaking your Cup of beans overnight in cold water. They should become soft. Drain the beans well, and add your brown sugar. Stir to mix.

Using a heavy-bottomed pan, cook your bean/sugar mixture over medium heat, using just a coating of vegetable oil to make sure things don't stick. Using the back of your spatula, smash the beans into a smooth paste; alternatively, use an immersion blender to mix things into a puree. Cook for five to seven minutes, or until the mixture comes to a simmer and darkens.

Set the cooked bean paste to the side so it can cool for at least ten minutes. Meanwhile, whip the heavy cream, milk, eggs, egg yolks, and vanilla extract well in a bowl until homogenous. Adding it a half-cup at a time, mix the cooled bean paste into the ice cream base.

[Editor's Note: If you're a stickler for very smooth texture, feel free to run the bean paste through a food mill before adding; it will minimize the number of bean skins that make the journey into the final product. Then again, some people dig that kind of thing.]

Place the integrated ice cream base into the refrigerator for no less than one hour, and preferably for four or more. You can even let it rest overnight. A few hours before you're ready to serve it, place the ice cream base into your ice cream maker, and follow the manufacturer's directions for freezing it.

Following the chilling process, place the half-frozen ice cream into a plastic container to continue firming it up for about two to three hours. Serve, and consider using a mint or lemongrass stalk garnish. The final product:

For those of you already addicted to red bean ice cream, consider this a way to get your fix anytime you want it. For the rest of you, welcome to the cult. Give it a try; this would be the perfect thing to serve at say...a graduation party?

That's all for now! As for administrative business, the Pasta Burner and I fly out to warmer climes this week, so there's an outside possibility you'll see a post this weekend. In all likelihood, however, look for us to return on May 29th.

Thanks for your patience, dear reader -- we look forward to having you join us on the next chapter of our journey.

The Inevitable Delay: Finals Season

2010-04-19T10:24:00.006-04:00

Dear Readers,

Thank you for your patience! Finals are upon us here at Burning Pasta, so fun things like updating the blog have fallen by the wayside. Look for a new post to show up here...oh, a few days into May; until then, hold tight.

I'll try to make it worth the wait. Until then, one word to tide you over -- eclairs.

- Neal

At A Glimpse: Tarte Au Citron with Sugar-Roasted Blood Orange

2010-03-08T21:13:00.003-05:00

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The Magic Spell: Feijoada

2010-03-04T16:04:00.007-05:00

If there is such a thing as a "desert island" dish, this is it. I could eat feijoada anytime, anywhere. I catch myself thinking about it just walking down the street. It is a perfectly balanced dish, the marriage of inky black beans, unctuous meat, and little else. If your soul isn't satisfied with a dish of it in front of you, well, I just can't help you.

The national dish of Brazil, this is traditionally peasant food, yet fit for a king; the kind of meal that tastes wonderful the day you make it, and only gets better as the flavors marry over the rest of the week.

And yeah, that's a pig's foot I'm holding in that first photo. Let's not waste a minute more -- conquer your squeamishness, grab a stockpot, and get ready to do some serious eating.

------------------------
Feijoada
Makes plenty, but you'll eat it all...

2 Tablespoons Oil (Olive preferred)

1 Pig Trotter, split
1 Pound Stew Beef
1 Pound Chorizo
1 Pound Hot Italian Sausage (or, even better, Blood Sausage)
1 Pound Smoked Pork (Pork Neck is best)
5 cloves of Garlic
3 medium Yellow Onions
3 Jalapeno Peppers, seeded and chopped
1 Tablespoon Pimenton (Smoked Paprika)
1 Tablespoon Adobo (or Kosher Salt)
1 teaspoon Fresh Cracked Black Pepper

2 Quarts Chicken Stock
2 Quarts Water
1 Pound Dry Black Beans

Muslin or Cheesecloth (optional, but will make your life easier)
------------------------

Start by searing off each of your meats (except for the Smoked Pork) one at a time in the oil over medium heat. Be patient -- don't crowd the pot! You want to get a nice char on everything. If you have muslin or cheesecloth, after searing the pig trotters, tie them up in a little package. They're in here primarily to provide natural gelatin to the dish, and, if you have a secure package, you won't have to worry about picking out little foot bones later.

Meanwhile, take your garlic and onions and puree them in a food processor. Not chop, not mince -- puree. You want it nice and watery and as worked over as you can get it. Just turn the processor on and let it go to town for a minute or two.

By now, you should have all of your meat seared off. Let any excess fat drain off. From here, take your sausages and, using a sharp knife, slice them into small chunks.

As the meat sits, start cooking your onions/garlic in the fat left behind by the searing process. Feel free to add a touch more oil if needed. Scrape up all the little bits of cooked fond from the bottom of the pot and let everything get nice and brown.

Once the onions and garlic start brown, add in your smoked pork. The onions will continue to darken.

Once you are satisfied with the brownness of your onions (they should be deep brown, but not burnt), add in your chicken stock, water, the rest of the meats, the pepper, the pimenton, the adobo, and two of the jalapenos. Be sure to once again scrape up any burnt bits from the bottom of the pot.

Rinse your dry beans off in a colander, and pick out any rocks or grit. Add these to the pot as well, and stir to mix.

Turn your heat down to low, cover the pot, and let simmer for no less than two hours, stirring every half-hour.

After about two hours, the beans should be cooked through, and the meat should be fork-tender. The smoked pork, in particular, should be quite toothsome. Using a sharp knife and a cooking board, strip the meat from the bones, returning the meat to the pot. You can also toss the pig trotters at this time.

The dish is almost finished at this point. Skim off any excess fat. Next, either using an immersion blender (or removing two cups of beans and placing them into a standard blender), blend the beans until the sauce gets slightly thickened. Chop up your last jalapeno and stir it in. Simmer for an additional 15 minutes.

Scoop into bowls, and serve with large wedges of sliced orange! The final product:

This is no harder than making any other stew -- in fact, it's easier. And yeah, this isn't exactly traditional, but feijoada has so many different variations that your version won't be any less authentic than anyone else's. For instance, purists will note that I skipped the use of farofa, the grainy flour often used as a sort of bread-crumb topping in Brazilian cooking. This is my feijoada. Yours will be yours. Give it a try. Trust that all these ingredients have a purpose, that they all come together in a patchwork of deliciousness. There is no better meal during these last few weeks of winter chill. Whip up a batch, and realize what you've been missing all this time.

Music: Eydie Gorme -- "Blame It On The Bossa Nova"

At A Glimpse: Quick Key Lime Pie

2010-02-18T22:59:00.002-05:00

Like this? Request the recipe using the comment form below!

At A Glimpse: Serrano Chile Guacamole with Fresh-Baked Tortilla Chips

2010-02-10T14:50:00.004-05:00

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The Breath Of Fresh Air: Nem Nướng Cuốn (Vietnamese Spring Rolls)

2010-02-07T21:24:00.010-05:00

There's snow, and then there's 28 inches of snow.

To be honest, I've always had a soft spot for the white stuff. Only a particularly prodigious storm can turn the city into a pastoral winter landscape worthy of the collective Pieters Bruegel -- and yesterday's precipitation did just that. That being said, enjoying the snowfall doesn't mean I like the aftermath; a solid week of ice, wind, and muddy sludge collecting in storm drains. It doesn't take long to go from cabin-like security to cabin fever. The cold alone will do it to ya.

The point is this -- February can be a demanding month. Spring is just around the corner, and yet so far away. For that reason, this week's recipe gives you a reason to look ahead, a reason to remember that sunshine, green leaves, and maybe even tall, cool glasses of lemonade are only about 10 weeks away. Let's get to it.

------------------------
Nem Nướng Cuốn (Vietnamese Spring Rolls)
Makes about twelve rolls

1 pound Ground Pork (fattier the better)
1 medium Yellow Onion
1 and 1/2 Tablespoons Sugar
3 cloves of Garlic
1/2 teaspoon Fresh-Cracked Black Pepper
1 Tablespoon Fish Sauce (optional, but preferred)

Vegetable Oil

6 Scallions
1 English Cucumber
8 to 10 sprigs Mint
4 Cups Mung Bean Sprouts

1 package Rice Paper Spring Roll Wrappers
------------------------

Place your Onion, Garlic, Sugar, and Fish Sauce into a food processor. Pulse at first, then turn on full blast. Allow the processor to chop the ingredients until you have a smooth and watery puree.

Next, add in your Pork and Pepper. Once again, place the processor on full blast. You will know the ingredients are well mixed when they gather into a large ball and spin around the bowl on the edge of the blade.

At this point, we have to form and cook the pork patties. These will be the "spine" of the rolls, and should be shaped accordingly. Remembering that they will shrink while cooking, form the pork into thin strips, roughly one inch wide, 1/2 inch thick, and four inches long.

Heat a skillet filled with two or three tablespoons of Vegetable Oil over medium heat. Once the oil begins to shimmer, place your patties in the pan. Cook each patty for three or four minutes a side, or until well-browned and cooked through.

Drain your patties on a plate covered with paper toweling. While the patties cool, assemble and/or chop all your veggies. Clockwise, from top left: Mung Bean Sprouts, Scallions, English Cucumber, Mint.

From here, it's simply a matter of assembling the rolls. Dip each rice paper wrapper in warm water until softened, then place it, spread out, on a large plate. At the center, put one pork patty, three or four sprouts, three or four cucumber slices, three or four scallion slices, and a few leaves of mint. Fold one end of the wrapper over the assembled ingredients, then bring in the two sides. Finish by rolling the assembled package up using the remaining leaf.

Top each roll with one or two more mint leaves, and serve with a side of Nước mắm. the final product:

This is really quite easy to make, and remarkably flexible, too. Don't have sprouts? Julienne up some Carrots. Want some strips of Red Pepper in there? Knock yourself out. With the exception of the Rice Paper Wrappers (and, depending where you live, the Fish Sauce), all of these ingredients can be found in your standard supermarket. My advice? Keep the wrappers on hand, and you'll be ready to go at a moment's notice.

This is a great snack, and the completed rolls will keep in your fridge (with a moist paper towel on top of them) for about 24 to 48 hours -- assuming you don't eat all of them by then. Make some, and I promise you; Spring will be here before you know it.

Music: Antonio Vivaldi - "Winter" and "Spring"

At A Glimpse: Pizza Marinara with Arugula, Lardons, and Fried Egg

2010-02-02T22:58:00.004-05:00

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The Overlooked Joy: Farmhouse Chèvre

2010-01-31T23:45:00.005-05:00

"Cheese?" you may say.

"Doesn't that need a dedicated refrigerator, and take weeks, if not months of curing?"

"Won't it smell bad?"

"Don't I need rennet, and powdered acid, and all sorts of complicated equipment?"

Fear not, dear readers. While it's true that making a well-aged Gouda might require a bit more in the way of preparation, there are many "fresh" cheeses -- mozzarella, ricotta, queso fresco -- that take only a few hours of forethought and can be made with supplies found in your local grocery store.

Best of all, they're incredibly delicious -- far better than their heavily processed and rubbery store-bought bretheren.

With no cheese is this more true than that western French delight, Chèvre. Even the cheapest goat cheese has a delightful tang; but when you make it at home, nuances germane to only a recently-made product -- lush creaminess, a delicate texture -- emerge in all their glory.

This is probably one of the easiest recipes we've posted here, and, certainly, one of the more impressive. Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Farmhouse Chèvre
Makes eight to twelve ounces of cheese

1/2 gallon Goat's Milk (but not "ultra pasteurized")
2 Lemons (enough for 3 Tablespoons fresh juice)

Garlic, herbs, spices, salt, to taste

Cheesecloth or Muslin
------------------------

[Editor's Note: I'm aware that goat's milk isn't available in every grocery store. That being said, it's been consistently growing in popularity, mostly because it's easier to digest and has a higher protein level than cow's milk. My local grocery store caters to a large West African population, and, when looking for it, I suggest searching out markets that cater to cultural groups more familiar with sheep and goat as an everyday food product. If you can't find such a store (or if you're too lazy to look), any Whole Foods market will carry it; just be prepared to pay out the nose. Still, it's still cheaper than buying the finished cheese.]

Start by measuring out your lemon juice. Three lemons will yield the half-cup needed. DO NOT USE BOTTLED JUICE. Skim out the pits, and place aside for the moment.

Next, pour your milk into a large, heavy bottomed pot. Attach a candy thermometer, and place it on a burner raised to medium heat.

As the milk warms, stir it constantly to ensure that it does not stick or burn to the bottom of the pot. A flat-topped wooden spoon is best for this; plastic spatulas may melt.

Once the milk reaches 175 degrees F, remove it from the heat immediately. Pour in your lemon juice, and stir until just mixed. Set the pot off to the side to cool. As the milk returns to room temperature, the curds (what will become your cheese) will set.

After about 30 minutes (the curds/whey may still be a little warm), it's time to strain and form the cheese.

If you're going to flavor the cheese with any additions (for this batch, I incorporated some herbes de provence, a little cracked black pepper, and one-half of a clove of microplaned garlic), add them to the pot at this point.

Next, pour your curds and whey through a strainer lined with either cheesecloth or a muslin bag (both should be available at your local kitchen supply store or homebrewing shop, and they're dirt cheap).

[Editor's Note #2: If you save the whey, you can heat it again, this time bringing it back up to a rolling boil. From there, remove it from the heat, add in an additional three Tablespoons of lemon juice, follow the straining process and -- voila -- goat's milk ricotta.]

Now, once a decent amount of whey has leeched out from the emerging Chèvre (this should be after about one hour), you'll want to tie the four corners of the cheesecloth or muslin into a knot and remove the strainer. This will provide a common point from which to hang the parcel. Using a very large bowl (or a wide-mouthed vase) and a wooden spoon, construct a method by which you can suspend the parcel in the air while fitting it in your refrigerator, as shown below.

After about eight hours, more whey will have leeched out. Feel the parcel; it should be firm, but not stiff. From here, dismantle your apparatus, and unwrap your cheese from its cloth. Feel free to shape the round into a fairly attractive shape, crack some more pepper on it, and drizzle with a bit of olive oil. Serve immediately.

The final product:

If you're going to only try one or two recipes from this site, make this one of them. The basic technique that you'll learn can be appropriated for many different styles of fresh cheese, and the taste -- well, the taste is so remarkable I highly doubt you'll be tempted to go back to the packaged stuff. Besides, if you really get bitten by the cheese bug, who knows? A dedicated refrigerator, bacterial cultures, and homemade Roquefort may be in your future. It seems worth a try. We'll see you again next week.

Music: The Mountain Goats -- "This Year"

At A Glimpse: Baked Salmon with Roasted Tomato-Edamame Relish

2010-01-14T18:55:00.004-05:00

Like this? Request the recipe using the comment form below!

The Spring in Winter: Grapefruit Curd Tulips

2010-01-10T12:47:00.005-05:00

I really do wish I had the time to update this page more often.

That's not to say that I don't get satisfaction putting up one recipe a week; it's just that, for every one dish that appears here, there are often five or six others that don't make the cut, whether due to time, photographic quality, or other intangible factors.

For instance, when I look at these minty Dark Chocolate Starlight Cookies...

...this decadent Double-Creme Ricotta Rice Pudding...

...these ooey-gooey Pecan-Currant Cinnamon Buns...

...or these intoxicatingly spiced Cochinita Pibil Tacos...

...well, I feel like there's a lot that you nice folks out there are missing out on. To that end then, in addition to our regular weekly posts, I'm instituting a new feature on the site -- quick, one-off photographs of what I'm cooking from day-to-day. A few wrinkles: The posts won't appear every day (probably two or so per week), there won't be links to them down the right-hand side of the page, and, for what it's worth, when posted, there won't be any recipes to go with them. Instead, whether or not those recipes appear here will be up to you.

Let me explain.

It's intended to be an interactive part of the site -- if people utilize the comment form at the end of the posts, and demand the recipe by leaving comments there, I'll be happy to do full-blown, involved, multi-stage featured posts on those recipes. Incidentally, if you want me to put up full posts for any of the four above recipes, well, there's a comment form on this post, too. Get typing!

Anyway, enough administrative business. On to today's recipe! This week, we're featuring a graceful and light little pastry, a petit-four of sorts, the gorgeous kind of thing that you can nibble on with coffee as a simple conclusion to almost any meal. It's absurdly easy, too. Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Grapefruit Curd Tulips
Makes 12 Small Pastries

3 Large Red Grapefruits (enough to produce 1/2 cup juice + fruit for garnish)
1 Lemon (enough for 2 Tablespoons juice)
6 Extra-Large Egg Yolks
2/3 Cup Sugar (or 1/2 Cup, if you like things really tart)
1/2 Stick Sweet Cream Butter (very cold)

12 Wonton Skins

Confectioner's Sugar (for garnish)
------------------------

Start by separating your eggs. You want to do this first, because we want to get those yolks up to room temperature (or something close to it) before we start cooking the curd. Save those whites! Meringues, Angel Food Cake, Baked Alaska...there are plenty of uses for them. Don't think you'll be cooking with them anytime soon? They freeze like a champ.

Next, gather your grapefruits and your lemon. Zest both grapefruits into your egg yolks, and then, using a measuring cup, squeeze out 1/2 cup of juice. Add this to the yolks as well. Finally, slice into your lemon and squeeze out two Tablespoons of lemon juice, adding them into the mixture. Watch out for pits!

At this point, it's time to add in your sugar. I like 2/3rds of a Cup, but, depending on how sour you like your curd, you'll want to adjust accordingly. 3/4ths of a Cup will be decidedly sweet -- 1/2 Cup will give you a nice pucker. Do as pleases you.

Using a whisk, attempt to dissolve the sugar into the mixture as well as possible. Pour everything into a thick bottomed pot, and place over low heat, stirring constantly. You want to cook this until the curd becomes thick and pudding-like. Be careful -- go too far, and you'll have grainy lemon-flavored scrambled eggs; don't cook it enough, and it will be a runny, watery mess. For those nervous types out there, remember, you can always use a double-boiler.

Once you've gotten to your desired thickness, remove the pot from the heat immediately. Whisk in the half-stick of cold Butter, adding it in chunks of one Tablespoon each. This will both emulsify everything and stop the cooking process. If you think you have little egg chunks from overcooking, run the whole thing through a wire-mesh strainer. If not, go ahead and transfer the completed curd directly to a clean bowl. Let cool at room temperature for 30 minutes, then transfer, covered with plastic wrap, for no less than two hours.

You can do all of the above up to two days before serving the tarts. You'll want to make the tart shells a few hours before you serve them.

Preheat your oven to 400F. Next, get your Wonton Skins. You'll find they're available in your local Chinatown, and, increasingly, at most local supermarkets. The Pasta Burner and I had some left over from a batch of Wonton Soup.

Using either a silicon cupcake tray or foil-lined cupcake liners (as featured in this recipe), smush the skins into a cup-like shape. This isn't a science -- they're going to shift a bit in the baking process, and as long as you get the idea somewhat right, they'll both hold the curd and look like you carefully sculpted them. Pop them into the oven for 7 to 10 minutes, or until golden brown.

Meanwhile, with a sharp knife, pop out sections from your remaining grapefruit. If you have issues doing this, or think it's too much of a pain, just get some sprigs of fresh mint and use that for garnish instead. Problem solved. That being said, the combination of fresh fruit and cooked curd is really quite nice, so, that's something to consider

Take your wonton skin cups out from the oven and let them cool for five to ten minutes on a rack. Aren't they lovely?

From here, spoon some curd into each cup, dust with confectioner's sugar, and top with fresh fruit. The final product:

This really is a nice, easy dessert, something that should be in the comfort zone of even the most inexperienced chef. Best of all, the ingredient cost is low, so if you really screw the pooch the first time out, you're only lost two or three dollars and a little bit of pride. Besides, it just means that you'll make it better the next time.

Give it a shot! I think you'll be quite pleased with the results. We'll be back next weekend for another full-length post; in the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for a few special one-off photos!

Music: James Curd -- "Sea Of Faces"

The Old Acquaintance, Forgotten: Baked Alaska with Flourless Chocolate Torta

2010-01-04T09:02:00.023-05:00

I'm not really a New Year's Eve kind of guy.

Well, perhaps I should say that I'm not one to "go out" on December 31st -- there are drunks driving out on the road, restaurants run terrible, over-priced prix fixe menus, and, when the strike of midnight arrives, it's often, more than not, a little bit of a let down. That's not to say that I don't like getting together with friends. Armed with an overcoat, a decent pair of gloves and a working subway system, I'll do my best to put in an appearance, a bottle of cava in hand.

Anyway, after years of NYE naysaying, karma finally caught up with me -- this past Thursday, I rang in 2010 by myself, and in a decidedly uncomfortable position. The Pasta Burner was out of town (visiting her family), and, while working on a few projects around the house, I threw out my back something wretched. Indeed, as 11:59 became 12:00, I found myself horizontal, a heating pad tucked underneath me, the Times Square ball appearing to drop left-to-right.

Worst of all, for the first time in a long time, I had really gone all-out to celebrate, creating this dessert for a party hosted together by friends. The story has a happy ending, however -- two nights later, another gathering presented itself, and I was able to serve (and photograph!) this great dish.

A classic post-war delight, Baked Alaska combines cake, ice cream, and fire into a spectacle of deliciousness. All but forgotten, a relic of dusty cookbooks from the past, it's just the thing that deserves a modern rebirth.

While the process of creating it may seem involved, it's really three different, simple elements: a flourless chocolate cake (which is delicious when served on its own with nothing more than a quick coating of Nutella), an ice cream bombe, and a simple meringue. This is both impressive and easy to pull off. Let's get to it.

------------------------
Baked Alaska with Flourless Chocolate Torta
Makes 1 Cake, Serves 10

12 oz. Chocolate (dark or bittersweet is best, but your taste should dictate)
1 Stick (1/2 cup) Sweet Cream Butter
1/3 Cup Sugar
3 Extra-Large Eggs
3/4 Cup Unsweetened Cocoa Powder

Three One-Quart Containers of Ice Cream or Gelato
(in complimentary flavors)

Plastic Wrap
1 Tablespoon Vegetable Oil

8 Egg Whites
A Pinch of Cream of Tartar (or 1/4 teaspoon either lemon juice or white vinegar)
1/2 Cup Sugar

2 Tablespoons Brandy (or other flammable liquor)

Parchment Paper
------------------------

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.

Melt down your chocolate and butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Depending on how confident you are with your whisking skills, you can either do this over direct heat or by lowering the saucepan into a larger pan filled with boiling water.

Whisk constantly until silky, smooth, and homogeneous.

Pour your chocolate into a cool bowl, and whisk in the sugar.

Next, whisk in the cocoa powder. The batter will be very, very thick.

Finally, add in the eggs.

Once again, stir the batter well; ideally, the batter should fall smoothly from the whisk in large ribbons.

Line an 8" tart or cake pan with parchment paper, and grease the paper with the wrapper from the stick of butter. If you've already thrown that out, use a little vegetable oil. Pour the batter into the pan, and place it into the oven for 20 minutes, or until a knife placed into the center of the cake emerges clean.

Next, it's time to make the bombe. Pick three flavors that will play together nicely (and with the chocolate cake). I played it safe -- vanilla bean, dutch chocolate, and black cherry. If you really have a masochistic streak, make the ice cream from scratch. I won't stop you.

Start by cleaning out your batter bowl (or any bowl that will fit, inverted, on top of the cake), and greasing it with more vegetable oil.

Next, line the bowl with plastic wrap, making sure you have complete coverage. These two steps will ensure that the bombe umolds properly.

Start loading scoops of ice cream into the bowl, alternating scoops to create a mosaic pattern. This will both look attractive and ensure that everyone gets a little of each flavor. Every once in a while, press down on the ice cream to pack it in tightly -- we don't want any holes or gaps of air. Once the bowl is filled, level off the top, and toss the entire thing back into the freezer for two hours.

By now, your cake should have finished baking. Let it cool, on a rack, for two hours. Even better, after the first hour, place the cake rack into the fridge. We want the cake cold so that things don't start melting on us later. Once the cake is cool (and the bowl of ice cream has sat in the freezer for no less than two hours, place the cake on a large baking sheet with a piece of parchment paper underneath it (something I remembered to do moments after taking this picture).

Separate your eight eggs. Don't toss out the eight egg yolks! They can be put to excellent use in many recipes: Crème Brûlée, Egg Bagels, Challah, you get the idea. Do your homework and figure something tasty out. Waste not, want not.

Whip your egg whites until light and fluffy. About halfway through (when it is quite foamy and starting to set), add in your Cream of Tartar. Slowly introduce your sugar until it is all incorporated.

From here, you have to work quickly. Unmold your bombe unto the waiting cake.

Once you are satisfied it is centered, start applying the meringue in a thick layer. This will provide the only insulation when the whole thing goes into the oven, so make sure you don't miss any spots! By the way, if you want to be fancy, a pastry bag and a nice tip could come into play here.

Once you've coated the entire thing (and made decorative points on it, if you so desire), place the entire thing, baking sheet and all, back into the freezer. Freeze for no less than two hours -- or for up to three days. Indeed, it was at this point that I blew out my back, so, believe me, it can last for three days.

When you're ready to serve it, heat up your oven as hot as it will go. If it has a "oven-top broiler," even better. Go with that. We want sustained, blasting heat, no less than 500 degrees F.

Take the dessert straight from the freezer and, in one motion, go right into the oven. Cook for two to four minutes -- in fact, if you have a broiler blasting directly on to it, it could be as short as a minute. Keeping an eye on it, cook until the top turns golden brown. By the way, if you missed any spots with that meringue, you'll find out riiiight about now.

Remove from the oven and bring to the table immediately. Dim the lights, pour on your brandy, and light that baby on fire (as seen at the top of this post). Try not to overcook the meringue. If it blackens (as mine did), just scrape up the charred parts (or give them to someone who likes their marshmallows burnt to a crisp. From here, slice (with a very big, heavy knife) and serve!

The final product:

This really is a rich, decadent, show-stopping finale to any meal -- it gained rave reviews from all that tasted it. It serves plenty of folks, too; I even had a little left over to save for the Pasta Burner when she comes home this week. Don't let the involved steps scare you off -- think of this as a few different recipes, and spread the process over a few days. After all, there are plenty of steps that allow for (or, indeed, demand) a breather.

On that note, I want to wish you and yours a wonderful and very Happy New Year -- as for myself, I don't think I'll ever take an NYE celebration for granted ever again. We'll return back next weekend. Be sure to check in then.

Music: John Cafferty -- "Hearts on Fire"

The Vilified Tradition, Ameliorated: Sour Cream Fruitcake

2009-12-21T21:23:00.007-05:00

I'm not someone who usually follows the weather too closely. Actually, to be more accurate, I should say that I don't follow the weather reports too closely. For about 49 weeks of the year, waking up in the morning and sticking a hand out the window works for me.

But even I saw this past weekend's snow storm coming, and so, with the Pasta Burner by my side, we headed off to stock up on all sorts of necessary provisions to wait out the storm. While we did get the important things (okay, ice cream), I also thought two days of being snowed in would provide the perfect opportunity to launch into a significant baking project.

You see, I've always wanted to make a traditional English Fruitcake, but I'd never gone through with it. However, with Christmas just around the corner, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. To be honest, while somewhat time-consuming, it's not particularly difficult to pull off, makes your house fantastic, and tastes pretty great. Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Sour Cream Fruitcake
Makes 1 Cake & 4 cupcakes

1 teaspoon Baking Soda
1.5 teaspoons Baking Powder
12 oz. Sour Cream

1/2 cup chopped Dried Dates and/or Figs
1/2 cups Zante Currants
1 pound Glåce (candied) Fruit and Citron
1 cup chopped Pecans
About 1 and 1/4 cups Dark Rum (divided into 1/4 Cup, 3/4 Cup, and more for basting)

2 cups all-purpose Flour (divided into 1/2 Cup and 1 1/2 Cups)
1/2 cup Butter, room temperature
1/2 cup White Granulated Sugar
1/2 cup Brown Sugar
2 Tablespoons Vanilla Extract
2 Eggs
Zest of one very large Orange
1/2 teaspoon Kosher Salt

2 Tablespoons Vegetable Oil or Butter (for greasing the paper/pan)
Parchment Paper
------------------------

Start by preheating your oven to 350 degrees F. Mix your Sour Cream and your Baking Powder together in a bowl. Within a matter of minutes, it will begin to bubble up and become foamy. When this occurs, gently stir in your Baking Soda.

Place your Glåce Fruit (this should be found in a container in your Supermarket's baking aisle) into a very large bowl.

Chop up your Dates, Figs, Currants, and Pecans, and add these to the bowl as well.

Pour 1/4 Cup of the Dark Rum over your mixed fruits and nuts.

[Editor's Note: Brandy is more traditional for fruit cakes, but I really enjoy the sweet, mellow, molasses-laden notes of a good Dark Rum here. Do as pleases you.]

Stir well to coat, and let sit for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, take your room-temperature Butter, White Granulated Sugar and Brown Sugar and blend them together using a hand mixer.

As the mixture begins to come together, add in your two eggs, vanilla extract, and salt.

Whip until the mixture begins to come together. Next, grate in your orange zest. As you can see, our orange was ginormous. That's a regular-sized Starlight Mint, for reference. If you only have regular-sized oranges, you may want to use two of them.

At this point, sprinkle 1/2 Cup of Flour over your rum-soaked fruits and nuts, stirring to mix well. Add the remaining 1 and 1/2 Cups of Flour to the Sugar/Butter/Egg mixture, and mix until the batter becomes relatively smooth. This will be a very stiff batter.

Having stirred the 1/2 cup of flour into your fruits and nuts (this keeps them from sinking to the bottom of your cake), add the fruit/nut/flour mixture to your batter. As I said before, the batter will be very stiff. Be sure to use a strong wooden or metal spoon for this -- a few seconds after his picture was taken, my spatula snapped in half.

Once you're satisfied that things are well-mixed, pour your batter into a loaf pan that has been lined with parchment paper and then greased with 2 Tablespoons of vegetable oil or Butter. You may have a little extra -- if so, pour them into greased cupcake molds.

Bake the cake for an hour-and-a-half at 350 degrees, checking it after an hour. When a cake tester (or a butter knife) can be pushed into the center of the cake and it comes out clean, it's done. Remove the cake from the oven. Let it rest for 15 minutes in the pan, then lift it out by the parchment paper and place it on a cooling rack. While it's still warm, pour 3/4 cup of Dark Rum over the top of the cake. It will soak it in pretty quickly. After 2 hours, wrap the cake tightly in plastic wrap and store it somewhere cool.

From here, it's just a matter of maintenance. Depending on when you plan to serve it, you can continue to baste this cake for days, or even weeks. The best way to do this is to coat the entirety of the cake (be sure to flip it over and get the bottom) each day with the use of a pastry brush and a bowl of more Dark Rum. While this little baby can take in a whole lot of booze, be sure to use some restraint -- eventually, both the flavor and the structural integrity of the cake will begin to faulter. After each basting, let the cake sit out for 1 hour, then wrap it back up tightly.

When the day of your party comes, slice and serve! The final product:

This is a truly grand way to end a Holiday feast. Unlike the "rock-hard" fruitcakes that live on in endless jokes, this is a moist, flavorful, nuanced creation, a mature, sweet, and lush finale for your dinner party. I would serve it with big dollops of just-sweetened freshly whipped cream and demitasse cups of espresso ristretto. This may seem like a big project -- and it is -- but it's worth it. Take the challenge on.

We'll actually return with a special Bonus post on Wednesday, December 23rd -- a last-minute cookie recipe, and just the thing to leave out for Santa. Be sure to come back then!

Music: Eraserheads -- "Fruitcake"

The Traveler's Tipple: Eurorail Cocktail

2009-12-13T15:38:00.005-05:00

With the cool, wet blanket of December settling in over the East Coast, it's finally time to settle in for the winter.

Now, you say, shouldn't we be ready for hot toddies, for steel-cut oatmeal and thick, woolen socks? Of course we should -- but when the random 60 degree day slips through the cracks, when you still cross the street to feel the sun on your face, when there are still wonderful, beguiling elixirs like Campari to drink...well, you look for any reason to ignore the oncoming chill of the next few months.

I was intoxicated (both literally and figuratively) by Campari the very first time I tried it; the idiosyncratic flavor, bitter and sweet, made my imagination run wild. It's hard to think of a better aperitif; apart from the flavor, which wonderfully stimulates the appetite (particularly for salty foods), the eye-catching red color will liven up any dinner party. Unfortunately for those of us who live in cool climes, after Labor Day, Campari drinking often goes the way of white clothing -- for many of us that have acquired the taste for it, its identification as a summer-only tipple is a sad and unnecessary restriction.

Indeed, in my opinion, Campari can have several fall and winter uses; a splash adds a smart twist to Thanksgiving cranberry sauce, and, when added to mulled wine, Christmas cheer abounds. But, perhaps, more than anything else, what Campari lacks is a signature cocktail for the cooler months -- a more respectable, buttoned down counterpoint to August's parade of Americanos and Negronis. To that end, then, we have today's recipe.

Named the Eurorail, it provides a quick jaunt across the continent: Earl Grey from Britain, Grand Marnier from France, and, of course, the inspiration for the journey itself, Campari, bringing us to the southern tip of Italia, where, I'd like to think -- even in the chill of December -- the sun still shines.

1 Ounce Campari
6 Ounces Strong, Cold-Brewed Earl Grey Tea
1/2 Ounce Grand Marnier
A splash of club soda (optional)

Place eight ounces of cold water in a container with one Earl Grey tea bag. For a more intensified flavor, use two bags. Refrigerate for at least five hours, or until well-infused.

Prepare a highball glass packed full of ice.

Starting with the Campari, layer the first three ingredients into the glass.

Top with a spritz of club soda, if you desire, and finish with a twist of lemon zest. Serve immediately.

The final product:

This is just the tipple to serve before a holiday feast. The tannins of the tea, the sweet-tart Campari, the smooth basso profundo power of the brandy -- this is just the thing to start your guests salivating before dinnertime.

We all know Campari looks good in flip-flops and madras shorts; but here, it proves it can wear black tie with the best of them. Give it a try.

Next week, we'll return with some classic French comfort food. Be sure to join us.

Oh, and one last thing -- this week, Burning Pasta received its ten-thousandth visitor, a major landmark for any blog. We couldn't have gone this long without all of your support and readership. Thanks for sticking with us, and here's looking forward to many more recipes in the future.

Music: Vashti Bunyan -- "Train Song"

The Barbeque Pit, For Brunch: Char Siu Bao (叉燒包)

2009-12-06T00:00:00.004-05:00

Anyone who's a fan of Cantonese style dim sum knows about the glory of Char Siu Bao, the delicious yeast-raised Barbeque Pork Buns. Part pastry, part richly-flavored meat, and all flavor, these little packages deliver a punch of savory flavor wrapped inside a pillow of sweet dough.

Thanks in part to restauranteurs such as David Chang of Momofuku Ko in New York, Char Siu Bao have exploded in popularity across the country in the past few years -- on a recent trip to Los Angeles, I even spied them in a convenience store. Few people realize just how easy these are to make; after today's post, I'm sure you'll want to make them part of your regular brunch (or dinner, or party appetizer, or midnight snack) rotation.

Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Char Siu Bao
Makes 20 Buns

Dough:

6 Cups Flour
2 Envelopes Fast-Acting Yeast
1/2 Cup Confectioner's Sugar
1 Tablespoon Baking Powder
1 Cup Water
1 Cup Milk
1/4 Cup Vegetable Oil

Filling:

1 Pound Chinese Red Pork (or Pork Tenderloin)

1/2 Cup Scallions, chopped
1 Cup American Barbeque Sauce (of your choice)
1/4 Cup Molasses
1/4 Cup Oyster Sauce
2 Tablespoons Chinese Cooking Wine (or White Wine or your choice)
1 Tablespoon Ginger Powder
1 Tablespoon Allspice Powder
3 Tablespoons Sesame Seeds
1 Tablespoon Chinese Sesame Paste (or Tahini)
1 Tablespoon Chili Oil
1 Tablespoon Chinese Black Vinegar (or Balsamic)

Bamboo Steamer
------------------------
[Editor' Note: If you can't get Chinese Red Pork (easily available in your local Chinatown, and even some Trader Joe's have started carrying it), don't fret. You can use a 1 lb. Pork Tenderloin, which almost any supermarket will carry. Preheat your oven to 425, and sear your tenderloin, whole, in a cast-iron or heavy pan until brown. Brush the loin with a mixture of two Tablespoons Honey and two Tablespoons Dark Soy Sauce. Roast for about 20 minutes, or until internal temperature is 145 degrees.]

Start by making your dough. Combine the dry ingredients (flour, yeast, confectioner's sugar, and baking powder) in a large bowl.

Meanwhile, heat your milk and water on the stovetop until just lukewarm. Don't let it get too hot, or it'll kill your yeast.

When warm, remove the milk/water mixture from the heat, add in the oil, and stir the liquids into the yeast.

After the dough comes into a shaggy ball, use your hands (coating them with flour before) to work the dough into a smooth ball. The dough will be very stiff.

Once the dough is smooth, quickly rinse out your bowl and rub it with a light coating of oil. Return the ball of dough to the bowl, and turn it with your hands, coating it with the oil.

Cover the bowl with a tea towel and let rise, in a warm place, for about an hour.

Get your red-roasted pork. Like I said, if you can't get the real stuff, approximate your own. This isn't rocket science.

Slice the pork thinly, and then several more passes over it with your knife. It should be coarsely but evenly chopped.

Meanwhile, it's time to start making the barbeque sauce. Combine all of the filling ingredients. Yes, there are a lot of them. I've provided what I think is the closest analog to the traditional preparation, if not through the most traditional methods. This is your chance to experiment and make the recipe your own. A little fresh ginger might be nice, as might some chopped cilantro. I've even made these with a dollop of apple butter added to the mix. Let your imagination (and your palate) guide you.

Once you've created your sauce, add in your chopped pork.

Meanwhile, by now, your dough should have risen to twice it's original size.

Pull a 2-inch cube of dough off from the dough ball, and flatten it out in the palm of your hand. The dough should be of even consistency, thin, and without tears.

Place a heaping Tablespoon of the pork mixture into the center of the dough.

From here, bring the four corners of the dough up to the center, being sure not to let any of the sauce or pork leak out. Once you have gathered them together, pinch the dough and twist, sealing the bun and providing the distinctive shape.

Repeat this process until you have a tray full of buns. The dough tends to dry out quickly, so if you have some spray oil (PAM, or the like) lying around, you may want to give the finished buns a little spritz every once in a while during the process.

Layer the buns in a bamboo steamer over boiling water. Use lettuce leaves (or parchment paper, or whatever else) to separate the dough from the bamboo. Steam in batches (and serve each batch hot from the steamer) until finished. The final product:

These are, truly, little parcels of happiness -- few things lift the gloom of endless rain outside like a happy little these steam-filled treats. It may sound a little complicated, but it's remarkably easy in practice. Combine a bunch of stuff in a bowl to make dough. Wait. Combine a bunch of stuff in a bowl to make sauce. Add pork. Wrap one in the other. Bingo. These are meant to be devoured, not described in florid language. Go and make a pile of them appear...and then disappear, just as fast.

By the way, I apologize for the quality of the photos; winter has made it next to impossible to shoot pictures while it's still light out. To that end, a thank you to all of you who have remained patient with me over the last few weeks -- the closing months of the year are always a busy time for those of us whose lives revolve around a university, and, as a result, side projects have a tendency to suffer. There is another reason for my tardiness, however -- we here at Burning Pasta are currently working on a truly grand and exciting project related to the website, but one that, sadly, has occupied a great deal of time. We promise we'll be better about the weekly posts. If everything goes well, we may have more concrete news on the project by Christmas -- if not, shortly after the new year.

Thanks for sticking with us -- we'll see you next week with a sassy little cocktail that's a little old school, a little new-wave, and all about intoxicating you, both literally and figuratively. See you then.

Music: South Pacific -- "Honey Bun"

The Holiday Party Twist: Mustard-Caper Pickled Shrimp

2009-11-16T17:26:00.002-05:00

First and foremost, my thanks to Burning Pasta's patient readers. Last week's trip out of town was quite successful (a post about it shall be forthcoming at the end of December), and, while the resulting jet-lag is sure to linger for a day or two, we've returned full of new and wonderful ideas to fill the next few months of posts. Let's get right to today's recipe.

------------------------

Few things are as classic to holiday parties than the old warhorse appetizer known as Shrimp Cocktail. This isn't to say that the dish is a bad thing -- shrimp, horseradish, a nebulous tomato-based sauce; all of these things are quite delicious (no matter their provenance), and they work quite well together.

This being said, as one travels through the month-long antacid advertisement that is the holiday season, Shrimp Cocktail becomes more than ubiquitous. Why not serve something that will set your party apart?

Today's recipe is a great alternative, a sweet-and-sour Southern standard that's been sorely neglected across other regions of the country. It's festive, quick, easy, and can be prepared far before your guests arrive. Let's start cooking.

------------------------
Mustard-Caper Pickled Shrimp
Makes 1 Pound

2 Quarts Water
2 Tablespoons Pickling Spice
1 Bay Leaf
1/2 Lemon, quartered
1 Pound, Shrimp (size of your choosing)
1 Tablespoon Salt

2 Tablespoons Dijon Mustard
1 Tablespoon Capers
1/4 Cup Red Wine Vinegar
3 Tablespoons White Granulated Sugar
1 clove Garlic, choppped
1 large Red Onion
Juice of 1/2 Lemon
1 teaspoon Fresh-Cracked Black Pepper
Pinch of Kosher Salt (to taste)

Chives (for garnish, optional)
------------------------
[Editor's Note: This is a fairly flexible recipe -- depending on whether you like "sweet-and-sour" dishes more heavily weighted in either direction, you should feel free to adjust the amount of Red Wine Vinegar and Sugar accordingly.]

Start by bringing the water, pickling spices, bay leaf, salt, and half of a lemon to a boil, as seen at the top of this post. Once the water is rolling along, toss in your shrimp, shelled and de-veined, leaving the tails on. Monitor the shrimp -- depending on their size, they should be done in two to three minutes, or until pink and just opaque.

Meanwhile, start assembling your marinade. Combine your mustard, vinegar, lemon juice, sugar, garlic, pepper and pinch of salt. Whisk these ingredients together until the sugar is dissolved. Taste and adjust accordingly.

By now, the shrimp should be done. Remove them from the boiling water and keep them nearby. Retain the lemon quarters. Chop up a red onion [Editor's Note: For the photos, all we had on hand was yellow], and add them, along with the capers, to the marinade.

Next, toss the warm shrimp and lemon quarters into the marinade. Try to press things down so that as many shrimp as possible are submerged.

From here, the recipe is essentially done. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and let chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours, but no more than 24. When ready to serve, spoon everything (leaving the marinade behind) into small bowls, and garnish with the chives. The final product:

This is a great little dish, and always a popular one. I'd double or triple the above amounts for a big party -- a little tangy, a little tart, it's just the thing to get appetites whetted. Best of all, this dish isn't restricted to the holiday season -- you'll find it's just as welcome at a mid-summer picnic. Add this one to your arsenal, and you might wonder how you ever did without it.

Next weekend, we'll return with yet another first course, a little treat for those of you with especially adventurous palates. See you then!

Music: Elvis Presley -- "Song of the Shrimp"

The Autumn Crunch: Stovetop Kettle Corn

2009-11-01T21:33:00.011-05:00

Oh, man.

Mulled apple cider, the smell of burning leaves, touch football -- what isn't there to like about fall?

[Editor's Note: Or, as the Pasta Burner calls it, "the last few days while it's still not winter."]

It's a great season, especially for those of us in the Northeast. One of my favorite things about the season are the preponderance of apple festivals around the region -- but it's not the apples that I'm excited about. You see, where there's apple festivals, there's kettle corn; delicious, hot, just slightly sticky-sweet kettle corn.

The big secret, however, is that you don't have to wait for the whims of Mennonites to enjoy this delicious fall snack. Do you have five minutes and a pot that has a lid? Oh, good. Let's get cooking.

------------------------
Stovetop Kettle Corn
Makes Eight Cups

4 Tablespoons Vegetable (not Olive) Oil
1/2 cup Popping Corn Kernels
1/2 cup Sugar
Kosher Salt

2 teaspoons ground Cinnamon (optional)
1/2 Cup Pecans (optional)
------------------------

Start by cooking your oil over high heat until it shimmers, about one minute.

Pour in your corn kernels. Shake your pot to coat each kernel with oil.

After 30 seconds, pour in your sugar. Cover the pot tightly.

The sugar will clump initially, but will eventually dissolve into a liquid state. Using one hand to hold the lid on tight, and the other to agitate the pot, shake the pot well over the heat as the corn begins to pop. Be sure to shake it vigorously, or the sugar syrup will harden and burn to the bottom of the pot. Pull it off the heat when the "pops" slow to one every three seconds. If you're using pecans, pour them in at this point.

Next, pour the popcorn onto a large plate. Sprinkle with a pinch of kosher salt, and, if you're using it, the cinnamon.

The popcorn will be molten hot; if you touch it at this point, you could sustain some serious sugar burns. Let it rest for two to three minutes, and then, after touching it carefully to check the temperature, mold it firmly into a tower-like shape. This really isn't necessary -- it just makes it look cool. Serve while still sticky and warm! The final product:

Once you realize how easy it is to make this, you'll be kicking yourself for having done without all these years. This is fast, quick, and cheap. And yeah, you might burn a batch or two at first. But stick with it; the results are more than worth the work.

Burning Pasta will be on hiatus next weekend as the Pasta Burner and I head out of town. Technically speaking, it's a working vacation; that being said, I have a feeling we'll find time to enjoy ourselves. Look for an update on November 15th -- we'll see you then.

Music: Giggletoot -- "Kettle Drum Polka"

The Throwback Appetizer: Beet-Blue Cheese Terrine

2009-10-27T20:52:00.011-04:00

Doesn't seem like it was that long ago, does it?

The salty breeze, the glare so bright you don't take your sunglasses off all weekend, the lazy crabs crawling over the rocks -- who doesn't love themselves a little summer getaway? My favorite part of these days is always right before sunset; the prickle of hot water on slightly sunburned skin, a G&T with lots of lime, and, of course, something to nibble on.

Today's recipe is one of those great vacation nibbles, polished up and made respectable for the winter months. I actually like it best with a ice-cold pilsner, but, no matter what you're drinking, it'll make you plenty of friends. Let's get right to it.

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Beet-Blue Cheese Terrine
Makes one 4-inch terrine

1 can Silver Dollar Beets
1/4 pound Triple-Creme Blue Cheese (Cambozola is a nice choice)
2 Tablespoons Milk or Heavy Cream
2 Tablespoons Chives or Scallions, finely chopped

Plastic Wrap
------------------------

So yes, I use canned beets for this recipe. I know, it's an abomination not to buy them from the farmer's market. But think about it -- a dollar a can, always uniform size, already cooked and peeled for you; there's no need to complain here. Michael Pollan and Alice Waters will be by later to judge us all.

Here's the cheese; Cambozola is probably the widest available Triple-Creme, but any blue cheese with thick and creamy, gooeyness is acceptable. The first task is to cream it with the milk and chives.

Chop your chives (save the tops for garnish, if you'd like)...

...blend in your milk, and mash everything with a fork until you have a smooth and spreadable paste.

Next, line a 4-inch bowl with plastic wrap, trying to adhere the plastic to the surface of the bowl as well as you can.

Slice your beets into uniform, 1/4 to 1/2-inch slices. Save the end pieces to fill in the cracks.

Lay down a first layer of the beets on the bottom of the bowl. Try to keep the largest, most attractive slices near the center, and work your way outside using smaller slices.

Spread a thin layer of the blue cheese mixture across the beets.

Build another layer of beets on top of this. Continue this process until the bowl is filled to the brim.

Bring the sides of the plastic wrap up and fold them over the top of the bowl. Press down lightly to bind everything together. Place the bowl into the fridge until ready to serve.

Shortly before serving your guests, remove the bowl from the fridge and unwrap the sides of the plastic wrap. Flip the terrine over and out onto a plate. Remove both the bowl and the plastic wrap from the terrine, drizzle a little olive oil around it, and serve with lots of crackers or toast points. The final product:

And there you have it! Does it look a little like a UFO? Sure. But that's part of the charm. The terrine's striking appearance will only make your guests curious to try it, and, once they do, they'll realize just how delicious a surprise they've stumbled upon. The beets and blue cheese work together wonderfully, and the onions lighten things up just a bit. As I said, this is one of those easy summer specials, something that needs little planning and less skill. Give it a try; you'll swear there's a harbor breeze coming in through the window.

We'll return this upcoming weekend yet another recipe -- see you then!

Music: Michael Jackson -- "Beat It"

The Sweet and Tangy Slice: Buttermilk Plum Pie

2009-10-11T20:20:00.005-04:00

The Pasta Burner loves to make biscuits.

And why not? There are few things more delicious right out of the oven than those buttery, flaky, still-steaming-hot buns. The first one is delicious. As is the next one. And the one after that.

The key to great biscuits, of course, is a cup or two of buttermilk; the tangy (and wonderful) side effect of whipping heavy cream into oblivion adds a lovely, pleasant lightness for which there really is no other substitute.

The only problem with biscuit making is that it's nearly impossible to just buy a cup of buttermilk; if you're lucky, a quart is about the smallest container you'll find. So what to do with the leftovers?

The answer is found in today's recipe; the combination of a classic southern dessert and the summer's last bounty of stone fruit. Let's get to it.

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Buttermilk Plum Pie
Makes enough batter for two 9" pies

12 ripe Plums

3/4 Cup Sugar
4 large Eggs
2 heaping tablespoons All-Purpose Flour
1 stick Sweet Cream Butter, melted
1 and 1/2 Cups Buttermilk
2 Tablespoons Vanilla Extract

2 Pie crusts (One box of store-bought is just fine)
------------------------

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Start by cracking your eggs into a large bowl. Add the sugar and whip with a hand mixer until the color lightens and it becomes very thick, about two minutes.

Add in the buttermilk. Whip for an additional minute.

Follow this with the two heaping tablespoons of flour and vanilla. With the mixer on, add the melted butter to the bowl in a constant stream. This will make sure that the butter emulsifies into the batter properly.

Place the pie crusts into your pans. With a sharp knife, halve the plums and remove the pits. Place them, cut side down, into the pie pans, packing them together.

Pour the batter into each pan (as seen at the top of this post), leaving the top of each plum exposed to the air. Place into the oven and bake for 45 minutes (or until the top is golden brown and the pie's center no longer wiggles).

Allow to cool for 30 minutes, and serve. The final product:

I think you'll find this pie to be more intriguing than it might appear at first glance; the mildly piquant buttermilk, the jammy notes of plum, the luscious vanilla custard -- all of these elements combine to create a dessert of subtle complexity. Two pies may seem like a lot, but I promise you, it'll disappear quick. Give it a whirl -- and be sure to make some biscuits, too.

Music: Wu-Tang Clan -- "C.R.E.A.M"

The Transmogrification, Continued: Spruce Barleywine, Part 2

2009-10-04T23:42:00.007-04:00

First things first! As some of our eagle-eyed readers may have spied, we've relocated the website to www.burning-pasta.com -- a happy step towards Internet respectability. Don't worry about changing your bookmarks; we've set the website code up so that it will automatically forward you to the new address. Our thanks to those of you who have been reading us since the early blogspot.com days -- we'll be sure to remember you when we hit it big. (Ha!)

As for this week's post, we're wrapping up a story from earlier this year; specifically, the story of our Spruce Barleywine. As some of you may remember, I first posted in February about this beguiling brew, discussing the brewing techniques, the multi-stage additions of spruce (first, large branches for filtering the wort, then, later, tender tips for the boiling infusion), and the 1844 recipe that inspired Nolan and me to brew the beer in the first place.

Well, this week, after nearly 10 months of cool, slow fermentation, the beer was finally ready for public consumption. Oh, boy, was it ever good.

First and foremost, the beer is striking to the eye; the ponderously rich tobacco color lets the imbiber know that this is a beverage to be taken seriously, while the honeyed chestnut highlights cast a soft glow from the glass. A slim but creamy layer of foam rests on top, as thick and luxurious as a well-drawn cappuccino.

The aroma is much like the appearance -- austere, serious, and of considerable depth. The effervescence carries up notes of resinous pine sap and muted slate, substantial, but never flashy.

With the first sip, the flavors bloom in the mouth. The hint of pine sap carries over into a river of caramelized maple and chestnuts, like Christmas in a glass; this is followed by broad base notes from the blackstrap molasses and lightly floral enhancements from the hops. Finally, at the very end, a drying, stiff, crisp lashing of wood (a play on traditional oak-aging flavors brought forth from our unusual pine-branch filtering technique) rounds out the swallow.

Nolan and I made this beer to mark five years of brewing together, and, I must say, it's all that we had hoped for and more. Best of all, at just over 12% ABV, it will have the ability to age long into the future. (Like the best friendships, it will only get better with time.)

The bottles, 22 ounces each, have each been specially labeled and numbered; a reproduction of one is below.

When I look at the last five years, Nolan and I have both come far. We've each, on our own, accomplished great things, had new and wonderful experiences, traveled to new places and took new and challenging risks. Brewing allows us to come back together from separate coasts, to compare notes, to practice a ritual of fermentation as old as civilization itself.

What will Nolan and I come up with for the 10th anniversary of brewing together? Who knows; it's going to take some work to top this. That being said, what we make won't be all that important. The path our lives travel between then and now -- that will be the truly interesting story.

Music: The Who -- "Success Story"

The Spicy-Sweet Treat: Chewy Molasses-Ginger Cookies

2009-09-27T11:49:00.003-04:00

There are few things that mean "fall" to me more than ginger snaps. In particular, Sweetzel's Spiced Wafers, the birthright of any southeastern Pennsylvania child, are specifically responsible for my Pavlovian response.

[Editor's Note: Ivins' Spiced Wafers, another Pennsylvania classic, are a fine choice as well.]

I can remember eating giant stacks of them with glasses of hot apple cider at both my grandparents' houses; the best ones were those that were just a little stale, when they'd lose their snap and get just a little chewy. Due to my love of the wafers (particularly the soft ones), I've been trying to develop a good Molasses-Ginger Cookie recipe of my own, combining and enhancing my favorite parts of the original.

Well, I think I've done it. These cookies not only provide that great chewy texture, they turn the volume way up on the spice level -- the distinct, peppery "heat" that will be sure to win the heart of the ginger-lover in your life.

I'm very proud of these -- dare I say it, I might even prefer them to the original.

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Chewy Molasses-Ginger Cookies
Makes a few dozen, depending on size

2 Cups All-Purpose Flour
1/2 Cup Sugar
1 teaspoon ground Cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground Allspice
1/2 teaspoon Nutmeg
4 Tablespoons Ginger Powder
2 teaspoons Baking Soda
1/2 teaspoon Kosher Salt

1 and 1/2 inches fresh Ginger Root, grated
1 stick Sweet Cream Butter, melted
3/4 cup Light Molasses
1 Egg
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Place all the dry ingredients (flour, sugar, spices, baking soda, salt) into a large mixing bowl.

Add the egg, molasses, sugar, grated ginger, and melted butter to the bowl. Stir until just mixed. The dough will be very, very loose.

Place a large piece of plastic wrap on your counter. Pour the dough in a line along the center of the plastic wrap, wrap the sides around it, and, working through the plastic, attempt to form the dough into a cylinder-like shape.

Place the cylinder on a cookie sheet, and place the sheet into the freezer (if in a rush) or fridge until it becomes firm (an hour in the freezer, three in the fridge).

Once the dough is firm, preheat your oven to 400 degrees F.

Take the log of dough, unwrap it, and cut 1/2" slices from it. If you don't feel like making all of the cookies at once, re-wrap the unused dough back up and place it back in the freezer; it keeps forever, and you'll be able to whip together fresh-baked cookies at a minute's notice.

Place the slices on your cookie sheet about two to three inches apart -- they will spread out.

Bake the cookies for 10-12 minutes, or until they're softly set (they will continue to firm up as they cool). Allow to cool on a rack for 15 minutes (or as long as you can keep your mitts off of them). The final product:

These are remarkably easy to make -- if you can toss things into a bowl and stir, you can tackle these cookies. I do suggest you make extra (double the recipe!) and keep the extra dough in the freezer; there's nothing better than coming home on a chilly, drizzle-laden night, turning on the oven, and having the wonderful, spicy, intoxicating aroma of fresh-baked cookies flood your house. If you have these on hands, that experience will never be more than 10 minutes away.

Be sure to come back and join us next week! See you then.

Videos: Sesame Street -- "Cookie Monster Contacts Santa"

The Sunday Morning Nosh: 24-Hour Bagels

2009-09-20T00:04:00.003-04:00

This week, we've got yet another recipe for the students out there.

Like last week's soup, this isn't a fast recipe; that being said, the labor required is minimal, and the end results are truly fantastic.

Bagels are a staple of the student diet -- smeared with peanut butter and filled with banana slices, they're the perfect snack; piled high and broiled with cheese, they make an open-faced sandwich like no other. And on the weekends? A couple slices of lox, a schmear of Neufchatel, some ringlets of red onion, a little tomato, some capers...are you getting the idea?

Indeed, few foods are consumed by students more often, which makes the sad state of most bagels truly unfortunate. If you're going to eat lots of something, shouldn't it at least be good?

To that end then, this week, we're showing you how to make bagels -- easy, versatile, and better than any of the anemic specimens you'll find hanging around your local grocery store. Let's get to it.

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24-Hour Bagels
Makes about a dozen

Yeast Starter:
2 envelopes Instant Yeast
4 cups All-Purpose Flour
2 1/2 cups Water (or only 2 Cups water, if making Pumpkin Spice)
1 Tablespoon Sugar

Dough:
1 package Instant Yeast
3 3/4 cups All-Purpose Flour
2 teaspoons Kosher Salt (or only 1 teaspoon, for sweet varieties)
2 Tablespoons Light Molasses

1 teaspoon Baking Soda (for the water)
2 Tablespoons Light Molasses (for the water)
1 Tablespoon Sugar (for the water)

1 Cup Cornmeal (for dusting the pan)

Suggested Flavor Variations:

Lemon-Sesame Bagels
Zest of 4 Lemons
1/4 Cup Black Sesame Seeds (to be sprinkled on top)

Pumpkin Spice Bagels
1/2 Cup Pumpkin puree
1 Teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

Black & White Bagels
2 Tablespoons Vanilla Extract
1 Cup chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate

Onion Bagels
1 Large Vidalia Onion, minced
2 Tablespoons Onion Powder
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[Editor's Note: Please note that the above variations are presented in quantities appropriate for an entire batch. If you'd like to split batches of dough in half (to make six each of two different flavors), make sure to half the flavoring ingredients for each portion as well.]

The day before you want to serve the bagels, start by combining two envelopes of the yeast, four cups of the flour, one Tablespoon of the sugar, and 2 and 1/2 cups of water in a large bowl. Stir until well mixed; the dough will be exceptionally shaggy. Cover the bowl with a towel and leave in a warm place for two hours.

When you return, the dough should have doubled in size (if not more) and become pocketed with airholes.

Add in the last packet of yeast, the 2 teaspoons of kosher salt, and the 2 Tablespoons of light molasses.

Mix these ingredients in, followed by the rest of the flour. Knead the dough well, making sure all the flour has become mixed in. It will become very stiff.

If you're lazy like me, you can toss the dough, a few handfuls at a time, into your food processor. I can't say it enough -- you don't need many kitchen tools, but everyone, EVERYONE should own a food processor.

If you are adding in flavoring ingredients, do so at this time. Continue to knead for an additional 10 minutes (or five, in the mixer) after this point. For the purposes of this demonstration, I'll show you how I made the Lemon-Sesame batch. In this case, I zested three lemons, working the finely grated peel into the dough.

Tear the dough into 12 roughly equal pieces, and roll each piece into a ball with your hands.

Using your thumb, poke a hole in the center of each ball to form the familiar bagel shape. As the bagels will continue to swell with time, make sure to make each hole a bit larger than you'd want in the final product. See all those delicious bits of lemon zest in there?

Place the newly-formed bagels on well-greased cookie sheets and let them rise at room temperature for 2 more hours.

At this point, brush the bagels with oil, cover them with plastic wrap, and place them into the refrigerator overnight. This additional, cool fermentation will improve the structure of the final bagels and develop the flavor of the dough.

The next morning, preheat your oven to 500 degrees F.

Next, bring a large pot of water to a boil (about 6 quarts). Add the teaspoon of baking soda, the additional two tablespoons of light molasses, and the tablespoon of sugar to the boiling water.

Leaving the water at high heat, place the bagels into the boiling water, two at a time, for two minutes each side.

Bringing them out of the water, transfer them to a cookie sheet that has been well-coated with cornmeal. If you're using toppings (such as the sesame seeds), sprinkle these on top while the dough is still wet.

Place the cookie sheets containing the bagels into the hot oven. Let them cook for 10 minutes at 500. After 10 minutes, shut off the oven and, leaving it closed, allow the trapped heat in the oven to keep cooking the bagels for an additional half-hour.

Remove the bagels from the oven and serve them piping hot! The final product:

This is such a versatile recipe; adaptable, scalable, even gluten-free-able. While they don't keep well at room temperature for more than a day, they freeze exceptionally well (be sure to slice them first!), ensuring that you'll always have fresh, hot bagels only five minutes (and a toaster) away. Give these a try; they're easier than you think.

Music: Otis Redding -- "(Sittin' On) The Dock of The Bay"

The Student's Salvation: Kasha-Kale Soup with Roasted Walnuts

2009-09-12T18:07:00.004-04:00

I've never been a huge fan of September, to be honest.

Lacking both the sweat-inducing, purifying heat of August and the autumnal colors and crisp chill of October, September is nothing more than four weeks that defy prediction, a month eternally in transition. Pair that with the general pension for dampness that this year's weather has supplied, and you could be forgiven for thinking that, at least meteorologically, the next three weeks have a less than rosy outlook to them.

That's not to say that all is lost, of course. For as any cook knows, when the temperature starts to drop, and the rain keeps drizzling outside, and you slip that first fall sweater over your shoulders, the concurrence of those events can only mean one thing -- it's time for soup.

I've been tossing around ideas for this recipe for quite a while, actually. September, as I'm sure you're well aware, also marks the start of the academic year at both high schools and universities alike (at least one point in the month's favor). For graduate students such as the Pasta Burner and myself, this means busier schedules and long days out of the house; returning to the house before 9 PM is a major victory. As a result, there's less time to cook, and the food that is available quickly (take-out, food trucks, sandwiches from the local deli) is often less than nutritious.

By comparison, this recipe, with metabolism-regulating buckwheat, Vitamin A and C from the kale, and Omega-3 fatty acids from the walnuts, provides a wallop of healthful nutrients. Sounds scary? Let me break it down for you -- this soup will help give you energy to study for hours on end, protect you from the common cold, and improve your brain function. Sounds like exactly what any student needs, right?

Furthermore, by making a big pot of soup during the weekend, you can guarantee that a healthy, and yes, fast dinner is always at your fingertips. Don't want to eat the same soup for three or four days? Invest in a number of quart Tupperware containers and freeze half of every batch you make. By December -- when we'll have had several new soup recipes posted here -- you'll have a variety of fantastic, homemade soups to choose from any day of the week.

Oh, and did I mention it's freaking delicious? Yeah. That too.

I'm already getting hungry. Let's get to it.

------------------------
Kasha-Kale Soup with Roasted Walnuts
Serves 8

1 cup Kasha (roasted buckwheat)
1 head Lacinato (or other) Kale
3 quarts Beef Stock (or 5 if not using beef ribs)
2 Quarts of Water (skip water if not using beef ribs)
1 Head Garlic
5 Sprigs Thyme
2 Leeks, well-washed
2 Large Vidalia Onions
1 Tablespoon Brown Sugar
2 Tablespoons Cognac (optional)

1 to 2 pounds Beef Spare Ribs (optional, see Editor's Note #2)

2 Cups Walnuts
1 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper
Fresh Cracked Black Pepper
Kosher Salt

4 Tablespoons Olive Oil, split
------------------------
[Editor's Note: There are several substitutions that can be made here. While I myself like the combination of the buckwheat and walnuts, any number of whole grains can be substituted in. Just off the top of my head, Pearl Barley, Quinoa, or Spelt would all be nice choices. Additionally, other dark leafy greens can be brought in for those that don't care for the texture of kale -- spinach provides many of the same nutrients with a thinner, softer leaf.]

[Editor's Note #2: If you can get your hands on beef ribs for this recipe, do so. Odds are your local butcher (or even your supermarket) has plenty of them, and cheap. If they have a bone saw, have them slice the rubs into half, across the bone; this will help leech all the good gelatin and marrow out into the broth. The addition of the ribs makes all the difference between good soup and great soup; both the flavor and mouthfeel of the broth will benefit.]

Start by prepping all your veggies and preheating your oven to 400 degrees F.

First, clean your leeks. Slice them in half, lengthwise, removing and discarding the outside layer.

Additionally, chop off and toss out any leathery, rough, dark green parts of the vegetable, as they will be tough to chew and unpalatable.

Finally, run the leeks under a sink to rinse out any sand or dirt that might have gathered in them. Next, take your kale, removing the hard, fibrous core that runs up the middle of each leaf. This, too, is unpalatable.

Finally, peel your onions. Chop all three vegetables into very rough, 1" squares; we don't want it to dissolve into the broth, but each piece should be able to fit on a spoon as well.

From here, we can start to cook. Pour two Tablespoons of the olive oil into a very large, deep pot over medium heat. When it begins to shimmer, add in your beef ribs (if you're using them). Cook them until they start to brown, about 5 to 8 minutes.

Next, add in your chopped onions and leeks. Cook, stirring occasionally, until they both soften, turn translucent, and just begin to brown (about 10 minutes).

Peel the cloves from your head of garlic, keeping them whole and intact.

Add them, along with the Tablespoon of brown sugar and the leaves from the thyme sprigs, to the onions, leeks, and bone pieces. Stirring constantly to avoid burning, keep cooking the onions/leeks/ribs/garlic/sugar mixture until the sugar melts (about 2 minutes, max). If your garlic starts to brown, move to the next step immediately (the last thing we want is burned garlic).

If you're using it -- and I hope you are -- here's where you should add in your two Tablespoons of cognac. This will serve to deglaze the pan and provide a great depth of flavor. Use your spoon or spatula to scrape up any good brown fond that has collected on the bottom of the pot.

Within 30 seconds of adding the booze, pour in your beef stock and water. Of course, you could always make this soup entirely vegan by both skipping the beef ribs and using vegetable stock. Just keep in mind that you also can drive a car using only your feet -- I just can't guarantee that you're going to get the best results.

Bring the soup up to a slow simmer, reduce heat to low, and cover the pot. Let it cook for 1 hour.

Meanwhile, it's time to roast your walnuts! Throw the walnuts, the rest of the olive oil, the cayenne, a healthy dusting of black pepper, and a pinch of salt onto a cookie sheet, mixing well with your hands. Place the pan in the oven and roast the walnuts until they're well toasted, and crisp, about 10 minutes. Check on them about halfway through to give every thing a quick stir.

Take your pan out of the oven and allow the walnuts to cool. Turn off the oven.

After the hour of simmering has passed, uncover your pot. If there is any oil from the ribs on top, skim it off. We don't want greasy soup. Add in your kasha...

...walnuts...

...and kale.

Stir to mix, cover once more, and cook for an additional hour, checking on it every once in a while. At the end of the hour, remove the ribs (this is why you need the bone either whole or in big chunks). Use a pairing knife to remove the meat from the sides of the ribs, and chop it well. Return the chopped meat to the broth and discard the bones (or make your puppy very happy).

And that's it! Pour the soup into bowls and serve it with slices of swiss cheese, crackers, and good mustard or paté. A picture of the final product:

Although it takes a a little while to make, this is one of those great low-maintenance recipes, the perfect thing to let putter away in the kitchen during a long, rainy afternoon. The soup is satisfying, but never heavy; the addition of the walnuts, in particular, adds substance without weight. As for the interplay of the flavors here, you'll find it's quite wonderful -- the nuttiness of the walnuts and buckwheat, the sticky richness of the beef broth, the slight bitterness of the kale, the broad, rounded base notes of the cognac -- everything plays in concert, warming you from top to toes.

It's soup season, folks. Break out the wool socks and have yourself a bowl.

Video: Warner Brothers -- "Duck Soup to Nuts"

The Not-Quite-Definitive Recipe: Fresh Fig Gulab Jamun

2009-09-04T23:08:00.007-04:00

Two quick notes before we begin this week's post!

First, thanks go out to eagle-eyed reader Sarah Y. for catching an error in our last post. In the description of how to melt the chocolate, the text originally read to melt down "one stick of butter per 12 ounces of chocolate." It should have read "1/2 of a stick of butter per 12 ounces." The correction has been made to the page, hopefully soon enough to save all of you from runny chocolate and unnecessary coronary episodes.

Second, we couldn't help but notice that, six days after our own recipe for Grilled Lamb Chops with Sun-Dried Tomato Chimichurri went live, the New York Times ran this remarkably similar recipe. We here at Burning Pasta don't assume that Ms. Clark or any other NYT staffers read this page, but we do love a good coincidence.

On to this week's post!

There are some dishes that simply don't have standardized versions.

Different iterations might taste similar, or look similar, or have similar textures, but the truth of the matter is, whether it's Pasta alla Bolognese, a Bloody Mary, or, today's recipe, there are certain foods that are notable because there are so many variations, whether they be national, regional, or even different from cook to cook.

Gulab Jamun, is, at a very basic level, fried dumplings made from a dairy-based dough, soaked in sugar syrup. This simple description of ingredients is hardly adequate, however, nor does it illustrate just how delicious the final product is. Depending on who you ask, the flour could be pastry, or rice, or all-purpose, the dairy anything from sour cream to cottage cheese to milk powder, the sugar syrup based on almost any sweet substance you can think of. And that's not even thinking about what to flavor the syrup with.

Our version is based on sweetened condensed milk and all-purpose flour; something that most people already have in their pantry (and, if they don't, they're easily found). To add a late-summer twist, we've added fresh figs and copious amounts of orange zest; a perfect (and classic) combination that waves farewell to summer and looks eagerly towards the crisp, bracing fall.

------------------------
Fresh Fig Gulab Jamun
Serves 4

Dough
1 and 1/2 Cups All-Purpose Flour
1 Tablespoon Baking Powder
1 Tablespoon Butter, melted
1 (14 oz.) can Sweetened Condensed Milk
6 Black Mission (or other fresh) Figs
Zest of two Oranges

3 Cups Vegetable Oil
Candy Thermometer

Syrup
2 cups Water
1/2 Cup Honey
1/2 Cup Granulated Sugar
3 Cardamom Pods
1/2 teaspoon ground Cinnamon
1 teaspoon Rose Water (optional)
1 pinch Saffron (optional)
------------------------

First off, you have to make your batter. Start by pouring the can of sweetened condensed milk into a bowl.

Zest your oranges into it, and add your vanilla extract and melted butter.

At this point, it's time to add in your dry ingredients. Gently stir in your flour, one 1/4 cup at a time. Add in your baking powder as well.

You should be left with a fairly stiff dough. Set aside to let the baking powder work its magic.

Heat your oil up to 320 -- a bit cooler than you would usually get things for deep-frying. You want to cook these dumplings fairly slowly, and all the way through, so searing heat isn't what we're looking for.

Meanwhile, mix together your honey, sugar, and water, bringing it up to a boil so it gets nice and syrupy.

Once things are at a nice boil, add in your cardamom and cinnamon. If you have saffron on hand, go ahead and add a pinch of that in too. If not, don't worry about it. Turn the heat under the syrup down to low.

By now your oil should be up to temperature. Slice your figs into halves (as seen at the top of this post). With well-floured hands, form the dough into balls, tucking a fig half into each one.

Drop your dumplings, one at a time, into the hot oil. Cook them for two minutes a side, or until browned well (but not too dark).

Place your fried dumplings into the simmering sugar syrup. Ladle it overtop a few times, or until well coated.

Serve the Gulab Jamun with vanilla ice cream and chopped mint leaves, adding additional fresh figs on top and drizzling extra sugar syrup around the plate. The final product:

This is a wonderful dessert -- fluffy, crispy, sweet, and with just enough comforting doughiness for those early, cool late summer nights. Still not on board? It's basically a doughnut with bread pudding inside, and, at its core, there's gooey, delicious, jammy fig. Oh, yeah. You should make this.

We'll return next weekend with yet another recipe! See you then.

Music: George Michael -- "Father Figure"

The Modular Dessert: Dark Chocolate Cups with Matcha Buttercream

2009-08-29T14:14:00.007-04:00

Candy-making can be intimidating, it's true. No one likes struggling with molten sugar and thermometers, and, all too often, what ends up being produced at home still isn't up to the quality and craftsmanship of store-bought treats.

And yet, there are a few quick treats that are, relatively speaking, painless to create, and which look as (if not more) attractive than their professionally-made cousins. Today's recipe falls into both of those categories, and it's incredibly versatile to boot.

The techniques and shortcuts I'm going to present today aren't particularly revolutionary, at least in candy-making circles. That being said, they're not well-known by most home cooks. Consider today's post a way to acquire a handy ability, a way to develop yet another skill you'll be able to call upon in the kitchen. Let's get to it.

------------------------
Dark Chocolate Cups with Matcha Buttercream
Makes several dozen; extras keep forever in the freezer

Buttercream Base
8 oz cream cheese
1/2 Cup Sweet Cream Butter (1 stick)
1.25 pounds (1.25 boxes) confectioner's sugar
1 Tablespoon Vanilla Extract

Various Flavoring Options
(each will be enough to flavor 1/3 of the batch)
6 Envelopes (6 grams) Matcha (green tea) powder
4 Envelopes (4 grams) instant Espresso powder
24 Fresh Cherries (for cordial-style)

Chocolate Coating
3.75 pounds (60 ounces) of bittersweet chocolate
1 and 1/2 Cups of Sweet Cream Butter (2.5 sticks)
------------------------
[Editor's Note: Observe that the amount of each flavor indicated above is sufficient for 1/3 of the total batch. As a result, if you wanted to make an entire batch of Matcha-flavored candies, you would need 18 envelopes (18 grams) of matcha powder. Additionally, the flavorings suggested above are only that -- suggestions. Feel free to experiment with curry powder, cayenne, various citrus zests, and other dry flavorings.]

First off, we need to make our buttercream base. Start with one stick of butter and one 8 oz. package of cream cheese. Let them come up to room temperature to get soft, setting them out on the counter for about 30 minutes.

Whip the butter and cream cheese together with a hand-mixer. Once everything is well blended, start adding in your confectioner's sugar. I've suggested the use of 1.25 pounds of sugar, but, in truth, this will be a matter of taste. A little less wouldn't hurt, and neither would a little more. That being said, anything above 1.5 pounds may make your teeth hurt. Consider yourself warned.

Whip in your Tablespoon of vanilla extract. Resist the temptation to add more; if you dilute the buttercream too much, it will refuse to set. If you want more vanilla flavor (or if you want to make plain vanilla buttercream candies), scrape in the seeds of a vanilla bean as well.

From here, separate your buttercream base into thirds. As the editor's note above mentioned, you can make them all the same flavor, but, given the option, and knowing how easy it is, why wouldn't you want to make multiple varieties?

[Editor's Note #2: For the interest of time, this post will only cover the making of the matcha candies. For the espresso-flavored candies, simply follow the same instant-powder technique. For the cherry cordials, simply roll fresh pitted cherries into the center of a ball of plain buttercream base (after the base has had a chance to firm up in the fridge).]

These days, most matcha powder comes in skinny one-gram envelopes like these. Count them out, and add them to 1/3rd of the buttercream base (as seen at the top of this post), which will be pretty loose at this point. Once all your flavorings have been added, place the bowls in the refrigerator so that they cool and firm up.

Instead of using clunky metal molds to form the candy (what candy makers have been doing forever), it's much easier to use disposable, foil-lined cupcake liners, providing a classic cup shape without the hassle. Make sure you get the foil-lined ones -- while they're slightly more expensive, the added stiffness will help the cups hold their shape and make them easier to handle. Believe me, I'm not the first person to suggest doing this; that being said, it's such a neat idea, I'm happy to pass the information on.

Next, melt down half of your chocolate over low heat -- 12 ounces to 1/2 of a stick of butter. Hey, I said this was easy, not good for you. For the best results, stick to melting down 12 ounces at at time; this will keep things from burning and ensure greater control overall.

Pour your chocolate into the cups, just enough in each to coat the bottom with a thin layer. Place the cups into the freezer (placing them on a cookie sheet really helps with this) for 15 minutes, or until firm.

Next, remove your buttercream from the fridge; it should have the consistency of Play-Doh. Remove your chocolate coated-molds from the freezer, roll balls of buttercream (if you were making cordials, this is where you'd roll the cherries into the center of the vanilla-flavored balls) and place them in the center of the cups, one to each. Return the cups to the freezer once more.

Melt down the rest of your chocolate with the rest of your butter, once again in batches. Remove your cups from the freezer. Pour chocolate into each so that it covers over the buttercream ball, and, one last time, return everything to the freezer.

After about a half-hour, the candies should be firm. Dust each with more matcha powder and pop them out from the molds. Keep the cups in the refrigerator until shortly you're ready to serve them -- they will melt if left outside all day, particularly in the summertime. The final product:

This may seem slightly involved process, but I assure you, it's painless. The flexibility of the recipe, the ability to use whatever chocolate you desire, the infinite variety of filling flavors, the fact that there are no thermometers needed -- this is about as easy as candy-making gets.

Best of all, these keep forever under the right conditions; if you keep a bag in the freezer, you'll always have something on hand when unexpected guests arrive. That is, of course, if you can keep yourself from sneaking one every time you go to the kitchen.

Next weekend, we'll return with something entirely different. See you then.

Video: Monty Python -- "The Philosophers' Football Match"

The Ten-Minute Dinner: Grilled Lamb Chops with Sun-Dried Tomato Chimichurri

2009-08-22T02:00:00.004-04:00

There are some dishes that will be delicious no matter what. This is one of them.

Sure, there are a few little tips to make it more delicious, and I suppose you could burn the lamb into a hockey-puck-like state, but, odds are, this one's pretty fool-proof.

Lamb is one of those meats that's plagued with an underrated status in the United States -- a vital part of many cultures' diets, it has a deep, full flavor that so many factory-raised chickens and cows can't provide, a subtle musk that's unfairly maligned and too often dismissed as "an acquired taste." Sure, everyone's had a piece of lamb with a little more funk than they're used to. It happens -- get over it. Don't make that an excuse to miss out on one of the world's great gustatory delights.

To that end, then, a tip on where to find your lamb: Because it's not all that popular on a national level, carrying it can be a hassle for stores; as a result, the prices in supermarkets for lamb can be sky high -- just last week I saw chops like the ones I'm cooking here at nearly twenty dollars per pound. So, rather than get gouged at your local big-box store, search out markets where the supply is high and the price is low; I buy mine from a West Philadelphia Halal butcher for 5.99 per pound. By buying from a smaller butchery that deals with a more lamb-friendly population, you're guaranteeing yourself good turnover (fresher meat), careful butchering (often regulated by religious practice), and a much, much lower price. Go search out those small markets. You'll be glad you did.

Anyway, this week, we're taking some of that gorgeous lamb and dressing it with my own version of the classic Argentine sauce chumichurri. You won't believe how fast and easy this is. Let's get to it.

------------------------
Lamb Chops with Sun-Dried Tomato Chimichurri
Serves 4

8 Lamb Chops (T-Bone or Rib), trimmed

3 Sun-Dried Tomatoes, reconstituted
1 Tablespoon Red Wine Vinegar
1 teaspoon Pimentón (smoked paprika)
Kosher Salt (about 1 teaspoon, but to taste)
Freshly-Cracked Black Pepper (to taste)
1 Clove Garlic
Zest of one lemon

1/4 Cup Olive Oil

3 Tablespoons Chives (or scallions), chopped
------------------------

Start by covering your sun-dried tomatoes with boiling water, as seen at the top of this post. This will help to soften and reconstitute them so that they blend more easily into the sauce. Let them soak for five minutes, or until soft.

Next, throw everything but the lamb into your food processor. From the top, clockwise: tomatoes, garlic clove and black pepper, lemon zest, salt, pimentón. The red wine vinegar is on the bottom.

Turn your processor and drizzle the olive oil in slowly to emulsify. If you'd prefer a creamier sauce, feel free to toss an egg yolk in here -- you'll end up with a lovely aioli.

Meanwhile, rub your lamb chops with a little bit more olive oil, and give them a light toss with additional kosher salt and pepper. Get your grill as hot as you can get it (charcoal is better than gas for this, but use what you have on hand), and toss your lamb on.

Cook the lamb until medium rare inside and nicely charred outside, about three minutes per side.

Top the grilled chops with the chimichurri, and garnish with a little extra lemon zest. The final product:

This is truly a delight -- piquant and slightly sour from the tomatoes, rich and buttery from the crispy fat of the lamb and the unctuous olive oil. Each element serves a critical role here; I think the smokiness of the pimentón and the citrusy crack of the lemon zest, in particular, really round out the dish. Give this a try -- after all, dinner could be ready in just ten minutes.

Next week, we'll updating a classic candy into a treat for more mature palates; don't miss it.

Music: Kaoma -- "Lambada"

The Cheater's Pastry: Black Cherry Tarte Tatin

2009-08-16T21:01:00.007-04:00

I really can't make this any easier for you.

The fact of the matter is that there's a certain minimal threshold of effort as far as cooking goes -- odds are, you're going to have to chop something, or mix something, or measure something. Do you have to do that with today's recipe? Sure. But you could probably get away with just winging it.

While we've had simple desserts in the past -- Three-Ingredient Cheesecake or Ginger-Caramel Icebox Cake, anyone? -- this week's entry proves that easy and gorgeous, patisserie-worthy pastry can, indeed, go hand-in-hand. Let's get to it.

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Black Cherry Tarte Tatin
Serves 8

2 Pounds Black Cherries

2/3 Cup + 1/4 Cup Sugar
2 Tablespoons Vanilla Extract
1/4 Cup Water

1 Pre-Packaged Square, Puff Pastry

1 Cup Heavy Cream (optional)
1/4 Cup Confectioner's Sugar (optional)
------------------------
[Editor's Note: This dessert is a bit sweeter than our usual offerings here. If you're lacking a sweet tooth, try making the recipe with sour cherries; it's equally fantastic.]

Start by taking your pre-packaged puff pastry sheet out of the freezer to warm up.

Next, it's time to make the caramel. Combine the 2/3s cup of sugar with the two tablespoons of vanilla extract and the 1/4s cup of water. Set over high heat until it begins to simmer, then reduce to low.

Pitting the cherries is very easy, and, since only one side of the cake will face upwards, you don't have to worry about it being too aesthetically attractive. Start by digging your thumb into the top, along the pit...

...and then use your index finger to pinch it, pulling the pit free from the cherry.

By the time you've finished pitting your cherries, the sugar should have darkened to a deep chestnut color. Tightly pack your cherries into the tart dish. Pour the caramel over them -- it should harden almost immediately.

Sprinkle the caramel-covered cherries with the additional 1/4 cup of sugar.

Take your softened square of puff pastry and lay it over the tart dish. It should hang over the edge in some areas.

Cut away the bits that are hanging over and use them to patch holes and other edges of the crust where there is insufficient dough. When you're done, it should look something like what you see below:

At this point, you can actually put this away into your fridge (or even the freezer) and save it for another day. If you know that you're not going to have a lot of time to cook the day that you want to serve this, do everything up to this point the day before. It's a major rule of thumb for any cook --prep as much as you can in advance. In other words, make it easy on yourself.

When you're ready to bake, preheat your oven to 400 and pop the pan into the oven. Monitor it closely, letting it cook until the crust is puffed and golden brown and the cherry juice bubbles slowly along the sides.

Depending on your cherries (some really ripe ones can have a lot of liquid inside them), you may have to drain a little juice off following the cooking process. Once you can handle the plate, tilt the tart slightly to the side over a sink, just enough to let any excess liquid run off.

Next, we'll want to flip the Tarte out from the pan, so that the cherries are on top. Place a large plate over the top of the pan...

...turn it over, give it a little shake, and hope that it comes out in one piece.

That's it! Dust it with a little confectioner's sugar and give it a sprig of mint, like I did, or whip up some unsweetened whipped cream and place a dollop over each slice you serve to your guests. A few pictures of the final product:

Although cranking your oven up to high temperatures isn't anyone's idea of August fun, this really is a delightful way to show off summer stone fruit at its peak. Sweet, juicy, flaky, caramelized -- what more do you want? Besides, you'll be hard-pressed to find a pastry dessert that's both this attractive and easy to make.

Finally, like many of the recipes you see here, this should be a jumping-off point for your own creations; keep an open mind as you walk through your local market, and you'll find that peaches, apricots, angelcots, and even tomatoes (yes, tomatoes!) can put their own fantastic and unique spin on this classic dish. I really do hope you'll try it; I bet anyone you invite over to your house to try it will be happy you did.

Next weekend, we're cranking up the grill for a remarkably quick and easy entree. Be sure to check it out.

Music: Eric Donaldson -- "Cherry Oh Baby"

The Substitute Side: Green Mango Salad With Plum Dressing

2009-08-08T23:49:00.010-04:00

The humidity has finally arrived in Philadelphia.

There are those of us in the Northeast who thought it might never come, who waited with fingers crossed that we might have a summer without stickiness, a summer where we didn't need to breathe air with the consistency of soup, a summer where a shower doesn't simply rinse off one layer of sweat so that another can take its place.

And yet, here we are.

Today's recipe is a great summer salad -- the perfect antidote when the heat index starts rising. It's quick to assemble, it keeps well, and it's quite delicious. Let's get right to it.

------------------------
Green Mango Salad With Plum Dressing
Serves 6

2 Green (unripe) Mangoes
1 Green Bell Pepper
1 Anaheim Pepper

3 Plums
1 large shallot
1 Tablespoon Lime Juice
1 Tablespoon Red Wine Vinegar
1 Teaspoon Sugar
1/4 Cup olive oil
1 Tablespoon Kosher Salt
Black pepper
1 Teaspoon Fish Sauce (optional)

10 Basil Leaves
------------------------

Start with your two mangoes -- you want to select a pair that are both deep green and firm; conveniently enough, this is how most supermarkets sell them.

Peel your mangoes.

Next, slice each mango in half, working your way around the pit...

...and then slice each half lengthwise into thin strips.

Take these slices and stack them in small piles, slicing them once more into match sticks. Do this slowly and carefully -- mangoes can be slippery, and you want to keep your thumb. Toss all the pieces into a big mixing bowl.

[Editor's Note: For more pictures of this knife technique, see our post on Miso-Mustard Pommes Allumettes.]

After that, finely mince and add your hot pepper -- I like an Anaheim pepper for this, just slightly spicier than a Jalapeño, but not enough to set your mouth on fire. Feel free to experiment with different peppers and amounts, but remember, this should be at least somewhat spicy to set off the sweetness of the plums.

There is a trick to slicing peppers quickly and safely -- once you've made your initial slicing removing the core and seeds, flip the pepper "upside-down", so that the smooth exterior is against the cutting board, and the pebbled, course interior is facing upwards. This additional texture gives your knife's blade something to grip, ensuring a clean, straight, easy cutting motion. Trust me, slice one pepper this way, and you'll never cut against the slippery outside again.

Make sure your mince is as fine as you can get it -- you don't want your guests biting into a big, raw chunk of hot pepper. If you're worried that you can't get it fine enough, you can always puree the pepper into the dressing. Less attractive, but it does the job.

Next, take your bell pepper, cutting it into strips, using the same "upside-down" trick. Add both sliced peppers to the mixing bowl.

From here, it's time to make your dressing. Remove the pits from your plums, quarter them, and toss them into a food processor.

Next, peel and roughly chop a shallot and add that to the processor as well.

Follow this with your liquids, adding in the lime juice, vinegar, fish sauce, Kosher salt, and pepper. If you're not a fan of fish sauce, I understand, and you can skip it. That being said, know that you'll miss out on a lovely bit of depth and funk in the final sauce. When used in small amounts like this, there really isn't a fishy taste at all.

Pulse your food processor until all the elements are finely chopped, and then leave on to puree. Drizzle in your olive oil to emulsify everything. You should be left with a somewhat thick, magenta-colored dressing.

Pour your dressing into the mixing bowl and toss well. Finely chop up your basil leaves, mixing about 3/4th of them in, and sprinkling the rest over the top as garnish. The final product:

This is a great summer salad, a fantastic way to break up the monotonous parade of mayonnaise-based side dishes found on most picnic tables. The great combination of sweetness and heat, the crunchiness, the bright bursts of citrus, the subtle depth of the fish sauce; all of it comes together to create a whole that's far more than the sum of its parts. Feel free to double the recipe -- I'll bet that it disappears quickly.

We'll be back next week with yet another dessert -- if you thought the French Fruit Tart with Vanilla Crème was easy, well, just you wait.

Music: M.I.A. -- "Mango Pickle Down River"

The Savory Sweet: Sorbetto di Parmigiano with Bourbon Pears

2009-08-01T01:09:00.008-04:00

I have, putting it mildly, an ice cream problem.

There's always a half-dozen pints in the fridge, and, on more than one night, I've been known to head back to the kitchen for multiple servings; I'm waiting for the day when my pores leak egg yolks and cream. For someone who supposedly has "no sweet tooth," my attitude towards ice cream presents a contradiction at 32 degrees F, a paradox comprised of Pistachio and Butter Pecan.

To my credit, those two above flavors are among my favorites, along with other varieties on the less-sweet side of the scale: Peanut Butter, Vanilla Bean, Rum Raisin, Green Tea. More importantly, when I break out the ice cream maker to create my own recipes, I use very little sugar; I want people to enjoy the taste of each individual element.

Recently, I've been on a kick to incorporate more savory flavors into sweet dishes; to expand the idea of what dessert should be, to investigate great ways to finish a meal and still challenge and stimulate the palate. A little sweet, a little salty, but all delicious, this is one dish that will keep your guests guessing. Give it a whirl and let me know what you think in the comments.

------------------------
Sorbetto di Parmigiano with Bourbon Pears
Serves 6

2 Cups, less 2 Tablespoons, Heavy Cream
1 Cup Milk
2 Eggs
2 Egg Yolks
1/3 Cup White Granulated Sugar
1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract
1/4 Pound of Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated (or Grana, Asiago etc.)

2 Bartlett or D'Anjou (really, any ripe green varietal) pears
1/4 Cup Dark Brown Sugar
1/4 Cup Bourbon
2 Tablespoons Heavy Cream
2 Tablespoons Butter

Cracked Black Pepper (optional)
------------------------

[Editor's Note: While you can substitute other kinds of cheese in here, I suggest you go for the real deal and splurge on a little chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano. Since you're only using a quarter-pound, the admittedly expensive cheese is worth the investment. Using sub-par cheese will result in sub-par Sorbetto. Don't say I didn't warn you.]

Start by placing the two cups of cream and one cup of milk into a saucepan.

Grate your Parmigiano-Reggiano into the saucepan (as shown at the top of this post), and whisk in the half-cup of sugar.

Light your stove, keeping the flame medium-low. You'll want to continually stir this -- the cheese will begin to melt, get a little goopy, and then eventually disappear into the liquid, thickening it.

Pour the Sorbetto base into a bowl to cool off for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, crack your eggs -- they'll start to come up to room temperature while the Sorbetto base cools.

Whisk the eggs and egg yolks into your cooled base, and return the mixture to your saucepan. Light your stove once more, keeping it at low heat.

Meanwhile, give your bowl a quick rinse -- we'll be returning the finished base to it, and we don't want to have little bits of raw egg mixed into it.

Cook over low heat, whisking constantly, until the base just begins to thicken further -- err on the side of underdone. If it starts clumping up into little cooked bits, you've gone too far.

Pour your finished base through a strainer and back into your bowl. Cover it, and place everything into the refrigerator to cool.

Once the finished Sorbetto base is completely cool (no less than two hours), pour it into an ice-cream maker, following manufacturer's directions. Be advised that this is a very thick base; you'll want to check in on the machine every once in a while to make sure that it's still mixing.

Pour your partially-frozen Sorbetto into a freezer-friendly container and store as you would any ice cream.

{Editor's Note #2: All of the above can be done days, even weeks, before you want to serve the final dish. What follows are the steps that should be undertaken roughly 30 minutes before you want to bring the final product to the table.]

Before everything else, take the container of frozen Sorbetto out of the freezer -- this is a very thick, firm ice cream, so it will need some time to become softer, supple, and toothsome.

Next, gather your pears and a cutting board.

Slice your pears into half-moons very thin, about a half-inch per piece. If you want them even thinner than that, knock yourself out.

Place your brown sugar and butter into a pan over high heat. Cook until both melt into a more liquid state.

Turn the stove's flame off. Carefully add your bourbon, and, with a separate flame source (a mechanical lighter is ideal), ignite the sauce. It will flame up quite impressively.

[Editor's Note #3: Sorry, no photographs of the impressive flame itself; it's rather difficult to light a sauce, photograph it, and retain your eyebrows all at once.]

Stir the flaming sauce until it burns out. At this point, turn the stove's flame on once again, cooking at high heat.

Stir in your remaining two tablespoons of heavy cream, reduce your heat to low, and continue to cook.

Add in your sliced pears.

[Editor's Note #4: Adding the fruit at this point, rather than before the flaming, keeps the slices both from absorbing uncooked alcohol, and from becoming overcooked. I prefer this technique when making Bananas Foster as well.]

Cook your pears for about one to two minutes, or until just soft. Be careful not to burn the caramel -- if things get too dark, or if an acrid smell begins to come from your pan, remove it from the heat immediately.

Arrange some pears on a plate, place a scoop of Sorbetto on top, spoon the caramel sauce around artfully, and dust everything with a pinch of freshly-cracked black pepper. The final product:

This really is a wonderful dish; to be honest, it's probably my favorite dessert that I've made for this blog. For those of you that have been reading the page for a while, you'll remember that you don't even need an ice-cream maker to create this -- a baking sheet and a spoon will do the job just fine.

Each of the three elements in this dish play off each other wonderfully -- the salty/sweet Sorbetto, the juicy, green sugars of the pears and the deep, slightly smoky caramel all highlight each other in turn. Every bite brings with it a different perspective, another aspect to consider. Don't be afraid of this one; it's a pleasant surprise.

We'll return next week -- be sure to stop by then.

Music: String Cheese Incident -- "Smile"

The Mid-Summer Bounty: Cold Corn Soup with Bacon-Roasted Tomatoes

2009-07-26T16:16:00.007-04:00

For about ten-and-a-half months of every year, citizens of the Northeastern United States wait for the perfect tomato.

You see, in the month of August, and, perhaps, in a good year, for a week or two in September, the most glorious tomatoes you can imagine run rampant through Pennsylvania, running over the border from New Jersey, carefully selected at the farmer's market, or, best of all, picked right from a vine in your own backyard. It's a matter of feast or famine. Now, of course, the best specimens, as any gardener can tell you, are the ones you grow yourself. Problem is, living in a city, with only a fire escape to grow things on, it's hard to bring big, beautiful beefsteaks to term; in truth, anything more than an herb garden can present a challenge.

This year, however, I found a compromise; I would try and grow grape tomatoes, those bundles of bursting umami that deliver big flavor in a small package. Best of all, grape tomatoes don't take until August to get ripe -- by the middle of July, their season is in full swing. Now, I don't expect you to have grown your own -- my little Charlie Brown plant has only yielded a half-dozen baby fruits itself -- but I do hope you'll consider going out and getting a pint of these babies while the getting is good. After all, tomato season, even grape tomato season, only lasts so long.

Today, we'll be using grape tomatoes as part of a cold summer soup, along with another early summer treat -- raw, farm fresh corn. Let's get to it.

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Fresh Corn Soup with Bacon-Roasted Tomatoes
Serves 8

1 Pint Cherry Tomatoes
1/2 Pound Bacon, thinly sliced (ask at your deli counter)
2 Avocado, whole
4 Ears Sweet Corn
1/4 Cup Whole Milk
8 Cups Water
Kosher Salt
Cracked Black Pepper
1/4 teaspoon Nutmeg (optional)
1/4 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper (optional)
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If you've refrigerated your tomatoes, take them out so that they come up to room temperature.

Start by pouring the 1/4 cup of milk into a bowl. Cut the raw corn off of the four cobs, and place the cut kernels into the milk. Cover the top of the bowl with plastic wrap and place it into the fridge.

Boil eight cups of water. Lower the corn cobs into the water and boil them for 10 minutes. Turn off the heat and let the newly-created corn stock to cool off. Once the liquid is at room temperature (about 30 minutes), remove the cobs, pour the stock into a bowl, wrap the bowl with plastic wrap, and place it into the fridge.

Meanwhile, it's time to prepare the tomatoes. Preheat your oven to 500 degrees F.

Take your strips of bacon and cut them in half. Wrap each tomato, keeping them whole, with a half-strip of bacon. Place the wrapped tomatoes on a greased baking sheet, seam down. Don't pierce them with toothpicks -- while some will inevitably burst during the roasting process, there's no need to go poking holes in all of them.

Place the roasting pan in the hot oven for 10-15 minutes, or until the bacon is crisp.

Remove the bowls of stock and the milk-soaked raw corn from the fridge. They should be nice and cold. Combine the contents of the two bowls and mix. Taste, adjust for salt and pepper, and taste again.

At this point, you'll want to add in your cayenne and nutmeg. Be advised that these are completely optional, and, if you do add them, have a gentle hand. I myself think that they make a very positive contribution; the nutmeg, a classic addition to any milk/cream soup, adds a subtle background spice, and the cayenne brings with it a small bite of heat at the end of each spoonful. Feel free to experiment; it's your soup, after all.

At this point, it's time to serve everything. Split the soup into 8 bowls.

Next, cut your avocados into quarters, and slice each quarter into halves, placing each pair into a bowl to form a small pair of parentheses.

Pile a small mound of bacon-wrapped tomatoes inside each set, and serve!

The final product:

This soup really couldn't be simpler, and its refreshing clarity, its simple beauty, is what makes it so great. The raw corn and cooked corn stock play wonderfully off of each other, featuring two sides of one wonderful ingredient; the bacon adds great texture and saltiness; the avocado a unifying creaminess; and, at the middle of it all, the glorious grape tomato, roasted, concentrated, speaking of summer itself. Simple, beautiful, delicious.

This recipe is all about the ingredients. Get the freshest examples of everything and give it a whirl. We'll be back next weekend with a new recipe -- be sure to check in then.

Music: Joe Hisaishi -- "Summer"

The Textural Reversal: Gâteau de Sarrasin

2009-07-19T23:03:00.009-04:00

As I've said in this space many times before, baking does not come naturally to me.

This isn't to say that I don't try; it's just that I've had more practice with sauté pans than with baking powder or yeast. I realize that this can be overcome -- much as I hope that many of you realize your own cooking fears can be overcome by making things off of this food blog -- and, as a result, these days I often make myself break out the flour and preheat the oven as opposed to providing my guests with a bowl of fruit, some good blue cheese, and a few extra bottles of red.

[Editor's Note: Seriously, who would choose dessert over that?]

One side effect of this increase in baking is that it has been self-driven, rather than learned at the side of a parent or relative, which is how it seems most of my baker friends first learned. As a result, my techniques are a bit unorthodox, my combinations of flavors and textures somewhat of their own making.

This cake is a prime example of that. In its most basic form, it is a frosted Vanilla-Buckwheat cake, but, rather than use buckwheat flour, I used Kasha (seen at the top of this post), the whole-kerneled groat of the plant, resulting in a richer dough, much more akin to the Italian torta di noci than, say, yellow cake from a box. As for the frosting, rather than turning to a heavy buttercream, I opted for a lighter-than-air meringue.

While I realize that this is contrary to the traditional principles of cake dynamics (light, fluffy cake surrounded by rich frosting), the resulting product turned out to be both full of flavor and not too heavy, perfect for mid-summer. Let's get to it.

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Gâteau de Sarrasin
Serves 8

Buckwheat
1/2 Cup Roasted Buckwheat Groats (Kasha)
2 Cupa Water
2 Tablespoons Butter, cut into two pieces

Cake Batter
2 cups Flour (Cake Flour is nice, but All-Purpose will do)
1 and 1/2 Tablespoons Baking Powder
Pinch of Kosher Salt
1/2 Cup Sweet Cream Butter, room temperature
1 Cup Sugar
2 Extra-Large Eggs
3/4 Cup Whole Milk
2 teaspoons Vanilla Extract

Frosting
5 large Egg Whites, room temperature
2/3 cup Sugar
1/2 teaspoon Lemon Juice or White Vinegar
2 teaspoons pure Vanilla Extract
1/2 Tablespoon Cinnamon
Pinch of Kosher Salt
------------------------

Preheat your oven to 350F.

Immediately after doing this, take your stick of butter (the 1/2 cup needed for the batter) out of the refigerator. Better yet, do it the night before. We're going to need it to be soft so that it whips well into the dough. I know, I know, just two weeks ago I said that butter temperature isn't important. It isn't always important, and frankly, it's not all that important here -- I just want to make life easier on you, and fighting a solid brick of butter with a spoon or a mixer just isn't fun. Trust me on this one.

Now, we need to prepare the Kasha before everything else. For those of you not familiar with it, it is a fantastic grain, gluten-free, with a lovely, sweet nuttiness and a hint of spice. Start by toasting it in a dry pan, over high heat, for 30 seconds. Once things get nice and warm, draw up the two cups of water measure and have them on hand. Start by adding in one of the Tablespoons of butter and stirring to coat everything well.

You don't want to burn the butter, so as soon as it melts, add in the water. Let it rise to a boil, and cook until it's absorbed and the grain is tender. If it's not tender after the water boils off, feel free to add additional water, cooking once again until the liquid is absorbed.

Remove the Kasha from the heat, transfer to a bowl to cool, and stir in the second Tablespoon of butter. Stir well as it melts to coat the individual grains and to keep them from clumping too much. Set the bowl aside.

Next, sift together your dry ingredients -- flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar.

Using a hand-mixer (or a whisk and someone with strong forearms), stir in the two eggs and milk. Once that's incorporated, add in the vanilla extract and the stick of butter, which you so conveniently decided to let come up to room temperature earlier. Good idea!

We're almost done with the batter. Stir in your cooked Kasha, being sure to mix it in well.

Using the wrapper from the stick of butter (or cooking spray, or canola oil and a paper towel), butter your 8" cake pans. Cover this with a layer of flour, about two Tablespoons for each, coating all the buttered surfaces well and tapping out the excess.

Pour your batter into the pans, distributing half into each. Smooth it out with a spatula, checking for air pockets and trying to make sure the top is relatively level.

Place your cakes into the oven for 45 minutes or until the top is lightly browned and a knife comes out cleanly (note the knife mark in the left-hand cake). Let cool in the pans for 15 minutes, and then transfer to cooling racks for another hour.

In the meanwhile, right after the cakes come out, crack five eggs, leaving the whites out at room temperature (we want them to get warm), and refrigerating the yolks for another use (after all, making a Fruit Tart or Creme Brulee is never a bad idea).

Once the cakes are cool, it's time to make the frosting. Meringue frosting is great not only because it's light and fluffy; it's also almost completely temperature proof, staying structurally sound and attractive even in 90 degree heat. Try taking a buttercream cake to a picnic in the middle of July to see the alternative.

Place a pot of water on the stove to boil, and place a heat-proof bowl over it, being sure to make sure the base doesn't touch the water inside. Add in your egg whites and sugar, whisking by hand as the water comes to a boil.

This is the only moderately challenging part of the recipe -- we want to heat up the egg whites and dissolve the sugar, but without making an omelet out of the whole mess. If you whisk quickly enough and occasionally lift the bowl out of the pot to cool down, you should be fine. If you mess up? Crack another five eggs and try again. It's the only way you'll learn.

Once the sugar is dissolved (you can test this by sticking a finger into the whites and then rubbing it against another digit -- if you don't feel grittiness, you're good to go) take the bowl off of the heat and transfer the whites to another bowl. This will stop the cooking process. Switching to a hand-mixer, whip the sugar/egg mixture on high speed until it is thickened and glossy (this may take several minutes, but have faith -- it will happen).

Add the lemon juice or vinegar at this point. It doesn't really matter which you use, since it's such a small amount, and it's being used strictly as a stablizer. If you have Cream of Tartar, that's ideal, but let's be honest -- it's more likely that you have lemons or vinegar around. Add the vanilla, cinnamon, and salt as well, and continue to whip until the frosting is firm and fluffy.

You'll know it's done when the fluff stands in stiff peaks off the end of the beater, but, to be honest, you can't overwhip this. If you think it's where it should be, whip it for another thirty seconds from there.

From here, it's time to start building the cake. Place one of the layers on the plate or stand that you intend to serve it from, with a sheet of parchment paper underneath. The paper isn't really important, but you'll see why it's nice in a moment. Place a thick layer of the frosting (about 1/3 of it) on the top of this layer.

Carefully lay the second layer of the cake on top of the first. Frost the sides and the top, making sure to coat everything well (you should have enough frosting left to do a pretty thick layer).

At this point, if you used the parchment paper, draw it out from underneath the cake. This will give it a clean, "professional" look, but it's not really needed. If you still want a clean plate, lightly moisten a paper towel and run it around the exposed plate area to clean things up.

Dust the top with a little more cinnamon, garnish, and serve!

As I said in the introduction, this is far from traditional. That being said, the rich, nutty cake and the light, spiced frosting make for a lovely summertime treat, the sort of thing that will have people asking you for the recipe, the sort of thing that will make those who bring a box of store-bought cookies to the picnic wish that they had learned how to bake.

Next weekend, we'll return with a cool summer soup that you won't want to miss. See you then.

Music: Buckwheat Zydeco -- "Make A Change"

The Contemporary Relic: Poulet Yassa

2009-07-13T16:18:00.009-04:00

A direct side effect of graduate education is something I like to refer to as "topic transference."

The theory, loosely defined and poorly proven, is that most graduate students tend to find their course of study relevant to any and every situation they encounter -- the ethicist considers principles of social conduct as they navigate snarled traffic on the highway, the composer listens to the music of conversations in a crowded room, and yes, the historian looks to find the influence of the past on a plate of chicken. Now, I'll admit, it may seem that this sort of extra-curricular analysis, taking place in spheres beyond the classroom, and upon topics unrelated to more carefully examined areas of scholarship, might prove beyond my expertise; overreaching is an all too common side-effect of the topic transference process.

And yet, when I eat this dish, when I cook it, when I consider it, I cannot ignore what it tells me. As with many stories, it is best to start at the beginning.

Senegal's fate has, quite often, not been of its own choosing. For the past thousand years, it has been contended over by internal forces, religious empires, and European colonists, alike, and from the mid-17th century until 1960, it was under the dominion of France; the French language is still the official language there. Although Senegal was no stranger to slavery before the emergence of French influence, the arrival of Louis XIV's troops developed the slave trade into a major industry there, countless slaves stolen from their homes, the island of Goree their last memory of Africa.

Poulet Yassa, as oxymoronic as it might sound, remains as a "contemporary relic" of the slavery era. This intersection of traditional African boiled stews, French mustard, and cheap onions is, in fact, a reminder of that moment of cultural destruction and sublimation, yet another imprint left by the boot of the French people, and those that facilitated them, including my own country, upon this colony. I look at the happy graduate students eating it in West Philadelphia's many West African restaurants, and I wonder - do they ever dedicate a moment's thought to what they're eating, to where it came from?

[Editor's Note: Senegal's cuisine is far from alone in this; the vast majority of diners who eat the Vietnamese soup phở, itself quite popular in my neighborhood, are unaware of its early 20th century origins as an invention to appease oppressive colonizers, a quickly assembled adaptation of pot-au-feu, the traditional French dish of boiled beef in spiced broth.]

So where does that leave us? For myself, as I make this recipe, I am aware of the irony of using refined sugar and other such ingredients so closely tied to colonization and the slavery trade. I leave behind any claim towards authenticity. I do not pretend to understand what it means to have to eat this, rather than to opt-in for a night of dining for fun. I cook Poulet Yassa in order to once again examine a recipe whose birth is associated with pain and oppression and struggle -- to reflect upon its past, to taste, to think, and yes, to eat.

Will I still arrange it awkwardly on a giant white plate for you at the end of the post? Yes, I will. But I hope you see past that.
------------------------
Poulet Yassa
Serves 8

3 Pounds Chicken Thighs

6 medium-sized Yellow Onions
3 Tablespoons Tumeric
Kosher Salt
Plenty of Cracked Black Pepper
Olive Oil

32 oz Chicken Broth
1 head of Garlic (about 8 cloves)
3 Tablespoons Stone Ground Mustard
2 Tablespoons Dijon Mustard

2 Tablespoons Flour
1 Tablespoon Sweet Cream Butter, room temperature
------------------------

Get a bag of onions and preheat your oven to 425 F.

Peeling away the outer layer, slice them across the grain (into rings) about 1" thick, or about the width of your ring finger.

Coat the slices well, and then dust with the tumeric (as seen at the top of this post), salt, and pepper, being sure to season both sides of each piece. Place the onion slices on a cookie sheet and throw them in the oven for twenty minutes.

Meanwhile, separate the cloves from a head of garlic, and, one at a time, smash them with the wide side of a large knife. Don't cut them up -- we want them mostly intact, but without skin.

Pour the 32 oz. of chicken stock into your pot (you want to use something that has a heavy lid, like a dutch oven), and toss your garlic in. Turn your burner up nice and high.

Once you're at a nice boil, turn the burner down to low, so that you just have a nice simmer.

Add the stone-ground and dijon mustards to the broth, and allow it to continue cooking.

At this point, it should be time to start cleaning your chicken thighs -- DO NOT TRY AND MAKE THIS WITH CHICKEN BREASTS. The thighs, by dint of being fattier, on the bone, and generally more forgiving (not to mention more affordable) are ideal for cooking this. I'm just telling you now -- only make this with white meat if you want a pot full of pencil erasers. Consider yourself warned.

Start by pulling the skin away from the top. With your knife, slice away where it attaches to the meat of the breast.

Next, looking over to the other side, you should see a long thin strip of fat running down that side. Cut this off as well (these trimmings make excellent chicken stock or schmaltz, incidentally).

See? Well-prepped, and healthier for you too.

Place your thighs into the hot broth, making sure the heat is as low as possible. Cover.

At this point, take your onions out and flip them over, returning them to the oven for an additional 15-20 minutes, or until they are nice and brown (but not dried out and burnt).

When they're done, they should look something like this:

Place the grilled onions into the pot and cover once more, cooking an additional 20 minutes.

Finally, remove the lid, and prepare the roux with your flour and room-temperature butter.

Whisk it in to avoid clumps, and raise the heat slowly, cooking until the sauce thickens.

From here, your choice of presentation is yours -- some people like diced parsley or cilantro; I myself enjoy chopped chives on top. You can choose to serve it with the sauce on the plate or on a separate dish, being sure to provide rice or a French baguette to soak everything up. The final shots:

Do I fully understand what I'm doing when I make this dish? I don't think so. But if it reminds me to be conscientious about the history of all the things I eat. If it reminds any of you to do the same -- then perhaps this post has been for the best.

We'll be back next weekend with another post; see you then.

Video: World Cup 2002 -- "Senegal vs. France"