On Christmas, we talked about spending the holidays next year in Italy – in honor of my grandfather’s 100th birthday. But this morning Nonno died, two days before he turned 99.
Ben always talks about how lucky my grandfather was to have enjoyed many meals with four generations of his family at the table with him. I can’t – don’t want to – yet imagine our next meal in Urbino with his spot at the head of the table empty, but I know Ben is right. Nonno Riccardo was a lucky man.
We flew back from our vacation today only to find frozen pipes in our wall (and then had to watch how two gaping holes were sledge-hammered into said wall by our kindly super), an unpleasantly loud carbon monoxide alarm, and air colder than it was in Berlin – which makes the airing out of a possibly carbon monoxide-filled apartment almost entirely impossible without freezing to death.
Ah, home – there’s nothing like it, is there?
So! A photo essay it shall be.
Tea the day before Christmas in Brussels. Well, tea and Champagne. It’s always the right time of day for Champagne, isn’t it? Especially when you get to have your tea and Champagne with Belgian gaufres, warm and yielding and studded with crunchy pearls of sugar.
The potato focaccia that is making the rounds in my family right now (a recipe soon, I promise). Roughly: you boil a potato, let it cool, then mash it into a fresh yeast-flour-olive oil dough. Let it rise, top with tomatoes, dried oregano, and that gorgeous salt and bake until browned and puffy. From Puglia to Modena to Brussels to Berlin – now it’s my turn to bring it to New York.
Then, because, as I was saying, you can never have too much Champagne, oysters and pink Champagne on Christmas Eve are very fine indeed.
They are even better when eaten in the company of family; family I have
not celebrated Christmas with since I was five years old. Taste-testing British oysters versus French ones with my cousin’s nine year-old daughter was even more fun.
Our friends in Berlin kept some of their Christmas dinner warm for us so we still got to eat some leftover goose and red cabbage when we got to Berlin a few days later. I think Father Christmas navigates his way through northern Europe by the scent of braising cabbage alone.
And then, be still my beating heart, Ben flew all the way to Berlin to surprise me – to walk through the cold city and visit with my friends and drink milky tea with me and my mother and celebrate the advent of the new year and keep me company when I said goodbye and flew back to New York again. How did I ever get so lucky? God only knows. Really.
Happy New Year, dear readers! May it be a healthy, happy, joyful 2008 for you. I cannot even wait for all the surprises that this year holds in store.
It's been five days since I turned 30. It'll be four days until I leave for Brussels. Seven to Christmas, nine to when I get to Berlin, thirteen until 2008, and sixteen until I'm all the way back here again, sitting at my desk, waiting for Ben to come home. I've got a lot of numbers on my mind these days.
The end of December: it's artificial, in a way, but it really does feel like the end of something. You start, inevitably, looking back over the year, over everything that happened or didn't happen to you. But you've also got a fair dose of excitement in you for what lies ahead. Yeah, sure, when January 3rd rolls around and you've worked off your hangover and you're back in your daily routine and the sky feels somewhat oppressively gray, you might think January is just as stinky as any year, but right now you're still thinking that January is 2008! And 2008 is something new! A clean slate! A fresh start! And that's pretty nifty.
I didn't even realize how big 2007 was for me until the past few days. I got a new job, a challenging, interesting, fulfilling job; I moved in with Ben, discovering that one can indeed grow more love in one's heart for a person at the same time as wanting to throw that person's every last pair of sneakers left haphazardly around the house entirely out the window; I left Manhattan – my sacred space – for Queens, realizing only that I should have done the move sooner; and I turned 30, with no gray hairs and plenty of laughs in sight.
So I didn't make apple butter or chutney or homemade Christmas cookies as I swore up and down (again) that I would. That's okay. I'm totally fine with it. Part of me thinks it's because I'm 30 now and I am actively learning to Just Let Some Things Go, but the other part of me knows that's total bollocks. The real reason why it's okay? Is because I made cashew brittle instead.
Brittle is the world's easiest gift. It requires one trip to the store (for cashews and corn syrup, since I assume you've got the rest – sugar, baking soda, kosher salt, and unsalted butter- lying around), about half an hour of your time, perhaps some pretty bags for packaging, and That. Is. It. Cool, no? Very cool. Especially when you drop little bags of it, tagged nicely, off for people who think candy-making is very complicated and difficult indeed, and who, in addition, think brittle is the best thing to nibble on in the whole wide world. (They would be right, you know – about the second part, I mean.)
The recipe comes from pastry goddess, Karen Demasco of Craft and Craftbar fame (remember that chocolate cupcake I told you about ages and ages ago?) and seems absolutely foolproof. You need to be careful around boiling sugar, yes, but a calm head, oven mitts, and long-handled spoons will help. You don't need a candy thermometer and though she calls for cooking spray, I just buttered parchment paper to line the baking sheets and it was perfect.
The one thing I found tricky was calibrating the flame under the pot. Too low and you'll evaporate too much moisture off while waiting for the boiling sugar to caramelize. Too high and the molten sugar will boil over, leaving you with a disaster to clean up. But don't let this discourage you – I just want to give you a heads up that you'll want the flame at about medium high and if you feel like it's taking the sugar too long to get golden-brown (Karen says it should take around 10 minutes), then turn up the heat, keeping a careful eye on the bubbling mass and its proximity to the edge of the pot. Yes? Yes!
The brittle is delectable – buttery and crispy-crunchy and sweet-salty all at once. The cashews are rich and yielding – far better than peanuts in this incarnation – and the shiny brittle snaps pleasingly. Try to stretch the brittle with the forks (as directed below) as much as you can, because that results in a thin, refined brittle that fairly shatters under your teeth. Thick is fine, too – I doubt you'd kick chunky brittle this good out of your bed – but I find it somewhat less alluring. To each his own, I think. Or hers.
Best of all, you'll feel all the satisfaction of making your own edible presents and yet none of the stress that usually comes accompanies it. Which feels like a gift in and of itself. Wouldn't you agree?
Cashew Brittle
Makes 3.5 pounds
4 cups sugar
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
2/3 cup light corn syrup
1 1/4 cups water
1 teaspoon baking soda
3 tablespoons kosher salt
1 1/2 pounds salted, roasted cashews
1. Line two baking sheets with lightly buttered parchment paper or lightly coat the sheets with cooking spray. Do not use wax paper or plastic wrap.
2. Combine sugar, butter, corn syrup, and water in a large saucepan and stir together. Cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until the caramel turns a medium-golden color, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat. Carefully whisk in the baking soda and then the salt. The mixture will rise and bubble. Using a wooden or metal spoon, stir in the nuts, then immediately pour the brittle onto the prepared cookie sheets, using the back of the spoon to spread the brittle out. Allow the brittle to cool for a few minutes, then, using the sides of two forks, pull and stretch the edges of the brittle to create a thinner candy, about 3/8-inch thick.
3. Once brittle is completely cool, break it into bite-sized pieces using the back of a knife or your hands. The brittle can be stored at room temperature, in an airtight container, for up to two weeks.
Close to six months of eating beets on a nigh-weekly basis will have you praising the heavens when the harvest season is over and you can finally go back to your supermarket ways, trolling the aisles for slim little green beans and heavy-stemmed broccoli, slinky sacks of frozen baby peas and the occasional lacy frond of kale. I love my CSA, I do, but its limitations are often evident; hard medicine to swallow for this seasonal evangelist. Still, relief from the never-ending supply of beets was much needed around here.
So it felt supremely odd, I tell you, to be in the grocery store the other day, picking out a nice little bundle of nothing other than beets. In fact, I'd say it felt much like a cosmic joke. Oh, bloggy blog, the things I do for you…
Truth is, I quite like beets, and miraculously, I've convinced Ben that they're pretty good things to eat, too. He used to think they tasted like sweat (his words, not mine), but not anymore. I take full credit for that, of course. Small victories must be celebrated, wouldn't you agree? But I've grown tired of my usual treatment (lots and lots of vinegar, a drizzle of olive oil, Maldon salt and perhaps some dried savory). And I've never really fallen in love with the whole toasted-walnut, slivered-blue-cheese-or-perhaps-feta thing that seems to be a staple now on so many restaurant menus. (I sort of wonder if beets get such a bad rap because of the things they're often combined with…but that's a discussion for another time.)
This recipe, which I plucked out of the pile back in 2004, offers a slightly different twist. You roast your beets, of course, and cut them into wedges, but then you dress them with a creamy dressing made of mustard, white-wine vinegar, horseradish, olive oil, and a little spoonful of sour cream. The dressing is, without the sour cream, quite something – an aggressive sauce that threatens to overpower the sweet little beet. But the sour cream rounds it out; gives the dressing some finesse – a calming hand, if you will. The beets, tossed in the stuff, turn an absolutely lurid shade of pink – no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the real color to come through in the pictures. Trust me, it was downright silly.
But the flavor? Far from it. A Franco-Russian collaboration, if you will, by way of the Mediterranean: this dish simply sings. It's got spunk and elegance and textural depth. Those fried capers are fussy, yes, but they provide a welcome saline crunch against the silky, creamy beets. Between Ben and I, this dish that supposedly serves four was gone in an instant – nothing left but a hot pink smear.
****
I was stuck home yesterday, sick with a cold and a pernicious sore throat and a teeny case of self-pity, when I got word that I'd been nominated for a Food Blog Award for Best Writing. Readers, seriously? I'm just speechless. And thrilled. Red-faced with bliss, if you're wondering. If you'd like to vote for me, click on this link – you've got until the end of this Friday for your vote to be counted. Thank you!
Beet Salad with Horseradish and Fried Capers
Serves 4
1 1/2 pounds small beets, trimmed and scrubbed
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for beets and frying capers
2 tablespoons salt-packed or brined capers
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 1/2 tablespoons horseradish, more to taste
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon sour cream
Sea salt to taste
1 clove garlic, crushed (I'd do without this next time)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place beets on half of a large piece of aluminum foil. Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil. Fold the foil and seal the edges. Lay package on a baking sheet and place it in the oven. Roast until beets are tender, 45 to 60 minutes. (Test by poking a fork through the foil into a beet.) Remove from the oven. Be careful when opening the foil; steam will race out. While still warm, peel beets, then slice into wedges and place in a bowl.
2. Soak salt-packed capers for 10 minutes, drain, rinse, then pat dry. (If using brined capers, drain and pat dry.) Pour 1/2 inch olive oil into a small saucepan over medium-high heat. When oil is hot enough to toast a bread crumb in 30 seconds, add capers. Be careful; oil may sputter. Fry until capers fluff and begin to brown on edges, 30 to 60 seconds. Drain on paper towels.
3. In a small bowl, whisk together mustard, horseradish and vinegar. Whisk in 1/4 cup oil, followed by sour cream. Pour half the dressing over beets; mix. Taste, adding more dressing or salt, if needed. Rub a platter with crushed garlic, then spoon on beets and sprinkle with fried capers.
Oooh, the frustration! It burns, it burns. Man! Here I was, absolutely inundated with beets, I mean, beets coming out of my ears, beets in the crisper, beets on the stove, beets in a Tupperware hidden in the office fridge, beets, beets, beets. My CSA had a glut of beets, you see. They actually called it the Year of the Beet. And so we ate a lot of beets. For most of September and October, we ate beets every time we had dinner at home. In November, I staged a little protest. I let those funky, rooty things hang out in the fridge for a while – our farmer told us the beets would store just fine in the crisper drawer and so I took her at her word. Bah. Tonight, I come home, armed with a new recipe for beets that was sure not only to taste delicious, but also be interesting enough to tell you all about (none of that toasted walnut/feta-or-is-it-blue-cheese/mint/been-there-done-that stuff), and furthermore, finally rid me of the last pound or two of beets ghosting about my fridge – and what happens? The beets went soft. Soft and wrinkly and totally grody-to-the-max, as my seven-year-old self would have told you. I stood in front of the fridge, stamped my foot, and threw the beets in the trash. So long, beets. 2007 is coming to a close anyway. May 2008 be the Year of the Something Else Entirely, please.
So, anyway, while I try to figure what else I can have for dinner tonight, I'll tell you about the pie I made for Thanksgiving. Yeah, yeah, I know – snooze. Who cares about Thanksgiving when there's Christmas to look forward to? (No roast goose for me this year as we're celebrating in Brussels – with oysters!) Well, some people, like the person I happen to share an apartment with, think that it's an abomination and a personal affront that pumpkin pie is associated with only one holiday a year. And you know, I actually tend to agree. Okay, so eating pumpkin pie would probably be strange in late June, when all you should be doing is eating soft, swollen, juicy fruit out of hand – but I don't really see why the third Thursday in November is the only Thursday in the year that really gets to own pumpkin pie.
And if you're making this pumpkin pie, the one that Amy Scattergood contributed to the LA Times's absolutely gorgeous Thanksgiving spread this year (color-coded – totally genius!), then I think you'll agree it could stand to be eaten on quite a few more Thursdays per year. And Fridays. And Saturdays, too.
First of all, the crust? A marvel. Amy credits it to Deborah Madison and I have to say it's absolutely wonderful. Faintly lemony and speckled with nutmeg, it's flaky as all get-out and a delight to eat.
Then the filling. First of all, you know that anything with Armagnac in it will turn out deliciously, don't you? You should. So that's a relief. Then, you can totally make this with canned pumpkin because that's, more relief, what the recipe calls for. (Though you should know, too, that it works out very well with freshly roasted and pureed pumpkin as well – which is what we, because we are apparently total over-achievers, did on Thanksgiving. Like there wasn't already enough stuff to do.) Thirdly, it has cardamom in it! Any pie (or bread or cookie or pudding, let's be frank) that has cardamom in it is destined to be a hit; it's simply written in the stars.
The only small (ish) problem is that you kind of have to plan ahead, like, make the pie the day before you're going to eat it, because it has to chill sufficiently before you can sprinkle sugar on top and brule it into glamly burnished perfection. We may roast our own squash for pie, but we do not plan ahead – at least not when we are at my father's house. But that's okay (yes! this pie rules), because if you are like us and can't make that happen, just add the final 1/4 cup of sugar, meant for the bruleed crust, to the filling and no one will ever know the difference. Your pie will be balanced and flavorful and delicious, with that softly yielding inside and that delicately crisp outside.
Oh, and one more thing: Do yourselves a favor when you make this, and be sure to have seconds. Because otherwise the pie will be gone in one fell swoop around the dinner table and there will be nothing – no cold slice in the morning for breakfast, or the next evening as a soothing dessert – left. But of course, that ends up making the very point I started with, that this pie shouldn't just be for that one night a year. So, buy two cans and plan ahead. Who cares that Thanksgiving's over? What are you doing this Thursday night?
Bruleed Pumpkin Pie
Serves 8
Pie crust
2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 tablespoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) plus 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon vinegar
1 egg, separated
Scant 1/2 cup ice water
1. Place the flour, salt, nutmeg and lemon zest in a food processor and pulse to combine. Cut the butter into 1-inch cubes and add the cubes to the flour, pulsing 4 to 6 times to break up the butter.
2. Combine the vinegar and egg yolk in a measuring cup and add enough ice water to bring the volume up to one-half cup. Add the liquid in a steady stream to the food processor, while pulsing, until the flour looks crumbly and damp, 25 to 30 pulses. The crumbs should adhere when you gather them together with your fingers.
3. Turn the dough out and divide into two equal pieces. Wrap each in plastic wrap and press into a disk; refrigerate for 30 minutes to 1 hour.
4. Roll out one piece into a 12-inch circle, one-eighth-inch thick. Trim the edges flush with the rim of a 9-inch pie pan, place the dough circle into the pan and gently press the bottom and sides to fit. Roll out the other piece to a one-eighth-inch thickness and cut leaf shapes out of it. The leaves can be cut using a leaf-shaped cutter, or by hand using a stencil (ours was 1 inch by 3 inches) and paring knife. Using the back of a dinner knife, press a pattern into each leaf: Press one crease down the center, and 5 or so on each side of the crease. Mix a little water into the reserved egg white and, using a pastry brush, brush a little of the mixture around the edge of the pie crust. Press the leaves around the edge of the crust, overlapping them slightly and using the wash to adhere them, then brush the assembled crust with the wash. Freeze the pie crust for at least several hours and up to overnight.
Pumpkin pie filling and assembly
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin puree
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup milk
3 eggs
1 egg yolk
2 tablespoons Armagnac
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon white pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 cup superfine sugar for bruleeing
1. Heat the oven to 450 degrees. In a mixing bowl, whisk together the pumpkin puree, cream, milk, eggs, egg yolk, Armagnac, light brown sugar, white pepper, cloves, cinnamon, allspice and cardamom until blended. Pour the mixture into the frozen pie shell and bake for 15 minutes, turning once for even browning. After 15 minutes, reduce heat to 350 degrees and continue to bake 25 to 30 minutes more, rotating again. Remove and let cool until room temperature. Chill overnight.
2. Just before serving, carefully fold strips of aluminum foil over the leaf-covered edges of the pie, being sure not to cover the custard. Scatter the superfine sugar evenly over the top of the pie and brulee under a hot broiler until the sugar caramelizes. (Or use a brulee torch if you have one.) Serve immediately.
I never met a vegetable I didn't like. Zucchini, with its sweet, creamy flesh; swiss chard, thick and papery to start, then soulfully silky to finish; kohlrabi, with its refreshing, vegetal snap; eggplant, spongy in one moment, melting the next. Green beans and Brussels sprouts, cauliflower and broccoletti, artichokes and spinach – I love them all, truly madly deeply.
But there is one little exception to the rule that I must confess doesn't exactly knock my socks off. In fact, I usually find it downright disappointing. Perhaps because my first encounters with it were when it appeared, chopped up fine, in alarmingly mushy tuna-fish sandwiches (the filling mashed down wetly into a hot dog bun, of all things), or as a stubby little vehicle for palate-gumming peanut butter at my elementary school cafeteria. When I learned to cook, the only time I ever came in contact with celery was in the base for meat sauce and I quickly learned that leaving it out rarely, if ever, harmed the sauce at all.
There's just something so strange and awkward about celery, isn't there? Its stalks flail about like a gangly boy's legs. I never seem able to finish a bunch of it before it goes all limp and wobbly in the fridge. And the taste, well, it's never been something I've craved. But after the spate of baking I did over the past few weeks and a run of days in which turkey, stuffing and more turkey featured largely in our daily meals, I took one look at my recipe clippings last night and plucked this one straight from the top.
If anyone could get me to like celery well enough to make it my entire meal, I figured, the Chinese could.
First, I had to wrestle my way through the thicket of celery lying on my counter. And you know what I found out? Peeling celery, folks, must be right up there with training fleas as one of the jobs I'd least like to have on this Earth. But I soldiered through, convinced that celery nirvana awaited me on the other side of that swiftly growing pile of slimy, stringy peels lying in my sink.
A quick plunge into the hot, oily depths of my frying pan softened up the celery before it got tossed with a smashed garlic clove, a smattering of minced ginger, ground pork, and the pungent combination of chili sauce and soy sauce (my nostrils are still smarting). I gave the pan a good toss (there is something so satisfying about lifting a pan off the stove and shaking it so hard that everything flies up in the air and neatly falls back down again, just where it should, isn't there?) and then put the lid on to steam the celery into submission. White rice cooked away, plainly, on the stove.
As I waited for the celery to finish, I stood back and contemplated my apartment. It smelled like a Chinese restaurant. That in theory is better than in real life, truth be told. A few minutes later, I turned off the heat and stirred toasted sesame oil into the panful of pork and celery, fragrant and spicy. Then I stabbed around in the pan with a fork and brought a forkful to my lips.
And holy God, was it ever salty. And spicy. But mostly salty. And actually a whole lot spicy. Salty, spicy, salty, spicy, help, help, help – oh wait, what about that white rice? Man, it was like a cooling balm, that good white starch. The first bowl I ate had me mostly in pain with all that spice and salt. But then I found myself hankering after a second bowl, which was tastier and calmer than the first. I have a feeling this stuff will really shine tomorrow, after an overnight rest. The celery was muted, tamed – its stringiness gone, but its assertive crunch still there and its bold, grassy flavor tempered by all that heat, oil, and salt.
I'm still not sure I'll ever really love celery, but this brought me a whole lot closer to liking it.
Stir-Fried Celery in Meat Sauce
Serves 3 to 4
1 large bunch celery
1 tablespoon soy sauce
2 tablespoons sriracha or other hot chili sauce
1 tablespoon dry sherry
¼ teaspoon sugar
¼ cup canola or peanut oil
¼ teaspoon salt
1 large clove garlic, peeled and lightly crushed
2 teaspoons minced ginger
¼ pound ground pork
½ cup chicken stock
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1. Using a peeler, remove the strings from the outer layer of the celery stalks. Trim the leaves, then slice the stalks into ¼ -by-1 ½ -inch sticks. (You should have about 4 cups.)
2. In a small bowl, combine the soy sauce, chili sauce, sherry and sugar.
3. Heat a wok or a large, heavy skillet fitted with a lid over high heat. Add 2 tablespoons of the oil. Add the celery and stir a few times; then add the salt and cook for 1 minute. Transfer the celery to a dish; clean and dry the wok.
4. Reheat the pan and add the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil. After about 30 seconds, add the garlic clove, flipping a few times; then add the ginger and the pork, stirring to break up the lumps. Stir in the soy-sauce mixture. Return the celery to the pan and toss. Add the chicken stock, cover and reduce the heat to medium-low. Steam to reduce the liquid, about 2 minutes.
5. Remove the lid, increase the heat to high and stir until the liquid has evaporated. Add the sesame oil and toss well. Discard the garlic clove.
Yes, I know this recipe was just published this morning, and I know that you’re all plenty busy as it is with turkeys and pies and stuffing, and if you’re not cooking then you’re probably on your way out the door (we’re leaving in half an hour and I haven’t even packed yet), but I couldn’t exactly not post about this right away, could I? Come on, now.
If the response to Jim Lahey’s No-Knead Bread is any indication, then I feel like I’m practically contractually obligated to.
Almost exactly a year ago, The New York Times published that lovely no-knead recipe which had thousands of people baking deliciously flavorful, easy-as-pie, artisan bread in their own homes at last. The response to the recipe was phenomenal and well-deserved. The first no-knead loaf I made was devoured by two young men I know in less than an hour. The second no-knead loaf I made was devoured by a few young women I know in less than an hour. The third no-knead loaf I made…well, you get the picture. It was a big hit.
Today, The New York Times published a new recipe for "crusty", "flavorful" bread – perhaps almost an heir to the no-knead mania – that will, no doubt, have just as many people in a bread-baking frenzy as Mr. Lahey did.
Here’s the thing, though: This bread? The one published today? It’s not as good. It’s simply not. In fact, it’s not that great at all. There you have it. Oh sure, it’s fine, in the way that most homemade bread is, because it’s fresh and it’s homemade and your house smells pretty darn good while it’s baking. But compared to Jim Lahey’s No-Knead Bread? Well, there’s just no comparison.
The article accompanying Jeff Hertzberg’s recipe seemed to almost chastise (gently) No-Knead Bread for a few of its characteristics, like having such a long fermentation process (18 hours or more – of course, you don’t have to do much during that time, in fact, you can all but ignore the dough) and the need to bake the bread in a cast-iron pot. But the former, combined with the fact that No-Knead Bread starts with a tiny amount of yeast, is where the bread gets its wonderful flavor, and the latter is how the very wet dough is able to create its own little steamy environment, which is exactly how you end up with a gorgeously thin and shattery crust that lasts and lasts.
It’s true that Hertzberg’s recipe will give you your bread in a fraction of the time that it will take you to make the No-Knead Bread, but your loaves won’t have those appealingly craggy holes in the crumb or that indescribably delicious flavor. Because of the quick rise, Hertzberg’s bread tastes overly yeasty and somewhat two-dimensional. Almost a little bitter. The crumb looks good, but more generic. The crust is crisp when you first take the loaves out of the oven, but as they cool, the crust becomes softer, the crunch less assertive.
I made turkey sandwiches out of this bread – they’ll sustain us on our trip up to Boston today. And I’ll take another one of the loaves with us for breakfast toast over the next few days. The remaining dough I’m refrigerating to see if a little rest can’t coax a bit more flavor into it. But the next time I’ve got a hankering for homemade bread? I’m going back to the tried-and-true. No-Knead Bread it is.
Update: November 30, 2007
After eight days of rest in the fridge, I took the Tupperwared dough out last night, shaped it into a ball, let it come to room temperature and rest for about an hour and 20 minutes, and then baked it. The dough rose and browned beautifully in the oven, just like last time. This morning I sliced off a piece – the crumb looked nice, much like it does in the photo above – and toasted it very gently, just to a creamy buff color. Then I took a bite, plain, and found that it really didn’t taste much different from the first time around. It didn’t have that faintly bitter aroma anymore, but it was still yeasty as all get out and had this sort of odd, flat flavor – I can’t really put my finger on it. Spread with apple butter, it was a good breakfast, but I didn’t find the bread nirvana that I was so hoping for after a week in the fridge.
Simple Crusty Bread
Makes 3-4 loaves
1.
In a large bowl or plastic container, mix yeast and salt into 3 cups
lukewarm water (about 100 degrees). Stir in flour, mixing until there
are no dry patches. Dough will be loose. Cover, but not with an
airtight lid. Let dough rise at room temperature 2 hours (or up to 5
hours). Here’s what it will look like after rising.
2. Bake at this point or refrigerate, covered, for as
long as two weeks. When ready to bake, sprinkle a little flour on dough
and cut off a grapefruit-size piece with serrated knife. Turn dough in
hands to lightly stretch surface, creating a rounded top and a lumpy
bottom. Put dough on pizza peel sprinkled with cornmeal; let rest 40
minutes. Repeat with remaining dough or refrigerate it.
3. Place
broiler pan on bottom of oven. Place baking stone on middle rack and
turn oven to 450 degrees; heat stone at that temperature for 20
minutes.
4. Dust dough with flour, slash the top with serrated or
very sharp knife three times. Slide onto stone. Pour one cup hot water
into broiler pan and shut oven quickly to trap steam. Bake until well
browned, about 30 minutes. Cool completely.
Variation:
If not using stone, stretch rounded dough into oval and place in a
greased, nonstick loaf pan. Let rest 40 minutes if fresh, an extra hour
if refrigerated. Heat oven to 450 degrees for 5 minutes. Place pan on
middle rack.
I made a bunch of cookies on Saturday afternoon, when it was cold outside and my oven and I were indulging in a little love affair. They were delicious, the cookies, all sandy and and buttery and wholesome and it was so calming, the process, making the simple dough and chilling it in a long, thin rope.
The small discs of dough turned golden brown in the heat of the oven, a frilly edge forming around the base of the cookies that crumbled deliciously under my fingers as I lifted the cookies off the sheet to cool. We ate them, dunked in tea, as we sat on the couch and at the desk in the waning daylight. Billie Holiday was on the radio and all I could think about was that the sound of her voice, on these cold, autumn days, just sounds so exactly right. You can't really listen to Billie in the summer, not with the same melancholy longing that you get when it's slowly growing dark outside and Manhattan glows coolly, gently on the horizon.
You might think that adding whole wheat flour to a regular little butter cookie might toughen it a bit, or make it too grainy, but I promise that it doesn't. In fact, you barely notice that these cookies are different – they're as delicious as their classic cousins. I chopped up a handful of lackluster dried dates to add to the dough, but I wouldn't do that again (they get too hard and chewy, lodging unpleasantly in your teeth) – do as Alice Medrich says and add cocoa nibs or toasted hazelnuts, chopped, of course. In fact, I imagine you could even add a little shower of chopped bittersweet chocolate and produce an elegant, Gallic version of the chocolate chip cookie.
With Thanksgiving around the corner, one could mistakenly think that cookies aren't exactly what the doctor ordered, but I've got to pipe up here and nudge you, delicately, because it's often exactly these kind of days that require a simple cookie and a hot cup of tea to bolster you. You could be stuck in traffic or stranded at an airport on the way to where you'll be celebrating: a couple of these cookies might make you feel a little less helpless. If you're hosting the feast this year, and you're suddenly overwhelmed by the kitchen prep that awaits you, a sable or two could make you stand up straight again, suddenly sure of your menu. And if you're just making a side dish or two and bringing them to a potluck, well, then you've already got the oven going – is it really that much more work to pop a few of these in the oven? Go on, go ahead. You'll be happy you did.
Whole-Wheat Sables
Makes 3 1/2 dozen cookies
1 cup (4.5 ounces) flour
Scant 1 cup (4 ounces) whole wheat flour
1/2 pound (2 sticks) butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 cup cacao nibs or chopped toasted hazelnuts
1. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour and whole wheat flour and set aside.
2. In another medium bowl, using the back of a large spoon or with an electric mixer, beat the butter with the sugar, salt and vanilla until smooth and creamy but not fluffy, about 1 minute. Add the cacao nibs and mix to incorporate. Add the flour and mix just until incorporated. Scrape the dough into a mass and, if necessary, knead with your hands a bit, just until smooth.
3. Form the dough into a 12-by-2-inch log. Wrap the log tightly in plastic wrap; refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or preferably overnight.
4. Position the oven racks in the upper and lower third of the oven and heat the oven to 350 degrees. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
5. Using a sharp knife, cut the cold dough log into one-fourth-inch slices. Place the cookies at least 1 1/2 inches apart on the baking sheets. Bake until the cookies are light golden brown at the edges, 12 to 16 minutes, rotating the baking sheets from top to bottom and front to back halfway through baking. Allow the cookies to rest on the sheets about 1 minute to firm up, then transfer them to a rack using a metal spatula. Let them cool completely. Store the cookies in an airtight container.
Recipes in bold are my favorites.
Breakfast
**********
Bagels
Peter Reinhart’s Bagels
Banana Chocolate Walnut Bread
Banana Coconut Bread
Banana Bread with Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger
Black Rice Breakfast Pudding with Coconut and Banana
Blueberry Bannock Scone
Blueberry Bran Muffins
Blueberry Buckwheat Pancakes (GF)
Buttermilk-Brown Sugar Waffles
Brown Bread Muffins
Cardamom Lemon Soda Bread
Cherry Cornmeal Scones
Chocolate-Almond Whirligig Buns
Cocoa Banana Bread
Coconut Bread
Cornmeal-Cranberry Pancakes
French Chocolate Granola
Hazelnut-Lemon-Ricotta Pancakes
Lemon-Poppyseed Scones
Malted Corn Pancakes
Maple Scones
Maple-Pecan Muffins
Maple Pecan Muffins, low-fat
New England Spider Cake
Oatmeal with Walnuts, Butter and Demerara Sugar
Oatmeal Pancakes
Pancakes with Lemon and Sugar
Perfect Fried Eggs
Poached Scrambled Eggs
Porridge
Prune and Caraway Scones
Pumpkin Bread
Raised Buckwheat Belgian Waffles
Revueltos con Chorizo
Ricotta and Spinach Frittatine (GF)
Tweety Scramble
Savory Granola
Sour Milk Griddle-Cakes
Sweet Potato Muffins
Whole-Grain Banana Yogurt Muffins
Whole-Wheat Sweet Potato Muffins
Yeast-Raised Waffles
Starters
*********
Bruschetta with Burrata and Radicchio Marmalade
Hummus
Kimchi Pancake
Pea Fritters with Za’atar and Feta
Red Lentil Hummus
Salmon Rillettes
Salads
*******
Beet Salad with Horseradish and Fried Capers
Beet and Cabbage Salad
Celery Salad
Celery Root and Apple Salad
Chickpea Salad with Four-Minute Eggs
Farro Salad with Tomatoes and Corn
Fennel and Olive Salad
Hearts of Palm and Blood Orange Salad
Lentil and Duck Salad with Hazelnut Dressing
Mango and Shrimp Salad
Mizuna with Potatoes and Shallot Vinaigrette
Perfect Slaw (GF)
Potato and Cucumber Salad
Quinoa Salad with Shiitakes and Fennel
Rice Noodle Salad
Roasted Squash and Radicchio Salad with Buttermilk Dressing
Roasted Tomato, Fennel and Chickpea Salad (GF)
Savoy Cabbage Slaw with Applesauce Vinaigrette and Mustard Seeds
Shaved Fennel Salad with Celery and Egg
Tangy Roasted Beet Salad
Very Special (Green) Salad
Zucchini Salad with Tomatoes, Peanuts, Basil, Mint and Spicy Fish Sauce
Soups
********
Arugula and Potato Soup
Beautiful Soup
Beet and Ginger Soup
Black Lentil Soup
Broccoli Soup with Speck
Broccoli and Pasta Soup
Cabbage Soup
Caramelized Onion Ramen
Carrot Pomegranate Soup
Cauliflower Soup
Chickpea and Chicken Dumpling Soup
Chickpea Soup with Crisp Croutons
Chilled Cucumber, Avocado and Buttermilk Soup
Cold Summer Borscht
Cranberry Bean, Lacinato Kale and Pasta Soup
Cream of Celery Soup
Curried Coconut Tomato Soup
Garlic Soup with Mussels
Garlic Soup with Poached Eggs
Golden Tomato Soup with Fennel
Harira
Indonesian Chicken Soup with Noodles and Aromatics (Soto Ayam)
Leek Soup with Sauerkraut and Peas
Littleneck Clam Chowder with Bok Choy and New Potatoes
Minestra of Root Vegetables
Moroccan Carrot Soup with Mussels
Moroccan Tomato Soup
Mushroom Barley Soup
Potato Soup with Fried Almonds
Red Shrimp Chowder with Corn
Ribollita
Rice and Potato Soup with Parmigiano Rind – Updated!
Rice and Smothered Cabbage Soup
Rice Porridge with Chicken and Lemon Grass (Chao xa ga)
Roasted Carrot and Red Lentil Soup
Roasted Squash Soup with Cumin
Roasted Turkey Stock
Simple Onion Soup
Soup with Winter Greens and Chickpeas
Soupe au Pistou with Parmesan Croutons
Southern Comfort Soup
Spiced Red Lentil Soup (GF)
Squash and Rice Soup (GF)
Sweet Potato and Red Lentil Soup with Mint
Sweet Potato, Corn and Jalapeño Bisque
Thai-Spiced Tomato Soup
Thick Tomato-Bread Soup, Catalan-Style
Tomato Bread Soup
Tomato and Bread Soup
Tomato and Egg-Drop Noodle Soup (GF)
Warm Yogurt Soup with Grains and Greens
Zucchini Soup
Rice and Pasta
********
Asian Seafood Risotto
Baked Rice
Bucatini with Tuna
Butternut Squash Risotto
Coconut-Ginger Rice
Creamy Macaroni and Cheese
Edamame and Rice Salad with Fines Herbes Vinaigrette
Egg Noodles with Soy Broth
Fideua (Spanish Pasta with Seafood)
Glass Noodles with Crab
Gnocchi alla Romana
Goan Coconut Milk Pilaf
Instant-Pot Risotto
Linguine with Clams and Chiles
Panthay Noodles
Pappardelle with Bagna Cauda, Wilted Radicchio and an Olive-Oil-Fried Egg
Pappardelle with Peas and Parmesan
Pasta chi Sardi a Mari
Pasta con le Sarde
Pasta with Baked Tomato Sauce
Penne with Sheeps-Milk Ricotta and Mustard Greens
Penne with Spinach Sauce
Pasta with Turkish-Style Beef, Eggplant and Yogurt Sauce
Pizzocheri
Red Wine Risotto
Rice Noodles with Chicken
Roasted Tomato Pasta
Sesame Noodles
Shurpa Lagman
Soba Bowls with Poached Salmon and Roasted Broccoli
Soba Tsuyu
Spaghetti with Eggplant Sauce
Spaghetti with Tomato-Anchovy Sauce
Stuck-Pot Rice
Stuck-Pot Rice with Potato Crust
Stuffed Tomatoes
Summer Pasta
Tagliatelle with Braised Kale and Ricotta
Tomato Paella
Torchie with Oyster Mushrooms, Braised Chicken and Tomatoes
Vegetable Rice
Vegetables
********
Aloo Tikki (Indian Potato Cakes)
Baked Beans
Baked Endives with Ham
Beans with Lardons and Sage
Belgian Endive Gratin
Bihari Green Beans Masala
Braised Fennel with Meyer Lemon and Parmesan
Braised Leeks
Braised Red Cabbage
Braised Romano Beans with Cherry Tomatoes
Braised Zucchini with Mint and Lemon
Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes with Fried Sage
Bulgur Salad with Pomegranate Dressing and Toasted Nuts
Butternut Squash with Ginger Tomatoes and Lime Yogurt
Butternut Squash Curry
Cabbage and Potato Gratin with Mustard Breadcrumbs
Caramelized Corn with Fresh Mint
Caramelized Winter Squash
Cauliflower and Potato Gratin
Chana Punjabi
Chickpeas with Chilies
Collard Greens and Lentils
Creamed Red and White Pearl Onions
Creamed Tomatoes on Toast
Delicata Squash and Celery Root Puree
Fried Potatoes with Yogurt Sauce
Fried Zucchini Blossoms
Garlic and Herb-Stuffed Zucchini
Garlicky Braised Cauliflower with Capers
Glazed Shiitakes with Bok Choy
Gratin of Fennel and Tomato
Green Corn Tamales
Gremolata Potatoes
Grilled Eggplant Salad
Haricots Verts in Red Wine-Vinegar Cream
Hashed Brussels Sprouts with Lemon Zest
Kale Chips
Knife-and-Fork Kale
Kohlrabi Salad
Lentils with Caramelized Celery Root
Maple-and-Lime Glazed Carrots
Mushroom Ragout
Mushrooms a la Grecque
Olive Oil Refried Beans
Pan-Roasted Broccoli
Peas with Olive OIl and Mint
Peperonata
Pistachio Brussels Sprouts
Pommes de Terre Boulangère
Potatoes with Green Sauce
Potatoes Gribiche
Potato Salad with Yogurt and Horseradish
Puree of Cauliflower with Curry
Rajas con Crema
Roast Potatoes with Onions, Fennel and Bay Leaves
Roasted Broccoli and Scallions with Thai-Style Vinaigrette
Roasted Corn with Manchego and Lime
Roasted Parsnips with Za’atar and Aleppo Pepper
Roasted Peppers
Roasted Squash Puree with Apple and Ginger
Romesco Potatoes
Saag (Indian Buttered Greens)
Saffron Carrots
Salsify in Black Forest Ham
Sauteed Green Beans
Slow-Roasted Tomatoes
Smoked Aubergine Crush
Soft Zucchini with Harissa, Olives and Feta
Spaghetti Squash Gratin
Spicy Cabbage with Bacon, Shrimp and Tomatoes
Spicy Roasted Broccoli with Lemon
Spicy Tuscan Kale
Spring Vegetables in Parchment
Squash Toast
Stir-Fried Iceberg Lettuce
Sweet Potato Fries
Swiss Chard Gratin
Stir-Fried Celery in Meat Sauce
Tuscan Kale Saag
Zucchini Carpaccio with Avocado
Zucchini-Eggplant-Pepper Polpettine
Zucchini with Harissa and Lemon
Vegetarian Main Courses
********
Artichoke Tart with Polenta Crust
Artichoke Torte (Torta di Carciofi)
Austrian Potato Strudel
Barley Risotto with Corn and Basil
Bean and Winter Squash Gratin
Bok Choy with Shiitakes and Oyster Sauce
Butternut Squash and Potato Pie with Tomato, Mint and Sheep’s Milk Cheese
Chard and Onion Panade
Chard and Saffron Tart
Cheesy Black Bean Bake
Collard Squares
Corn Fritters
Corn, Zucchini and Chickpea Fritters
Crisp Couscous and Saffron Cakes
Depression Stew
Egg Baked in Cream
Eggplant Parmesan
Fake Baked Beans
Giant Lima Beans with Roasted Red Peppers
Grits with Deviled Shiitakes
Hungarian Cabbage Strudel
Khichdi
Lazy Spanakopita
Leek, Mushroom and Goat Cheese Tart
Mushroom Hash
Pan-Glazed Tofu with Orange Juice and Warm Spices
Pan-Glazed Tofu with Thai Red Curry Sauce
Pumpkin Fatayer
Pumpkin Tarte Tatin
Risotto al Forno alla Siciliana
Roasted Sweet Potates with Spicy Feta-Olive Salad
Rumtum Tiddy
Savory Sicilian Swiss Chard Tart
Shakshuka
Squash and Cheese Pie
Swiss Chard Timbales
Tart of Garlicky Greens and Black Olives
Tomato Mustard Tart
Tomato, Oregano and Feta Risotto
Tomato-Ricotta Tart
Tomato Salad Sandwich
Two Lentil Stew
Winter Squash, Onion and Red Wine Panade
Zucchini Pancakes
Fish and Shellfish
********
Baked Cod in Yogurt Sauce
Braised Tilapia with Leeks and Tomatoes
Clams with Ham and Sherry
Crab Cakes
Crumbed Mackerel
Grilled Orata and Onions
Halibut with Balsamic-Glazed Spring Onions
Halibut with Grapefruit and Blood Orange Sauce
Hot Crab Dip
Marinated Fish
Mussels in White Wine and Creme Fraiche
Ragù di Pesce
Roasted Broccoli with Shrimp
Roasted Fish with Sweet Peppers
Roasted Halibut
Roasted Trout with Pancetta and Sage
Salmon with Ginger and Lemon Grass Broth
Salmon with Hot Mustard Glaze
Scrambled Eggs with Shrimp
Shrimp and Onion Simmered in Caramel Sauce (Tom Kho)
Spicy Salmon on Toast
Tuna with Black Olive Pesto Panini
Tuna Carpaccio
Tuna Meatballs
Chicken and Poultry
********
Baked Chicken with Dijon Mustard and Herbs
Butter Chicken
Braised Chicken with Dried Shiitake Mushrooms
Chicken and Orzo with Lemon and Olives
Chicken and Rice Salad
Chicken with Orange Juice and Vanilla
Chicken Baked with Lentils
Chicken Breasts with Garlic-Chili-Ginger Sauce
Chicken Curry
Chicken Curry with Sweet Potatoes
Chicken Gratin
Chicken Legs Roasted with Mustard
Citrus- and Cumin-Roasted Chicken
Coconut-Barley Pilaf with Chicken
Curried Chicken Salad on Naan
Curried Roast Chicken, Durban Style
Easy Chicken Schnitzel
Flatbreads with Spiced Chicken and Pistachios
Hainanese Chicken with Rice
Javanese Chicken Curry (Opor Ayam)
Lemon Chicken
Miso Claypot Chicken (No Claypot)
Moroccan Chicken Smothered in Olives
Pulled Chicken Sandwiches
Quick Cassoulet
Roasted Chicken Legs with Lemon and Oregano
Slow-Roasted Chicken
Spicy Roasted Chicken Thighs
Spicy Roast Chicken
Turkey Spinach Meatloaf
Turmeric Pancakes with Coronation Chicken and Spinach
Warm Chicken Salad
Yogurt-Rubbed Roast Chicken with Red-Pepper Sauce
Meat
********
Barbecued Brisket
Beef Bolognese
Bison Steaks with Smoky Wild Rice
Braised Lamb Shank Ragu
Chinese Oxtail Stew
Cotelettes de Porc au Cidre (Apple Cider Pork Chops)
Finnish Meatballs
Ground Beef Pulao
Ground Meat Stir-Fry with Korean Rice Cakes
Just Good Chili
Lamb-Stuffed Cabbage Rolls
Meatballs for New Mothers
Monday Meatballs
Meatballs in Tomato and Chipotle Sauce
Orange Pork Ragout with Beans
Pan-Fried Pork Chops with Lemon
Picchiapò (Roman Braised Beef in Tomato Sauce)
Pork Chops with Fresh Tomato Sauce
Pork Loin with Grapes
Pork and Black Bean Chili
Pork Meatballs in Broth
Pork Meatballs with Yogurt Dressing
Rapini with Sausage and Golden Roasted Potatoes
Rib Steaks with Parsley and Crouton Salad
Salt-Roasted Pork Tenderloin with Rosemary and Fingerling Potatoes
Sardinian Meatballs
Savory Bacon
Sichuanese Chopped Celery with Beef
Soboro Donburi
Sour Spinach (Lamb Stew)
Syrian Beef Kebabs
Tagine-Style Lamb Stew
Tex-Mex Meatloaf with Chipotle-Tomato Glaze
Breads and Pizza
********
Aachener Poschweck
Apple Hazelnut Bread
Baguettes
Ciabatta
Ethiopian Honey-Spice Bread
Excellent White Bread
Flaxseed Bread
Focaccia ai Quattro Sapori
Focaccia Genovese
Focaccia di Patate
Honey-Lemon Whole-Wheat Rolls
Laugenbrezeln (Soft Pretzels)
Lemon Pizza
Maple White Bread
No-Knead Bread
No-Knead Pizza
Oatmeal Bread
Pizza Dough
Pizza Margherita
Pletzlach
Sausage, Radicchio and Burrata Pizza
Simple Crusty Bread
Slow-Rising Pumpkin-Thyme Dinner Rolls
Vegetable Pizza
Warm Gruyere Sandwich with Mustard and Thyme
Wheat and Cornmeal Cheese Rolls
Whole Grain Boule
Cakes
********
Almond-Lemon Tea Cake
Apple Cake
Apple Butter Loaf Cake (GF)
Arkansas Fig Fruitcake
Banana Cake
Buckwheat Squash Loaf with Cranberries
Buttermilk-Cinnamon Coffeecake
Carrot Cupcakes with Mascarpone Frosting
Cheesecake
Chocolate Cake
Chocolate Banana Cake
Chocolate Muscovado Banana Cake
Chocolate Orange Drizzle Cake
Ciambellone
Country Rhubarb Cake
Cranberry Orange Cornmeal Cake
Dark Molasses Gingerbread
Date Cake
Devil’s Food Cupcakes
Dimply Plum Cake
Donut Cake
French Chocolate Cake
Fudge Pudding Cake
Kamut Pound Cake
Lemon Blueberry Buckle
Malted Chocolate Birthday Cake
Nectarine Upside-Down Cake
Olive Oil Cake
Olive Oil Cake with Rosemary and Chocolate
Pear and Cardamom Upside-Down Cake
Pecan Brown-Butter Bread
Plain Vanilla Cake
Plum Torte
Polenta Cake
Poundcake
Poppyseed Cake
Robert Redford Cake
Simple Sesame Cake (GF)
Sweet Potato Bundt Cake with Rum-Soaked Raisins and a Spiked Sugar Glaze
Teddie’s Apple Cake
Ukrainian Honey Cake
Whole-Wheat Apple Butter Cake
Cookies
********
Almond-Cranberry Cookies
Benne Wafers
Buckwheat Cookies
Cardamom Pistachio Cookies
Chocolate Chip Cookie Brittle
Chocolate Chip Cookies with Buckwheat Groats
Chocolate Oatmeal Coconut Cookies
Chocolate Toffee Cookies
Cinnamon Squares
Double Chocolate Cookies
Fig Bars
Flat-and-Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies
Flourless Salted Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies
Ginger-Pecan Biscotti
Ginger-Sour Cherry Biscotti
Graham Crackers
Intensely Chocolate Sablés
Madeleines from Dax
Paximathakia Portokaliou
Pecan Drops
Quintessential Chocolate Chip Cookies
Raisin-Filled Sugar and Spice Cookies
San Andreas Cookies
Spice Cookies
Tahini Cookies
Teff Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies with Walnuts and Cranberries (GF)Whole-Wheat Sables
Desserts and Other Sweet Things
********
Ambrosia
Apricot Dumplings (Marillenknödel)
Apricot Tart Brulee
Apple Crisp
Apple Quince Pie
Asian Pear Crisps
Baked Apple Pancake
Belgian Brownies
Bittersweet Brownies with Salted Peanut Butter Frosting
Blackberry Flummery
Blackberry Nectarine Crisp
Bread Pudding with Prunes and Apricots
Browned Butter Blueberry Tart
Bruleed Pumpkin Pie
Buttermilk Pie
Butternut Squash Pie
Chocolate Bouchons
Chocolate Bouchon Pudding
Chocolate Semifreddo with Candied Salted Almonds (GF)
Chocolate Tahini Brownies (GF)
Cider Pecan Tart
Cocoa Brownies
Concord Grape Clafoutis
Cornmeal Buckle with Plums
Cranberry, Caramel and Almond Tart
Crostata
Flan
Gateaux Bastille
Golden Apple Triangles
Hypocrite Pie
Maple Baked Apples
Nutella Buckwheat Brownies
Panforte with Candied Quince
Peach Gelato
Pecan Pie
Plum Crumble
Poached Pears with Poached Spiced Figs
Poached Quince with Vanilla and Cinnamon
Pumpkin Panna Cotta
Raspberry Meringue Roulade
“Real” Jell-O”
Rhubarb Raspberry Betty
Rice Pudding
Rice Pudding with Bay
Roast Apple and Maple Eton Mess (GF)
Roasted Applesauce
Roasted Rhubarb
Roasted Strawberries
Salted Caramel and Milk Chocolate Mousse
Salted Caramel Shortbread Bites
Sesame Date Yogurt Cups
Silky Chocolate Pudding
Spiced Baked Apples with Maple Caramel Sauce
Squash Pie
Steamed Lemon Puddings
Strawberries & Cream Popsicles (GF)
Summer Fruit Tart
Supernatural Brownies
Tuscan Crostata
Wine-Stewed Prunes with Mascarpone
Cooking for Babies and Toddlers
Avocado-Cucumber Salad
Blueberry Coconut Oatmeal Muffins
Fusilli with Oven-Roasted Tomatoes and Zucchini
French Toast
Korean Barbecued Chicken
Pastina
Rice and Peas and Broth and Cheese
Roasted Apricots
Scrambled Eggs
Teriyaki Salmon
Yogurt-Fruit-Rice Parfait
Jams, Pickles and Preserves
********
Apple Butter
Capuliata
Cherry Butter
Cranberry Onion Jam
Currant Pickle
Damson Butter
Harissa
Parsi Tomato Chutney
Quick Radish Pickles
Rhubarb-Grapefruit Preserves
Seville Orange Marmalade
Strawberry-Lemon Grass Jam
Tomato Jam
Zucchini Pickles
Condiments
Cranberry Orange Sauce
Hot Fudge Sauce
Mexican Green Goddess Dressing
Sicilian Pesto
Garlic-Anchovy Mayonnaise
Green Goddess Dressing
Herb Rub
Beverages
********
Ayran
Elderflower Cordial
Spicy Hot Chocolate
Feta Cheese Crisps
Figs in Whiskey
Fresh Corn Blini
Homemade Butter
Homemade Ricotta
Muhammara
Mushroom Ragu
Parmesan Balls
Peach Quencher
Peppers for Cold Meats
Requesón
Ricotta and Roasted Pepper Tartine
Vanilla Extract
Zucchini Sauce
Hoo. Hoo. Hoooo. I'm having a hard time catching my breath. In fact, pass that paper bag, I feel like I might need it. Why? Let me tell you why. It's November 15th. November 15th! Do you know what that means?
It's that time of year again, that time of year that creeps up on me out of nowhere (nowhere, I tell you!) and manages to smack me in the ass every single time. I'm a smart enough girl, I can read and walk at the same time, I can listen to music and chew my food simultaneously, I can speak four languages and touch my tongue to my nose (well, no, those things I can't do at the same time): how am I still not smart enough to anticipate Christmas?
Every single year, I vow to make a handmade Christmas – to bake and cook and craft until I've spun a mountain of lovely, tasty, personal gifts to bestow upon the lucky folks who happen to be related to me – and every single year I fail miserably. On December 22, I'm pacing the streets of Soho with a wide-eyed, hysterical glare in the whites of my eyes and an unpleasant little squeakiness to my voice – I think some of you might call it the sound of desperation.
You'd think I'd give up by now. You'd think that this year, the year that I (gulp, gulp, and triple gulp) turn thirty (where the hell is that paper bag?), I'd have made my peace with this reality: that I'm just not cut out for a handmade Christmas.
Obstinacy is a funny thing, isn't it?
Because here it is, November 15th, and I'm frantically making lists of recipes and ingredients to assemble, culling together cello paper and tupperware, hunting down jam jars and clean lids, scrounging up twine and stickers, finding mailing labels and shipping rates and, God help me, I think I'm going to try again.
Last year, after I'd given up and gone back to Berlin for the holidays, defeated and beladen with a suitcase full of perfectly acceptable, purchased gifts, Molly (who this year has made it official and taken the handmade pledge – brave one) sent me a jar of homemade apple butter so delicious that it was gone in a matter of days. (Addressed to both me and Ben, I didn't have the heart to hoard it for myself, in which case it would have lasted perhaps a week. I can be so stupidly generous sometimes.) I spent the next 9 months wishing she would send me another jar.
Molly got her recipe from Heidi who got it from Carolina Braunschweig, so when I eventually realized that wishing wasn't going to get me anywhere, I went apple-picking and made my own. Between a colleague and my upstairs neighbor and the constantly hungry man residing in my apartment, the four jars I made were gone in a week. It really is that good. It goes well on toast and in Liberte plain yogurt and apparently in cookies, though I haven't tried those yet. It makes your house smell like a holiday and makes you feel all calm and happy while it burbles away on the stove. And will you believe me when I tell you that while boiling jars sounds all technical and frightening, it really, really isn't? Really, I promise. If I can do it, so can you.
So, join me in the madness, won't you? Let's do it together. You make apple butter, and I'll do – I don't know – chutney. Or cookies! Or both. I don't know. Oh God, I'm having trouble breathing again. But it'll be fun, I promise! And then, if it all goes south in the end despite our best intentions, we can go shopping together a few days before Christmas when the stores are empty and our hair is falling out in handfuls. Hmm? What do you say – do we have a deal?
Apple Butter
Makes 4 or 5 8-ounce jars
4 pounds of apples, peeled and cut into bite sized chunks
Roughly 1/2 gallon of apple cider
2 cups of sugar (I cut this to 1 and 1/4 cups of sugar)
1 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (I would do just 1 teaspoon next time)
1/2 teaspoon cloves (and I'd do a little less than 1/2 teaspoon next time)
Juice of one lemon
1. Heat oven to 225 and place jars (but not lids) on the baking racks. Jars will need to stay in the oven for at least 20 minutes. Wash the lids with hot water and let them dry completely on a clean towel.
2. In a big, heavy pot over medium heat add the apples and enough apple cider to just cover the apples. Bring to a simmer. A bit of a foam will form, you want to skim that off a couple of times. Cook the apples until they are tender throughout, roughly 20-30 minutes. Take the apples off the heat, let them cool for a couple minutes, and then puree in a blender in small batches (don't fill the blender over half full with the hot liquid or you will have a mess) or with an immersion blender directly in the pot. The puree should be the consistency of a thin applesauce.
3. Put the puree back in the big pot over medium heat. Bring puree to a simmer (you need it to hit 220F on candy thermometer). Then, while stirring, slowly sprinkle in the sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and lemon juice. Continue to simmer over medium/med-low heat. It takes quite a while from this point until the apple butter reduces and really thickens up, anywhere from 1 to 2 hours (try to keep it around 220F). Make sure you stir regularly, you don't want it to burn or cook to the bottom of the pot. You are looking for the apple butter to thicken up and darken. Towards the end it gets a bit messy, the simmer becoming more lava-like – it also sounds different, lots of plop and slop noises and lots of spattering coming from the pot. Remove from heat.
4. Using tongs, carefully remove each jar from the oven and fill to within 1/4 inch of the top with the apple butter. Wipe off rims with a clean dry paper towel. Place a dry lid on each jar and close tightly. Turn the jars upside-down and let cool completely.
The Wednesday Chef 
