A CHANGE OF PLANS

This blog was supposed to be about cooking, and so far it has been.  But From The Rooftop doesn't actually comprise a mission statement, does it?  So today I was going to talk about salads, and I still may, but it's raining and the city looks beautiful from here.  I wanted to take a photo, and of course, find that the battery in my camera has died -- no big surprise.  Well, I'm just going to write about this day instead.

Feeling strange because I heard from Anja about my web site, and what having a web site will be.  Me, a writer?  Do I even want a web site?  Do I want to hire a photographer for a "head shot?"  If this blog was meant for my family and there will be a link to the Rooftop from the web site, who is my family now?  Shall I assume that the public may read this, and now I have an obligation to write about salad?

Today, being the off-Wednesday banjo/guitar lesson-wise, was house-cleaning day.  Several months ago, we inadvertently fired our cleaning service (yes, you can accidently fire people) and have undertaken the chore ourselves.  Made a little chart, which quickly became useless.  But this morning we divided the jobs, powered up with a green smoothie ( frozen banana, a cup of homemade yogurt, a mango, handful of spinach, milk, a scoop of protein powder and a good spoonful of frozen orange juice) and launched the festivities.  I'm the official duster, and cleaning the bookshelves has caused me to question the whole concept of bookshelves.  The books have to be stored somewhere, but as decorative items, they're pretty labor intensive.  The fact is, though, that in the dusting, I keep finding a book to set aside to re-read, or even read for the first time, and pretty soon there are little stacks on the dining room table, the piano.  I know that if I re-shelf them, I won't remember what I'd selected next off-Wednesday.  In fact, I do re-shelf them, but leave certain titles slightly sticking out.  No one will notice.  Probably not even I.

Speaking of books, the March NY Book Review book arrived:  Pitch Dark, by Renata Adler.  Looks great.  A blurb from Anne Tyler!  I look at the "head shot" of Renata Adler -- I like to see what my writer looks like.  Well.  jeans, a camp shirt, hand held just so, and an arresting long braid over her shoulder.  I would love to look like her.  Serious, penetrating intelligence.

I am, however, stealing moments to read Larry's book on Machu Picchu, by Mark Adams, as it seems I will be going there next fall.  It's very entertaining, but seriously, Peru?  Also Miami and Chicago?  Doesn't anyone remember that I don't like to fly?

Okay, salads:
Q.  Who wants to bring the salad for the party?
I never, never want this assignment, so always try to get in for the dessert or appetizer option.  I'm so tired of salads.  Chop up some lettuce, toss in some random bits of vegetable, pour on the dressing?  Yum.
But then, a miracle.
Kale is everywhere now, even raw in salads.  Really?  Okay, I'll give it a shot.  OMG.  You're supposed to massage your kale, but I just chop it fine and move on.  I'm talking about the curly variety, either red or black, here.  Stems removed, of course.  What makes this work is the salad dressing I found in a Williams-Sonoma catalog.  (If you don't get this document, you might want to sign up -- it has some pretty cool recipes, as you're about to find out.)

So, the W-S Creamy Lemon Dressing.
1/2 cup mayo
2 TBS water
1 1/2 TBS fresh lemon juice
2 garlic cloves, minced (you be the judge here)
1 tsp anchovy paste (and you'll remember not to use sardine instead)
1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp lemon zest
ground pepper to taste

Whisk all ingredients together.   This is supposed to serve 4, and if there aren't 4 of you, make this much anyway because it's really good on Romaine lettuce also.

Toss the kale with the dressing and start adding.  I love chopped filberts, a good spoonful of Brewers Yeast,  Parmesan, orange segments . . . this is really good!

And if you can eat raw kale, why not raw bok choy?  Sure.  I like to use the babies, sliced thin, and use the following dressing, which comes from a fabulous little cookbook Allison gave me called Little Flower from the cafe of that name.

Here's their Carrot Ginger Dressing.
1 shallot peeled and roughly chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled, chopped
3 TBS fresh ginger, peeled (about a 3 inch knob) chopped
1/2 cup grated carrot
1/2 tsp ground mustard
2 tsp soy sauce
1/2 cup seasoned rice wine vinegar
1 tsp toasted sesame oil
3/4 cup oil (the recipe calls for canola, but I prefer grapeseed oil)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
salt to taste

The recipe would have you puree the ingredients with an immersion blender.  Fine, but instead I toss the shallot, ginger and garlic into the blender.  Add the rest of the ingredients and whir until smooth.  I can't believe anyone would have an immersion blender if they don't have the stand up variety, and honestly, I'm not clever enough to use the immersion system without at least twice allowing the spinning blade to poke out of the liquid -- uh huh.  All over my good shirt.  But use whichever you prefer.  Orange segments and filberts are great here, too.

That's it.  If you have other ideas, call me, mail me.  You can be my next guest contributor.

BACK TO THE MEAT GRINDER, and some GUMBO

To demonstrate where my heart lies:  Several months ago, seduced by the gorgeous, re-planted Williams-Sonoma up on 21st, I swapped out my Nordstroms Visa for a W-S visa.  Now, instead of the little $20.00 coupon from you-know-who, useful only for purchasing something else from Nordstrom, I amass points which I can convert to a W-S coupon or use to pay down my bill.  Or give as a gift.  (It could happen!)
Got busy and put my gym membership on my new card.  Use it to support my Eileen Fisher addiction.
Groceries.  And by January, I was able to trade in my points for a hundred-dollar coupon.
Which  brings us to the meat grinder.  I wanted to return the unsatisfactory KitchenAid grinder for a shiny, stainless steel model from W-S, using my coupon.
But I had done my due diligence, and found that every model available on the Web was strongly disliked by folks who take the time to write a review on these things.  Couldn't find the W-S model on line, but learned at the store that it is manufactured in Italy.  Called TRE Spade.  Aus rostfreiem stahl!  (stainless steel).
A thing of beauty, heavy, serious, serious tool.  Yes, pretty expensive . . . but I had the coupon . . .

Now the question is, will this be another toy or will I really use it?  First attempt, I ground some cooked ham to make a sandwich spread with cheese and sweet pickle.  In the processor, neither the cheese nor the meat is evenly ground, which isn't a huge problem, really, but my new Spade was perfect.  Good.
Now what?  What with one thing and another, I haven't gotten it down again.  But I have plans!

I suspect we all have our recipes for gumbo, won't bother sending you another.  So this is just a story.  We were at Black Butte, enjoying the mountains, the sunshine, the snow.  Wake up to Three Fingered Jack turning pink, slight cloud cap on Washington, and you feel that in this new day you will be the person you have always been meaning to be.
Larry wanted to cook, and gumbo seemed just right.  The recipe we were using called for chicken thighs and andouille for the meat component.  He chose to use chicken breast plus the sausage instead, and sauteed the chunks in oil before adding them to the stew.  It was so delicious that it didn't really matter that he'd caught the pot holders (yes, both of them) on fire.  See, by now we're so accustomed to our induction stove top that we forget that electric burners stay hot.  Must remember to buy replacement pot holders.  At Williams-Sonoma.

GUEST WRITER TODAY:

I'm happy to introduce you to one of my favorite people in the world -- Herbert Piekow.  He's a wonderful friend, a brilliant floral designer, and a gifted novelist.  Several years ago he moved to Mexico from our beloved, rainy Oregon, and the transplant seems to have worked very well.

I'm quoting from a letter he wrote to me, and as you see, among his other talents is cookery, dear to this bloggers heart!  (And I will get back to the meat- grinder on another day.)  P.S., for many years, he and his partner Jack Richardson did indeed provide the floral displays for the Academy Awards!


This weekend is the BIG wedding in my Mexican
family. Ramón, or Junior is getting married fulfilling his mother´s
dream, and I hope his as well. His bride is lovely and we all truly like
her. My covered terrazzo looks like the prep area for the Academy Awards,
it is filled with buckets of red and white roses, lilies and other
flowers and greens. Martha, the mother, has been busy prepping for the
main dish, which she will cook over an open fire in her back yard. She is
making bieria, a type of stew, she will cook it over an open fire.
Already she has stemmed and seeded about 80 pounds of chilies. Today we
start boiling about 150 lbs of tomatoes, that they need to be skinned and
run through the liquidora to turn them into pulp. Usually bieria is made
with goat, but we bought a cow which has been slaughtered and after being
cooked she and the four daughters will shred by hand. Earlier we bought
about 20, or more, gallons of tequila, other family members bring other
foods and things. We have made at least twenty trips to Guadalajara,
about an hour away, to buy specially decorated tequila bottles, party
favors, have the wedding dress made, this required about five trips. We
went to the wholesale jewelry district and had the rings made and I don´t
know how many other trips for various causes, my poor Jeep needs a rest.

the wedding was perfect in every way. After the wedding Mass
the priest commented, from the altar, about the floral designs. We did
run out of tequila, which is a good sign, we went out and bought more.
There was just enough food for all 400 guests, the following day, Sunday
we ate left over rice with bieria sauce, no meat left.
The mariachi band played for three hours, then Uncle Juan had a sound and
light show followed by the Banda that played until nearly 4 AM. I danced
so much I wore a blister on my ankle.

This is Jane again:  I won't bother asking for the recipe for bieria -- the scale is a little formidable -- and this must be one of those cases in which you simply had to be there.  But I did find a recipe in one of my favorite cookbooks, Authentic Mexican, by Rick Bayless:  Birria de Chivo o de Carnero, kindly translated for us as "Slow-Steamed Goat or Lamb" in the event you are hosting a wedding sometime soon.  No, I'm not going to print it here, but you can get it from the library, or probably on line.

Many thanks to you, Herbert, and I hope to have you on my blog again soon!

A SARDINE IS NOT AN ANCHOVY: A Cautionary Tale

     It all started with a short sentence in a cooking mag -- famous chef said he liked to grind his own meat, but the food processor was not the correct tool.  Lightbulb!  I'd tried "grinding" chicken and pork with my processor, but managed only an uneven shredding.  Hmm.
     Flashback to my mom's kitchen and the sturdy hand grinder she used, not for meat, so far as I remember, but nuts and dried fruits for our Christmas cookies.  To my own earlier grinding attachment to my Kitchenaid, which I'd passed along to my son-in-law.
     Enough to propel me to Williams-Sonoma in search of the hand-grinder mentioned by famous chef. Wow!  A hundred and fifty dollars?  But there was a shiny new Kitchenaid attachment for forty-nine or so.  Deal.
     Took it home, it was useless for the pork shoulder Larry had acquired from Cash and Carry for the freezer, and the ragu we'd planned for that evening's dinner.  The knife blade was unable to slice through the meat that worked it's way through the turn screw, and a most unpleasant mess of mashed meat was all the thing could accomplish.   And yet, it did a great job on some citrus and on those nuts and dried fruit.
     On to the web, where a hundred sad stories of hand-grinder failure littered the screen.  Haven't solved this yet, but now we move on to the main theme.   Sardines.
     Larry had expressed a desire for the sardine sandwiches old Doc Peterson across the street from his childhood home ate.  Always willing to help, I'd ordered some sardines along with other frozen sea food from a purveyor I'd found out of an Alaska fishery.  Alas, the reality didn't live up to the nostalgic longing, and it became clear that the last sardine in the first tin he'd opened would live in the refrig until I could toss is some dark night when he was away.
     But there was that mashed, mangled pork for the ragu.  Obviously we went on with the all-day recipe, which promised to be gorgeous.  Until I had my bright idea.
     We've learned from Marcella Hazan that many an excellent dish can start with a bit of anchovy mashed in the skillet with some olive oil, which melts into a delicious undertone -- giving up its own identity in service of the greater good.  Well now, why not employ that lonely sardine in the same fashion.  One tiny sardine in several quarts of ragu?
     Here's why not.  The damn thing took over, not just the sauce but the kitchen.  Hours later, we'd walk in and be smitten with that awful sardine smell.  And taste!  No giving up for this fish.
     Okay, what to do?  The recipe had included hot Italian sausage, which had completely surrendered to the sardine.  But it has fennel in it, and so I added a hefty teaspoon of the spice.  Nada.  More red pepper.  Oregano.  Lemon juice.  Even milk, thinking to turn this into a Bolognaise.  Nope.
     But lying in the drawer next to the fennel was fenugreek.  I don't think I'd ever used it, don't know why I had it.  But it smelled lovely, said it was to be used in Indian cookery.  Might as well.  To my eternal surprise, it did the job, almost.  The sardine was still there, but at least not on the front of the fork.
     It's my hope that some tenure in the freezer will continue the process the fenugreek started, because we have a boat-load of the stuff.
     I'll let you know what happens with the meat-grinder in the next post.

EAT YOUR VEGGIES

Been raining . . . and if you hear an Oregonian say that, you know it's been wet!  Larry and I went for our usual walk along the Willamette this morning, and the water was level with the pedestrian/bike path in some stretches.  The little beaches have disappeared, and trees are standing up to their knees in the now-muddy river.  The water has almost reached the bottom of the Steel Bridge deck, so yeah, it's been raining!
But the Farmers' Market has re-opened, therefore, it must be spring.  I haven't visited it yet, but in preparation, I've been musing about vegetables.  How many helpings a day?  In any case, I've pretty much run out of creative things to do with broccoli.  Cabbage.  Green beans.  But Larry gave me a vast, encyclopedic, Italian cookbook for Christmas, and I've come across two recipes that I'll type up for you in a minute.
The phone rang a paragraph ago, and it was David and Caroline.  The conversation veered onto veggies, and their experience with a CSA.  Seems they got flooded with kale, unto "if-I-ever-see-kale-again-I'll . . ." but they've recently been adding it to their diet by blending it into their smoothies.  Um.  Don't know about that, but they said they can camouflage it pineapple, coconut milk, mangoes, and other tropical goodies -- none of which will be showing up in our Famers' market.  So I'm not recommending this idea, just passing it along.
The recipes I do want to share are for radicchio, and fennel.  First the radicchio:

Radicchio with Parmesan
2 TBS butter, plus extra for greasing the pan
2 supermarket radicchio (the book calls for 8-10 Castelfranco radicchio hearts -- whatever they are?)
2 TBS grated Parmesan, or more -- your discretion
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 350.  Grease ovenproof dish with butter.  Cut the raddichio into 4 wedges,  and blanch in boiling water for a few minutes (like 2).  They will lose their pretty purple color, slumping into grayish, but don't worry about that.  Drain them in a colander, then place them fan-side up in the dish.  Season with salt and pepper, sprinkle with Parmesan.  Dot with butter, tucked into the leaves.  If the wedges have come apart, just deal with it.  It'll be great.  Bake about 20 minutes.
I've taken liberties here with the cookbook, called The Silver Spoon, so don't blame it if the recipe doesn't work for you!  I use one radicchio for the two of us -- just so you know how much you might want.

Now for the fennel.
Devil's Fennel
2 anchovies (I use a brand packed in olive oil, in a cute little glass jar)
Scant 1/4 cup olive oil
4 fennel bulbs, trimmed and cut into wedges
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 TBS white wine vinegar
juice of one lemon, strained
salt and pepper

Heat the oil in a large skillet, add the anchovies and cook, mashing with a wooden spoon until dissolved.  Add fennel wedges.  Season with salt and pepper.  Combine mustard and vinegar and sprinkle over the fennel.  Cover and cook, turning with tongs from time to time for 50 minutes (or so).  Remove fennel to serving dish.  Add lemon juice to cooking juices and cook a few minutes longer.  Pour over the fennel and serve.

Okay, I like this one beyond reason, but I'm guessing no kid would go near it.  If you haven't used anchovies like this before, be brave.  You really don't taste them in a fish sense.  You might start with one fennel bulb for two adults, which is probably enough.

Now off to Hawaii, and two weeks of sunshine!  Hooray!

GRANDMOTHER,DONNA, and GRANDMA JANE

         
     This is meant to be a family sort of blog, passing along recipes.  I've been having fun with Amy this year, finding recipes from the family that had something to do with American History.  We were in luck, because our predecessors on both sides have been in the country long enough to have good records of life in those early times.  Whether the recipes I found were actually from our family, only Amy and I know, and we aren't telling.
     But in that spirit, I want to offer two recipes for cake, one from each of my grandmothers.  But first a little about these women:
     My dad's mom, was known to us as "Grandmother," not grandma or grammy or any other term of what you might call endearment.  This lady, a graduate of the U of Nebraska in "elocution,", a Chi Omega, I think . . . was cut from serious cloth.  We never saw much of her or our grandfather, who died before I could form much of a memory of him, and I don't know what we would have called him.  However, we have letters from both these worthies to our dad, and from them, I know that my Grandpa Charlie had a great sense of humor, of which Grandmother showed not the slightest trace.  They lived in Boise, by the time my sisters and I came along, in a large white house on a very large lot.  They flooded this lot in the summer, as a way to water it, and I remember being there and finding an entire city block as a wading pool.   As my sisters and I were pretty much free range children, we knew what to do with such an opportunity.
     As an old woman, Grandmother was brought to Tigard to live next to Mom and Dad's house in King City, where she entertained herself knitting vast pink scarves, blankets, whatever.  In my memory, at least they were all pink, surely some bargain yarn found somewhere by my thrifty parents.  I said she wasn't funny, but she did torment Mom by scolding Dad about "that woman in your house, and why on earth was she there?"
     I don't know where the first recipe has come from, but it surely is a relic from my parents' kitchen.  Poor Man's Cake, and you may wonder why it's called that.  So did I.  Because, it seems, it doesn't call for eggs.  This makes me think it may not be Grandmother's recipe, but if my sisters read this, maybe they will know and we can correct the record.
     The other recipe is called Donna's Spice Cake, so that settles that!  Donna was my mom's mom, and she did not insist on formality from her grandchildren.  She was called "Donna," because our grandfather was a doctor, hence, "Doc."  Unfortunately, Doc died before I was born, so I have nothing to report about him.  And Donna lived in Ohio, which meant I have a history of just two visits with her, but my impression is of a loving, gentle woman, who did like to laugh.   We don't have the rich record of letters from Donna, but we do get an insight from my mom's diaries, which were brief, but sometimes telling.  I know that Doc and Donna did not have a happy marriage, due, it seems to Doc's problems with alcohol.  Not much to go on, but the recipe is really good!

POOR MAN'S CAKE

1 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup butter
2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups raisins
1 tsp salt
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp cinnamon
1 1/2 cups water 1 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Mix water, sugar, raisins, butter, spices, and salt in sauce pan.  Boil 3 minutes.  When cool, add flour and soda sifted together.  Add nuts, if.  Bake in greased loaf pan at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.
My favorite frosting for this cake follows, but some people like it with a lemon sauce spooned over.

Fudge Frosting:
Note:  this amount will frost top and sides.  I usually make 1/2 recipe and just frost the top.
1/4 cup cocoa powder, unsweetened
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup milk
1/2 tsp vanilla

Stir together the cocoa, sugar, butter and milk.  Boil 1 minute.
Stir in vanilla.
Beat until spreading consistency.

DONNA'S SPICE CAKE
3/4 cup butter, softened
2 cups brown sugar
2 egg yolks
2 1/3 cups cake flour, sifted
3/4 tsp salt
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp cloves 1 1/4 cup buttermilk
1 tsp vanilla

Cream butter and brown sugar until light.  Beat in egg yolks.  Add dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk and vanilla, beating well after each addition.  Pour into greased 9 X 13 inch baking pan.  Cover with brown sugar meringue before baking:

Brown Sugar Meringue
2 egg whites, beaten until stiff
1 cup light brown sugar.

Slowly add sugar to egg whites, beating steadily.

When cake batter is covered with meringue, bake at 325 for 50 minutes.

Okay Amy, next time you need a history project, you're good to go.  Charlie, take note, your day may come, too!

With love from Grandma Jane!

OKAY, THE DIET'S OVER, LET'S COOK SOMETHING YUMMY

     There went January!  Apropos of nothing, I've been able to complete a journal of a year only one time in my life out of countless attempts.  So what am I doing trying again?
     Something about a new year, as we in this part of the world measure time, and my early January birthday has sent me down the road paved with good intentions (I actually think good intentions count for something).  It seemed that "two-thousand twelve" had such a good ring to it, and if I'm supposed to be some kind of writer, I should be able to write small accounts of each day that will amuse my future self.  Each day, thought I, must have some material in it that is worth remembering.  And perhaps the year won't fly by so fast if I pay good attention to each small part of it.
     So I made it through January, looking for something special in each day, and on many days, that turned out to have something to do with food and cooking.
     As was the case yesterday.  At this point, I'll turn you over to a guest columnist. Daughter Jenny sent me the following recipe.   Because it came in the form of an e-mail, I can't be sure what part of the note is her writing, but I'm pretty sure she did NOT write the following:  "Yes!  The once lowly flank steak has come into its own.  You will be delighted with this recipe for its ease of preparation and yet quite sophisticated flavors."  Boilerplate Jr. League cookbookese, from one of which, the recipe came.
     I think we'd all agree that today's title sounds more like Jenny.
     Anyway, here's the recipe:

Flank Steak with Mustard Caper Sauce

4 TBS butter
1 TBS vegetable oil
1 flank steak, about 1 1/2 pounds
3 TBS dry vermouth
1 TBS Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp Worcestershire Saouce
1 1/2 tsp capers
Watercress (I have never used this)

In a large heavy skillet, melt 1 TBS butter with the oil over medium heat.  Place the meat in the pan and brown, turning once, about 5-6 minutes, depending on the thickness of the steak.  It should be pink in the center when done.  Transfer to a carving board and cover with foil to keep warm.
In the same pan, over low heat, melt remaining 3 TBS butter in the pan dripping.  With a flat whisk, briskly stir in the vermouth, mustard, Worcestershire, and capers.  Set aside to keep warm.
Cut the meat in thin slices across the grain at a 45 degree angle.  Spoon sauce over all and garnish with watercress.

Serves 4.  (two adults and two kids -- our family ate every last bite)

Enjoy!

Notes:  From Jenny.  "I salted and peppered the meat before browning -- may have overdone it with the salt -- or maybe I should have rinsed the capers.  It was delicious but a little too salty."
           From me:  I made the recipe here in my test kitchen (joke), and did not see the need for adding the extra 3 TBS butter, and our family also ate every last bite.  However, I was only serving 2 adults, using something less than a pound of meat.  Once again, use your own judgment.
   
Thanks, Jenny!  To everyone: I would love to have recipes from you, having, as I do, plenty of room in my blog for guests!  Just e-mail me, phone, fax, hand-deliver . . .