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!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
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!
Thursday, February 2, 2012
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 . . .
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 . . .
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
GUMBO: A MEMOIR
(This is more like an episode of Portlandia than a recipe)
Party on the 8th for friend Dinah, lots of good friends, and gumbo on the menu?
You can't just wake up one morning and decide to make gumbo -- you get to gumbo after a series of events.
Yesterday or the day before, you will have gone to some good market and purchased a pound of "large" in-the-shell, line-caught wild (of course, this is Portland) shrimp, and approx. five cups of seafood stock. You can make the stock yourself, but you probably won't. City Market has glorious seafood stock in the freezer case. If you're reading this, Mal, lay in a supply next time you're in town. If you insist on home-making it, you can find a recipe in Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen, which is also where his version of this recipe may be found. In your own kitchen freezer, I hope you have a pint or so of broth you made up from the last time you roasted a chicken, because you may need it here.
One starts gumbo a day early by chopping 2 cups yellow onion, 1 1/2 cups green bell peppers, and 1 cup chopped celery into nice, even, 1/4 inch-or-so dice. Place all these into a bowl to await their turn. Feel free to use red or yellow bell peppers, as your esthetic demands.
Next comes the ESSENCE, a trade-mark Emeril Lagasse seasoning which he calls Bayou Blast. Combine in a small bowl 2 1/2 TBS paprika, 2 TBS salt, 2 TBS garlic powder, 2 TBS black pepper, 1 TBS onion powder, 1 TBS dried oregano, 1 TBS dried thyme, and 1/2 tsp cayenne. Note: Emeril would have you use 1 TBS cayenne, but you should do so at your own risk. Set this aside.
Now you should heat oil in a deep, sturdy pot, add flour to it and, standing by with a wooden spoon (flat bottomed is best), stir over controlled heat until the resulting roux is dark red-brown. Some (Paul Prudhomme) suggest cooking this over high heat for 2-4 minutes, but in my experience, that leads directly to the garbage can and starting over. With a little patience and low to medium heat, you'll get there.
But how much oil, how much flour? Today let's say we're making enough for 10 or so diners, and therefore start with 1/2 cup oil and 1/2 cup flour. Wait, back up.
Yes, you can use vegetable oil, but here's where the story gets interesting. I had a supply of lard in the refrigerator from months ago (not saying how many), and thought what the heck. They've been making gumbo since long before Canola oil showed up, and probably used bear fat, possum fat, and surely, pig fat, aka lard. Why not? (Don't worry, most of the fat gets skimmed off anyway) And lard actually has flavor!
Now turn the heat up to a good strong medium. Add half the vegetables to the hot roux, stir, cook for about a minute. The smell will have you wishing you had put some zydeco on the Bose. Add the rest of the vegetables and stir for another 2-3 minutes. Stir in about 1/4 of the ESSENCE and cook another 2 minutes. You can add all of the seasoning at some point if you want to, but let's just start slow. I don't know your tolerance for fire.
Put the stock in the microwave for a minute or so to heat, then stir into the roux. Keep whisking constantly until you are sure you have defeated any lumps. Turn the heat to low and cover while you sauté the andouille in a separate skillet with a little of the lard, if you have any left. I do not know if all andouille is fully cooked, but the point here is browning. It will certainly be fully cooked at the end of the day.
While the andouille is browning, sprinkle a couple of tablespoons of ESSENCE onto the chicken pieces, toss with your hands to cover all the pieces. When the sausage is sufficiently brown, add it to the gumbo and brown the chicken in the same skillet. When done to your requirement (it too, will cook in the large pot), add to the gumbo and let simmer for an hour or so.
Where's the okra? Good question. It would certainly make your gumbo more authentic, it looks cute, it has thickening properties that are welcome. You can get it frozen in most supermarkets, probably get it fresh depending on where you live, but really, why? We all know you aren't Cajun, it's kind-of slimy, and I have no idea what it tastes like down underneath all that yummy Bayou Blast. Do what you need to do.
Allow the gumbo to cool and then refrigerate, covered, over night. In the morning, you may be shocked at the layer of fat on top. But see, you can just skim it off. I do.
Now you have to evaluate how much you have, if you think there's enough for everyone, if it's satisfactorily thick. If not, here's where that afore-mentioned roast chicken broth comes in. Fire up a skillet, add another 1/4 cup lard/oil, 1/4 cup flour and repeat the roux making process, adding the broth when the flour is dark enough. Add all this new material to the gumbo and stir. Bring the entire pot's-worth to a good simmer and taste it! Now add as much ESSENCE as you want. The whole amount will not be amiss, but you have to decide for yourself.
Finally, the shrimp. Do not add the shrimp until 10 minutes before you plan to serve, as it needs the barest amount of cooking time.
Gumbo is traditionally served over white rice but again, Oregon, remember, brown rice or a rice mixture like Trader Joe's is perfectly wonderful.
Someone asked me at Dinah's party if I share my recipes. Huh? Of course, and I'm sure you do, too. So any time you want to pitch in with something of yours, get one of your kids to show you how to comment on this blog, or just put it on FaceBook. I love hearing from you guys!
Party on the 8th for friend Dinah, lots of good friends, and gumbo on the menu?
You can't just wake up one morning and decide to make gumbo -- you get to gumbo after a series of events.
Yesterday or the day before, you will have gone to some good market and purchased a pound of "large" in-the-shell, line-caught wild (of course, this is Portland) shrimp, and approx. five cups of seafood stock. You can make the stock yourself, but you probably won't. City Market has glorious seafood stock in the freezer case. If you're reading this, Mal, lay in a supply next time you're in town. If you insist on home-making it, you can find a recipe in Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen, which is also where his version of this recipe may be found. In your own kitchen freezer, I hope you have a pint or so of broth you made up from the last time you roasted a chicken, because you may need it here.
You will also have gone to Whole Foods or New Seasons and purchased 1-2 pounds boneless, skinless, organically fed free-range chicken breast, 12 oz. andouille sausage, and, if you are anywhere near this kitchen, will laugh again with Larry at the time we were in Paris and he ordered andouille, to learn that in France, that will be tripe. In Oregon andouille is just a lovely version of pork sausage.
The day before you wish to serve the gumbo, you will have peeled and deveined the shrimp and cut them into pleasing bite-sized pieces, and set them aside in the refrig. Ditto the chicken. And the andouille. You will have put the stock into the refrig to thaw.
One starts gumbo a day early by chopping 2 cups yellow onion, 1 1/2 cups green bell peppers, and 1 cup chopped celery into nice, even, 1/4 inch-or-so dice. Place all these into a bowl to await their turn. Feel free to use red or yellow bell peppers, as your esthetic demands.
Next comes the ESSENCE, a trade-mark Emeril Lagasse seasoning which he calls Bayou Blast. Combine in a small bowl 2 1/2 TBS paprika, 2 TBS salt, 2 TBS garlic powder, 2 TBS black pepper, 1 TBS onion powder, 1 TBS dried oregano, 1 TBS dried thyme, and 1/2 tsp cayenne. Note: Emeril would have you use 1 TBS cayenne, but you should do so at your own risk. Set this aside.
Now you should heat oil in a deep, sturdy pot, add flour to it and, standing by with a wooden spoon (flat bottomed is best), stir over controlled heat until the resulting roux is dark red-brown. Some (Paul Prudhomme) suggest cooking this over high heat for 2-4 minutes, but in my experience, that leads directly to the garbage can and starting over. With a little patience and low to medium heat, you'll get there.
But how much oil, how much flour? Today let's say we're making enough for 10 or so diners, and therefore start with 1/2 cup oil and 1/2 cup flour. Wait, back up.
Yes, you can use vegetable oil, but here's where the story gets interesting. I had a supply of lard in the refrigerator from months ago (not saying how many), and thought what the heck. They've been making gumbo since long before Canola oil showed up, and probably used bear fat, possum fat, and surely, pig fat, aka lard. Why not? (Don't worry, most of the fat gets skimmed off anyway) And lard actually has flavor!
Now turn the heat up to a good strong medium. Add half the vegetables to the hot roux, stir, cook for about a minute. The smell will have you wishing you had put some zydeco on the Bose. Add the rest of the vegetables and stir for another 2-3 minutes. Stir in about 1/4 of the ESSENCE and cook another 2 minutes. You can add all of the seasoning at some point if you want to, but let's just start slow. I don't know your tolerance for fire.
Put the stock in the microwave for a minute or so to heat, then stir into the roux. Keep whisking constantly until you are sure you have defeated any lumps. Turn the heat to low and cover while you sauté the andouille in a separate skillet with a little of the lard, if you have any left. I do not know if all andouille is fully cooked, but the point here is browning. It will certainly be fully cooked at the end of the day.
While the andouille is browning, sprinkle a couple of tablespoons of ESSENCE onto the chicken pieces, toss with your hands to cover all the pieces. When the sausage is sufficiently brown, add it to the gumbo and brown the chicken in the same skillet. When done to your requirement (it too, will cook in the large pot), add to the gumbo and let simmer for an hour or so.
Where's the okra? Good question. It would certainly make your gumbo more authentic, it looks cute, it has thickening properties that are welcome. You can get it frozen in most supermarkets, probably get it fresh depending on where you live, but really, why? We all know you aren't Cajun, it's kind-of slimy, and I have no idea what it tastes like down underneath all that yummy Bayou Blast. Do what you need to do.
Allow the gumbo to cool and then refrigerate, covered, over night. In the morning, you may be shocked at the layer of fat on top. But see, you can just skim it off. I do.
Now you have to evaluate how much you have, if you think there's enough for everyone, if it's satisfactorily thick. If not, here's where that afore-mentioned roast chicken broth comes in. Fire up a skillet, add another 1/4 cup lard/oil, 1/4 cup flour and repeat the roux making process, adding the broth when the flour is dark enough. Add all this new material to the gumbo and stir. Bring the entire pot's-worth to a good simmer and taste it! Now add as much ESSENCE as you want. The whole amount will not be amiss, but you have to decide for yourself.
Finally, the shrimp. Do not add the shrimp until 10 minutes before you plan to serve, as it needs the barest amount of cooking time.
Gumbo is traditionally served over white rice but again, Oregon, remember, brown rice or a rice mixture like Trader Joe's is perfectly wonderful.
Someone asked me at Dinah's party if I share my recipes. Huh? Of course, and I'm sure you do, too. So any time you want to pitch in with something of yours, get one of your kids to show you how to comment on this blog, or just put it on FaceBook. I love hearing from you guys!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
SERIOUS PARTY PIG
What happened to "tomorrow?" Yesterday now, and I haven't given you Chalupas. That will be today's topic, to keep my little declension going.
This is a recipe dating from our Midwest ex-pat group back in the day. Which included Dorsey and Tom Pierce from North Dakota. They don't actually speak Fargo, but they can light up a room with it if you ask them nicely.
The belief that the jello-pineapple concoction can be considered a green salad is
true . . . you simply have to use lime jello when you make it. But the real point is: when you have to survive weeks of sub-zero weather, frozen pipes, frozen batteries, with only ice-fishing to brighten the days, you need to know your way around pork and beans. Dorsey does. Here's her recipe:
Chalupas
3 # pork roast, cut into 4-5 large chunks
1 # pinto beans
2 pods garlic, chopped
2 TBS chile powder
2 TBS cumin
1 tsp. oregano
1 4-oz can chopped green chiles
2-3 TBS salt
Yes, two whole pods of garlic. It's okay. Just do it.
Put all ingredients into a pot and add water to cover. Cook for 6 hours, low heat, covered, or until beans are soft and the meat falling apart. Maybe only 3 hours -- use your judgment. Add water as needed to keep pork submerged.
Take meat out and shred. Cook beans 1 hour longer, until thickened. Reintroduce the meat and taste for seasoning. It helps if you use a scoop of Fritos for this to get the total effect. Or you can tell your mate that if you get caught in the act.
Have bowls of the following available for self service around the meat/bean mix, and dish up in this order:
1. Fritos (either scoops or regular)
2. Chalupas
3. Grated cheese (cheddar, pepper jack, as you like)
4. chopped onion
5. shredded lettuce
6. diced tomatoes
7. diced avocado
8. salsa or taco sauce or both. A little sour cream would not be amiss here, but sour cream might be a bit too fancy for North Dakotans.
Note the simplicity, the make-ahead quality, the potential for extemporaneous additions. This is perfect for watching the endless football games on the 1st. And it's really crazy good!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
The last Christmas Cookie recipe you'll ever really need.
As an experiment, at the promting of my mentor in all things computer, Allsion, I'm going to "share" this to my FaceBook page. Who knows what that will look like?
My kitchen smells this morning, not of cinnamon and cloves, but garlic and fish sauce. Merry Christmas? The pickle queens have been at it again.
But I'm not going to give you the recipe for kimchi, the Korean condiment responsible for the unlikely aromas in my house -- you will never make it, and I probably won't again. What are you supposed to do with kimchi? My cooking buddy Vik, my co-queen has munched it alongside a pastrami on rye, and stirred it into scrambled eggs, and claims it's fabulous, but I'm not there yet. We'll see.
What I have in mind today are first, cookies. Yes, I know, you think the last thing you need is another cookie recipe at this late date, but you're wrong, if you don't already have Grandma Viehl's Melting Moments.
When I met my mother-in-law, I began to understand what might be possible in the kitchen. She made an ordinary "cold meat" sandwich transcend it's limits, baked yeast rolls that pulled apart in etherial strands of a buttery sacrament . . . oh there, I said it. Butter. Okay, back in Oregon, we had a cow, we had a butter churn and knew how to use it, and yet my mom decided somewhere along the line to squeeze orange food coloring into white footballs of vegetable shortening. I'm sure she had her reasons. Come on, it sounds lovely, but milking a cow and making butter is hard work, added to raising 4 daughters, raising all our fruit and vegetables and then canning and freezing it, sewing all our clothes, and so on when you don't have much money and a husband gone all the time. So I forgive her, but oh man, butter?
I was pretty parochial about our Christmas cookies, which really didn't need butter: springerlie, vanilla strips? Well, okay the Wandering Jews did want butter, but of course they got what we called oleo. (What an awful word). But Myrtle was of the Lutheran, Swedish persuasion, so she made spritz -- which were pretty good and have joined my repertory. But the ones that converted me from the German tradition prevailing back here in Oregon were the above mentioned Melting Moments. They're so easy you can make them in minutes, and really, you just should. Here's to Mrytle Viehl.
MELTING MOMENTS
1 cup butter, softened
2/3 cup corn starch
1/3 cup powdered sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour.
Beat these things together until they form a mass. Form into balls, the size of well, bigger than marbles, smaller than golf balls. Use corn starch on your hands instead of flour to work these. Place them on cookie sheets, then flatten somewhat with a thumb dusted with the corn starch. Bake at 400 degrees, for 10 minutes. Depending on your oven, you might prefer 375 for a bit longer. Watch them carefully. You want them to be just slightly brown around the bottom edges.
Remove to a rack and cool
For the frosting:
2 TBS butter
2 TBS milk
1 cup powdered sugar
green food coloring
Melt the butter with the milk in a bowl in the micro. When bubbly, combine with the powdered sugar and food coloring. You need the food coloring or they won't be Melting Moments. Frost the cookies. Store them carefully between sheets of waxed paper and then try to protect them from the pirates living with you.
We're all tired now, so I'm going to post this and tell you about Chalupas tomorrow. You're going to want Chalupas for your New Years football-watching parties. Easy, and honestly, your guests will want the recipe too . . .
My kitchen smells this morning, not of cinnamon and cloves, but garlic and fish sauce. Merry Christmas? The pickle queens have been at it again.
But I'm not going to give you the recipe for kimchi, the Korean condiment responsible for the unlikely aromas in my house -- you will never make it, and I probably won't again. What are you supposed to do with kimchi? My cooking buddy Vik, my co-queen has munched it alongside a pastrami on rye, and stirred it into scrambled eggs, and claims it's fabulous, but I'm not there yet. We'll see.
What I have in mind today are first, cookies. Yes, I know, you think the last thing you need is another cookie recipe at this late date, but you're wrong, if you don't already have Grandma Viehl's Melting Moments.
When I met my mother-in-law, I began to understand what might be possible in the kitchen. She made an ordinary "cold meat" sandwich transcend it's limits, baked yeast rolls that pulled apart in etherial strands of a buttery sacrament . . . oh there, I said it. Butter. Okay, back in Oregon, we had a cow, we had a butter churn and knew how to use it, and yet my mom decided somewhere along the line to squeeze orange food coloring into white footballs of vegetable shortening. I'm sure she had her reasons. Come on, it sounds lovely, but milking a cow and making butter is hard work, added to raising 4 daughters, raising all our fruit and vegetables and then canning and freezing it, sewing all our clothes, and so on when you don't have much money and a husband gone all the time. So I forgive her, but oh man, butter?
I was pretty parochial about our Christmas cookies, which really didn't need butter: springerlie, vanilla strips? Well, okay the Wandering Jews did want butter, but of course they got what we called oleo. (What an awful word). But Myrtle was of the Lutheran, Swedish persuasion, so she made spritz -- which were pretty good and have joined my repertory. But the ones that converted me from the German tradition prevailing back here in Oregon were the above mentioned Melting Moments. They're so easy you can make them in minutes, and really, you just should. Here's to Mrytle Viehl.
MELTING MOMENTS
1 cup butter, softened
2/3 cup corn starch
1/3 cup powdered sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour.
Beat these things together until they form a mass. Form into balls, the size of well, bigger than marbles, smaller than golf balls. Use corn starch on your hands instead of flour to work these. Place them on cookie sheets, then flatten somewhat with a thumb dusted with the corn starch. Bake at 400 degrees, for 10 minutes. Depending on your oven, you might prefer 375 for a bit longer. Watch them carefully. You want them to be just slightly brown around the bottom edges.
Remove to a rack and cool
For the frosting:
2 TBS butter
2 TBS milk
1 cup powdered sugar
green food coloring
Melt the butter with the milk in a bowl in the micro. When bubbly, combine with the powdered sugar and food coloring. You need the food coloring or they won't be Melting Moments. Frost the cookies. Store them carefully between sheets of waxed paper and then try to protect them from the pirates living with you.
We're all tired now, so I'm going to post this and tell you about Chalupas tomorrow. You're going to want Chalupas for your New Years football-watching parties. Easy, and honestly, your guests will want the recipe too . . .
Friday, November 18, 2011
SECRET INGREDIENT NO. 2
Already getting dark and it's only 4:30? Yep, must be winter coming on. Snow down to 500 feet tonight, they say, but we've been disappointed before. In any case, we made the trip to Les Schwab for tire chains to get us across the Siskyous next week. There is always hope!
I made a very unfortunate decision to try a program called Farm to Fit this week, and Larry and I have been suffering the consequences. It's a local enterprise providing chef-cooked meals for a period of the customer's choosing, in my case, 5 days. I did this at the suggestion of my so-called trainer at the gym, and I should have considered the vast differences between her needs and mine before jumping. As in, she's a young, new mom, probably with only a slight acquaintance with the stove in her high-rise condo . . . Anyway, the food is fresh, local, and fits a profile of calories, again customer's choice.
The first two or three offerings were okay, and then the meals sank to dismal. We had to pick up the remainder of the pre-paid meals this afternoon, and performed triage on the kitchen counter -- which items could be frozen to await our return from California after Thanksgiving. And stared at the food we'll have to choke down tonight and tomorrow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Jenny Craig was never this bad! I did think it would be an easy way to get through a few exceedingly busy days. But if there's a bright side, it is the pleasure with which we look forward to leaving home on Monday morning.
To that end, I'm sending out my recipe for pie crust, with the usual preamble: I used to be able to create perfect crusts that rolled out smoothly and tasted good, and then I couldn't. I suspected a change in the composition of all-purpose flour, or atmospheric disturbance, anything but flawed technique. Finally a cooking magazine came to the rescue, Cooks Magazine, to give credit where due. This magazine, and the cookbooks they churn out have an m.o. that is sort-of interesting, sort-of annoying -- they attempt to perfect a given dish, then walk the reader through all the steps, usually including a consultation with a food scientist. On this one beautiful day, pie crust was the object of their attention. And the secret ingredient is: Vodka. Really. Here's how it goes.
Foolproof Pie Dough
2 1/2 cups (12 1/2 oz) all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
2 TBS sugar
12 TBS cold butter, cut into 1/4 inch bits
1/2 cup cold Crisco, cut into 4 pieces
1/4 cup cold Vodka
1/4 cup cold water
1. Process 1 1/2 cups flour, salt, and sugar in processor, about two 1-second pulses. Add butter and shortening and process until homogenous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 15 seconds (dough will resemble cottage cheese curds and there should be no uncoated flour.) Scrape bowl with spatula and redistribute dough evenly around processor blade. Add remaining cup flour and pulse until mix is evenly distributed around bowl and mass of dough has been broken up, 4 to 6 quick pulses. Empty mix into medium bowl.
2. Sprinkle Vodka and water over mix. With spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together (think Play-Doh) Divide dough into two even balls and flatten each into 4-inch disks. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes.
Note: This easily makes enough for 3 full-size pie-plate crusts, so if making one double crust pie, I typically would make a 2/3 size recipe. However, I learned that I can freeze the disks, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap, so usually do make the whole lot. Also, I have taken to making 6-7" pies for the two of us, and in that case, divide the dough accordingly and freeze 5 or 6 nice little disks.
The explanation of the magic is that the Vodka dissipates in the baking (you can't taste or get a buzz from it), but it allows enough liquid to make the dough easy to roll out and place on the plate. The result is a flaky, and yet beautiful crust. And no, my darlings, I haven't tried it with gin!
P.S. I don't know why Vodka always appears capitalized -- obviously proprietary, but I don't know what or who this Vodka may be.
Now, on to California! Sunshine! (Please)
I made a very unfortunate decision to try a program called Farm to Fit this week, and Larry and I have been suffering the consequences. It's a local enterprise providing chef-cooked meals for a period of the customer's choosing, in my case, 5 days. I did this at the suggestion of my so-called trainer at the gym, and I should have considered the vast differences between her needs and mine before jumping. As in, she's a young, new mom, probably with only a slight acquaintance with the stove in her high-rise condo . . . Anyway, the food is fresh, local, and fits a profile of calories, again customer's choice.
The first two or three offerings were okay, and then the meals sank to dismal. We had to pick up the remainder of the pre-paid meals this afternoon, and performed triage on the kitchen counter -- which items could be frozen to await our return from California after Thanksgiving. And stared at the food we'll have to choke down tonight and tomorrow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Jenny Craig was never this bad! I did think it would be an easy way to get through a few exceedingly busy days. But if there's a bright side, it is the pleasure with which we look forward to leaving home on Monday morning.
To that end, I'm sending out my recipe for pie crust, with the usual preamble: I used to be able to create perfect crusts that rolled out smoothly and tasted good, and then I couldn't. I suspected a change in the composition of all-purpose flour, or atmospheric disturbance, anything but flawed technique. Finally a cooking magazine came to the rescue, Cooks Magazine, to give credit where due. This magazine, and the cookbooks they churn out have an m.o. that is sort-of interesting, sort-of annoying -- they attempt to perfect a given dish, then walk the reader through all the steps, usually including a consultation with a food scientist. On this one beautiful day, pie crust was the object of their attention. And the secret ingredient is: Vodka. Really. Here's how it goes.
Foolproof Pie Dough
2 1/2 cups (12 1/2 oz) all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
2 TBS sugar
12 TBS cold butter, cut into 1/4 inch bits
1/2 cup cold Crisco, cut into 4 pieces
1/4 cup cold Vodka
1/4 cup cold water
1. Process 1 1/2 cups flour, salt, and sugar in processor, about two 1-second pulses. Add butter and shortening and process until homogenous dough just starts to collect in uneven clumps, about 15 seconds (dough will resemble cottage cheese curds and there should be no uncoated flour.) Scrape bowl with spatula and redistribute dough evenly around processor blade. Add remaining cup flour and pulse until mix is evenly distributed around bowl and mass of dough has been broken up, 4 to 6 quick pulses. Empty mix into medium bowl.
2. Sprinkle Vodka and water over mix. With spatula, use folding motion to mix, pressing down on dough until dough is slightly tacky and sticks together (think Play-Doh) Divide dough into two even balls and flatten each into 4-inch disks. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 45 minutes.
Note: This easily makes enough for 3 full-size pie-plate crusts, so if making one double crust pie, I typically would make a 2/3 size recipe. However, I learned that I can freeze the disks, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap, so usually do make the whole lot. Also, I have taken to making 6-7" pies for the two of us, and in that case, divide the dough accordingly and freeze 5 or 6 nice little disks.
The explanation of the magic is that the Vodka dissipates in the baking (you can't taste or get a buzz from it), but it allows enough liquid to make the dough easy to roll out and place on the plate. The result is a flaky, and yet beautiful crust. And no, my darlings, I haven't tried it with gin!
P.S. I don't know why Vodka always appears capitalized -- obviously proprietary, but I don't know what or who this Vodka may be.
Now, on to California! Sunshine! (Please)
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