Archive for September, 2008

Blackened Fish Tacos with Black Valentine Beans

Sunday, September 28th, 2008

So what, if what was born as an impromptu, mid-week dinner party for 8, including a Swiss Italian who was surfing through our city, consisted, in the end, of just five of us, Simon and I included, and we don’t count as guests since we live here? And what if one of the guests who did make it had a gurgling, lurching digestive tract and no interest in actually eating? What if, when I pulled the cork from the Albarino, the musty nose-alert delivered the bad news: that wine was corked? And so what then, if I accidentally scorched the pine nuts and the fan, which was shoved into the window to remedy the sudden air quality issue, shorted out and smelled worse than the burnt pignoles? The only thing that could happen next was for Grendel (feline) to expel his previously eaten meal onto the carpet, just four minutes before the first (of only 3) guest walked through the door. And what if the daylight had faded and, resigned to indoor lighting, I set the white balance on the camera incorrectly and all the photos I had taken for you, dear readers, came out fuzzy and orange?

So what? Those fish tacos sure were tasty.

And in the end we got to meet our Couch-Surfing Italian from Lugano, Switzerland, which was the real reason the dinner party was called together in the first place.

Do you all know about Couch Surfing? Our friend Amy introduced us to it, and what a fantastic idea — world travelers, unite! Couch Surfing’s self-declared mission is to improve the world, one couch at a time. Here’s how it works: when you sign up and create a profile, you can offer to host travelers who are coming to your corner of the world. This can be as casual as meeting them for coffee and giving them some good tourism tips, or you can extend your couch (or spare bedroom) to them and let them stay in your home. You also have the opportunity to surf other people’s couches when you travel.

Gianni was a physics-degreed, applied engineering Ph.D.ed, artificial intelligence engineer who was surfing at Amy’s while he attended a conference so intellectually out of my bounds that I can’t even tell you what it was about. Robots or something.  Or as Gianni describes himself, “I am a scientist, cooking up my brain with bio-inspired algorithms, collective intelligence, robotics, mobile networks…”.  Plus he likes food and wine.

Here’s a photo of Simon and Gianni, geeking out.

He was so delightful, and the concept so cool, that Simon and I signed up. And next week we’ll be hosting our first traveler, a Danish journalist who is here to cover the vice-presidential debates. When Simon and I are traveling later in the year, we’re planning to surf a couch or two.

The Recipe
We served Gianni the most un-Italian food we could think of: fish tacos. If he wasn’t being polite then his appetite indicates that he found the meal pleasing. The Albarino got switched out for a Shiraz, which worked just fine since the fish – and the tomatillo salsa – had a sturdy spiciness.

I used one of my favorite beans: Black Turtle beans. Those of you who have been reading for awhile (and have stellar memories) may cry foul, since I used Black Valentine Beans before, for the cupcakes. But those were Black Valentine Pole Beans, you see, and these are bush beans, harvested right out of my backyard. These taste quite similar to the pole beans – shiny and rich with definite chocolate overtones (making them ideal for Latin food), but they grow so much more efficiently in the garden. Next year I may do all bush beans…

I’m fond of secret ingredients, and this blackened fish has one: allspice. Though it’s traditionally a baking spice, this has a real role in savory dishes. In fact, its pen name is Jamaican pepper. The dried, ground berry from a Caribbean tree, it has a sharp, pungent, yet unexpectedly sweet flavor. Its name comes from the fact that it has hints of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and black pepper.

I made up a big batch of my tomatillo salsa, and it was the perfect match for these tacos. It added a sauce to otherwise dry ingredients, and the lime and citrusy-tomatillo flavors complimented the blackened fish without diluting its flavor. Click here for the recipe.

Blackened Red Snapper Tacos with Tomatillo Salsa and Black Valentine Beans
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 teaspoon cumin powder
½ teaspoon allepo (or cayenne) flakes
¼ teaspoon ancho powder
1/8 teaspoon coriander
¼ teaspoon sharp paprika powder
¼ teaspoon allspice
Salt and black pepper to taste

2 cloves garlic, sliced
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 pounds fresh red snapper, thawed
Juice of 1 lime

2 cups tomatillo salsa
1 cup Black Valentine (or other black) beans
1 cup Monterey Jack or sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
Capers
1/2 cup cilantro, coarsely chopped

Sour cream for garnish

10 soft corn tortillas for tacos, or ready-made taco shells

Combine cumin seeds and powder, alleppo and ancho, coriander, paprika, salt, pepper and allspice in a mortar or small bowl. Stir well.

In mortar, pound the garlic into a paste.

In large skillet, heat ½ tablespoon of the olive oil. Stir in half the spice mixture and the garlic. Cook until the garlic is translucent, stirring often, about five minutes. Remove paste from skillet.

Rub fish with 1/2 tablespoon oil. Cut 3 to 4 diagonal slashes on each side. Use half the spice paste to rub into slashes and cavity of fish. Sprinkle remaining dry spice mix onto the fish and rub well.  Set aside 15 minutes.

Prehate oven to 500 degrees. Place fish on a foil-lined baking sheet and drizzle with one tablespoon of the olive oil. Bake fish for 15 minutes, then turn off the oven and let fish reamin inside for another 10 minutes. Peel off skin and cut fish into small pieces. Squeeze the juice of the lime over the fish pieces.

If using the fresh tortillas (for soft tacos), steam them or microwave them for one miutes, until warm and soft. Fill the tortillas or taco shells with a mixture of the fish, black beans, cheese, capers and tomatillo salsa.  Garnish with sour cream and fresh cilantro, and serve.

I might miss a shot, but you don’t have to miss a post: Subscribe Now to Becky and the Beanstock!

Accessories for Soup

Wednesday, September 17th, 2008
crouton.jpg purple-basil207.jpg

Right now, you might be tempted to call me a tease. I promised you two mid-week recipes that would elevate minestrone soup from rustic to royal, and here you are, looking at pictures of croûtons. And basil??

Oh, reader. Trust me.

crouton2.jpg

It’s all semantic anyway. I mean, the word croûton doesn’t evoke a lot, but… try these, okay? These should be called something else. They have such sharpness, such… cheekiness, really. Even insolence. Alone, they’re almost too much. Almost. But scoop a big spoonful of minestrone, top it with one of these crunchy cats, and the flavors become a song  in your mouth, no, a symphony, with base and top notes that hum parallel yet distinct from one another.

It’s all just words until you try it yourself. So try it.

soup2.jpg

Next we get to the basil. I’ll admit, I was inspired to try this when I had fried sage leaves perched on pasta at a recent wine pairing dinner. I’ll also admit, when I tried the same with basil, at first disappointed. Ocimum basilicum doesn’t cook up the way sage does. A lot of the flavor can be lost, whereas with sage, the leaves are so thick and nearly indestructible – the effect is much different.

But then I noticed something with the basil. If you fry it very quickly – 10 or 12 seconds – it gets crispy, delicate, even autumn leaf-like, but some of the fresh, piney flavor hangs on. Though there’s not much square footage between the two, there’s a striking contrast between the crumbling outside and the potent inside. When the basil leaves are still hot, sprinkle with a touch of fine salt. This brings out the full spectrum of flavors hiding in each tiny leaf.

fried-basil.jpg

Float them on the soup, along with a crouton or two, and, well, you’ll see.

The Recipes

Punch-You-in-the-Mouth (in a good way) Asiago Pepper Croutons
3 tablespoons olive oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
4 3/4-inch-thick rustic bread slices, torn into bite-sized pieces*
1/2 cup freshly grated Asiago, the sharper the better
Cracked black pepper, generously applied, plus a smidge more
Fine sea salt

*note, you can cheat and use Asiago Pepper Cheese Bread, as sold by Trader Joe’s. You’ll still want to add the cheese though

Preheat oven to 350°F.

In a skillet, heat 3 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add garlic and thyme and sauté until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Add bread pieces and ¼ cup of the Asiago. Season with a generous portion of cracked black pepper, and stir to coat all the bread.

Spread bread on rimmed baking sheet. Sprinkle again with pepper and some salt. Bake for about 10 minutes, then add the remaining ¼ cup of Asiago, stirring again to coat. Bake another 10 minutes, or until croutons and cheese are golden.

golden-croutons.jpg

Fried Salted Basil Leaves

I like to use the red basil, because of the way it takes on red and green streaks when it’s fried. Left too long in the oil it will lose all the ruby color; left even longer, it will get it back and then some, turning black. Don’t do that!

Wash the basil leaves and gently dry them on a paper towel.

In a skillet, heat enough olive oil to coat the bottom of the pan, just deep enough to cover the basil leaves. When oil is hot enough that a droplet of water makes it sizzle, it’s ready. As quickly as you can, lay the basil leaves in the oil, covering the surface without letting them touch. Let them cook for 12 seconds. You may want to flip them gently, but if the oil is deep enough it’s not necessary.

Remove them from the heat. If the leaves are not crispy they need just a few more seconds, but watch carefully because it’s easy to overdo them and lose all the flavor. Lay the basil on a plate and sprinkle with a bit of salt. Use immediately.

Ladle up a big bowl of Minestrone, top with a few croutons and a leaf or two of basil. There, what did I tell you?

Accessorize your reci-pize: Never Miss a Post. Subscribe Now to Becky and the Beanstock.

Can-Anything-Else-Fit-in-This-Pot Minestrone with Two Heirloom Beans

Sunday, September 14th, 2008

minestrone2.jpg

(Vegetarian, vegan option, gluten-free option)

Stock. Such a comforting word, a satisfying word. Stock means a full cupboard.  It’s a dependable supply, a freezer rich with the building blocks of a dozen staple dishes.  It’s the ability to weather any storm or vagary of climate.

It’s satisfying to make too, stock is. Collecting the vegetable trimmings that would otherwise wither and rot, the celery leaf and the broccoli stems.  Teetering to reach the heavy stainless stock pot sitting atop the pot rack, so high it practically grazes the ceiling.  Mixing the aromatics with the sweet roots and the soft greens for a balanced, flavorful broth. And when the stock is steaming in that pot, breathing in the herbaceous cloud of moisture that rises each time you can’t resist lifting the lid.  It’s seeing that now, at a moment’s notice, you can whisk from the freezer a small container that will save the day.

Heady stuff, that stock.  And reliable too. It’s the perfect love.

broth2.jpg

The weather here is changing. The days are brief, sun-kissed and warm, but when night steals in it demands the use of blankets. One fleeting morning, very early, I spied my breath. And then in the wake of all the coastal hurricanes, those scouring winds and battering rains that come tearing from the south! Those days, it seems as if a solid grey lid were placed snugly above our heads.

What to eat during these unpredictable times?

Here’s another favorite word: Minestrone.  I don’t know how it translates, but I’d bet my last fresh tomato that it means “whatever vegetables are in the garden today”.  It could also mean “could anything else possibly fit in this pot?” Whatever it literally means, when minestrone is on the stove I know I’ve got at least a week of “can my belly get any happier?”

There are endless variations on this Italian staple.  The only non-negotiable ingredients, as far as I can tell, are tomatoes and beans.

In my kitchen, minestrone is a four-season soup – light and festive enough to be a mainstay during summer’s plenty, yet warm enough to soothe an unruly throat or to warm a chilled bone. And if you happen to work in one of those offices that keep the temperature set for “jacket attire”, let lunch be your warming hour. Throw in a homemade roll and minestrone becomes a dish sturdy enough to hold its own against anything winter wishes to scare up.

veggies-cooking.jpg

And so we come back to stock. Because any soup, and especially a vegetarian one, is only as good as the broth it’s boiled in.

I owe you all a couple of recipes. I’ve been unexpectedly away from home.  It has been a summer of unexpected things, and I have missed my pots and pans, my garden and my beanstock project.  Set loose at last in my own  kitchen, I spent a day gleefully neglecting everything else that had piled up while I was away and instead reacquainted myself with the rhythms of my normal life. I cooked up a soupy storm.

The first thing to hit the chopping block was a full head of garlic. Purple-streaked, pungent, peppery:  home. As I cooked up a turbulent cacophony of smells, a real storm, the tattered remnants of Ike, wailed outside. Simon sidled up to me in the kitchen. “Mmmm,’ he said, “you are home.  It smells good in here again.”

I thought of you while I was away. To make up for my absence, I’ve got two recipes on the serving platter.

Yes, first you’ll get my favorite stock recipe. I’m sorry that it’s not simple, but some of the best things require dedication.This stock incorporates the sweet fullness of roasted veggies; this adds time and steps, but it’s so worth it. So. Completely.  It’s even better if, like me, you make up a big batch and freeze it in small quantities – enough for when you next yen for a bowl of soup or a plate of wild rice (because stock is great for cooking grains too).

And then I’m going to take that stock to its next evolution as, you guessed it,  minestrone. The minestrone features two heirloom beans – almost two recipes  in and of itself. Friends again?

What’s this you say? No?  It’s not enough? I suppose you’re right. Come back midweek, then, and I’ll see what I can do. How about two garnishes that transport this soup from comforting to elegant? And guess what? Both of these are easy.

The recipes

Over the years I’ve learned the importance of balancing types of vegetables for the right flavor.  Root veggies like onion, garlic and carrots add a rounded sweetness, while leafy and green veggies like celery tops, parsley and peppers bring aroma and, well, green-ness.  Roasting intensifies the flavors and gives a fuller mouthfeel to the soup base.

I’ve also come to understand that vegetables have only so much flavor to give up, and if you cook them past that point, they turn a tad bitter. Timing is crucial.

A note about ingredients. You can use just about anything, but as I mentioned above, you need a good mix of both root and green ingredients. Stock is also a forum for experimentation. For example, I wish I could like sunchokes.

sunchoke.jpg

Also called Jerusalem artichokes, these funny little ginger-looking knobs are rich in fiber, protein, and iron. A Native American food, they were a staple in the American Indian diet and are now being studied for their role in managing blood sugar in diabetics.

But no matter, because to me they just taste waxy. I roasted a few in my stock, and the waxy flavor is much less prominent, instead lending the stock a nutty, meaty flavor. This is further enhanced by the mushrooms.

Vegetarian Roasted Vegetable Stock
(Vegetarian, Vegan, Gluten-free)
This recipe can be doubled

roasted-veggies.jpg

2 sunchokes (also known as Jerusalem artichokes)
4 carrots
2 large celery ribs, including the leafy tops
1 large red onion, peeled
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup mushrooms, any variety
1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and halved (optional)
2 potatoes

12 cups water

1 cup fresh parsley
1 cup fresh mushrooms
2 cloves garlic
2 celery ribs, leaves and all
2 bay leaves

Preheat oven to 430.

Cut all ingredients except jalapeno into large chunks. Spread evenly in a baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil, salt and fresh ground pepper. Splash with red wine or red wine vinegar, and stir. Place in oven and roast about 40 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes. Roast until veggies are fragrant and softly browned. Remove from oven.

Transfer veggies to a stock pot. Add the water and the unroasted vegetables (parsley, unroasted celery, mushrooms and garlic). Add the bay leaves. Bring water to a boil, then turn down to medium low heat. Cover the pot and simmer for 40 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Strain the liquid, removing as much from the veggies as you can. Season with salt and pepper if necessary. Reserve whatever you won’t use right away in containers for freezing.

broth11.jpg

Minestrone with Fresh Blue Lake Beans and Dried Amethyst Beans
(Also known as “Can Anything Else Possibly Fit in this Pot” Stew)

We’ve already established that minestrone can consist of whatever’s hanging off the vine on the day you want to make soup. If that’s so, though, then what makes it minestrone?

To begin with, it’s the tomatoes. Minestrone always has a vaguely tomatoed broth – not quite what you’d call a tomato base, merely a suggestion of acid, with soft tomato pieces floating in the mix. They can be so fleeting that you wonder if you’re seeing things, but the flavor is unmistakable.

Then there are beans. Italians are fond of their beans, and minestrone always has dried beans and depending on the season, fresh ones too. Traditionally the dried beans are cannellinis, but just as often kidneys get stirred in. In this version, I’m using the last of my fresh green beans from the garden, the Blue Lake Bush heirloom bean. For dried, we’ve got Amethyst Beans.

amethyst-beans.jpg

(A few words about the heirlooms. The amethyst is a jewel-purple pebble of a bean.  Bought for eating from Purcell Mountain Farms, its oval shape plumps up to nearly round in the soup, and it yields a creamy, lightly fruity flavor that pairs well with the tomatoes. The Lake Bush green bean seeds were purchased from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. The vibrant, dark, narrow bean has been around for more than 50 years. The compact bushes grow heavy with beans that are crisp, bright and maintain their crunch when cooked.)

blue-lake-beans.jpg

Lastly, minestrone is minestrone because of the seasonings. From the aromatic garlic to the delicate parsley and basil, real minestrone has a signature flavor. Don’t forget to dot the i in minestrone — grate a bit of fresh parmesan on top just before serving.

Minestrone
(Vegetarian, Vegan option, Gluten-free option)

¼ cup olive oil
½ large red onion, diced
4 large cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried basil
½ teaspoon dried thyme
½ teaspoon dried oregano
2 medium red potatoes, unpeeled and diced
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 small zucchini, peeled and diced
1 cup baby portabella mushrooms, sliced
10 cups roasted vegetable stock (or other vegetable stock)
14 ounces stewed tomatoes in their juice
Rind from Parmesan or Romano cheese (if you have one)
1 ½ cups cooked Amethyst beans, or other red beans
1 cup broken up bits of whole wheat pasta
a large handful of Blue Lake green beans, or other fresh beans
1 cup chopped Swiss Chard
½ cup fresh parsley, chopped
½ cup fresh basil, chopped

*Note: For vegan option, omit the Parmesan topping. For gluten-free option, omit the pasta

In a large stock pot, heat the olive oil. Add onion, garlic, and dried basil, thyme and oregano and  sauté for three minutes. Add the potato and celery and stir. Cook for another 2 minutes. Stir in the bell pepper and zucchini and cook another minute.  Add mushrooms, stir, and cook for one minute longer.

Add the roasted vegetable stock, the cheese rind if using, and the canned tomatoes and their juice. Cover the pot and bring to a soft boil. Add the Amethyst (dry) beans.  Reduce to a soft simmer and cook until potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes. Add the broken pasta pieces (this gives the soup a creamy texture) and the Blue Lake (green) beans. Cook for another 7 minutes.

Add the Swiss Chard, the parsley and the basil. Cook for four minutes longer. Taste and adjust for salt and pepper. Remove the cheese rind.

Spoon into bowls, and if desired, grate fresh Parmesan cheese on top just before serving.And don’t forget, later this week I’ll post recipes for two garnishes that transport this soup to the next level — you’ve got my word!

Never Miss a Word: Subscribe Now to Becky and the Beanstock!

Beans in a Bag (with “Bacon” and ‘bellas)

Monday, September 1st, 2008

brown-bag1.jpg

(Vegetarian, gluten-free option, vegan option)

For a moment the other day, I had the fleeting sensation of having jacked into a different demographic, that of the current day yuppie – smug, urban, economically carefree, and oblivious. Because, at the end of an article I was reading on the relationship between the current economic crisis and Americans’ lunching habits, there was posed this question: Do you brown bag your lunch now more than you did two years ago? My answer was no. The economic downturn has not in the least impacted the course of my lunch hour.

Then I had to acknowledge that it’s only because I’ve brown bagged it nearly every day for the majority of my tenure in the workplace, and for no reason more so than this one: I like my food better.

Tell me what restaurant offers a lunchtime ramekin bubbling with Golden Sunset Tomato Tart with (giant fordhook) Chard and Fresh Mozzarella? Brown bagging it gives me the opportunity to relive a fine meal the day after. And, if I’m lucky, the day after that too. It guarantees me fresh produce in a fast-food culture where the best most chains can offer is a speckled banana or a dimpled orange of unknown origin. Then there are the jealous glances I get when I’ve got Butternut Squash and Hazelnut Lasagna in the microwave.

tomato-tart.jpg

Okay, and then there’s this: I work on a university campus, and if I leave mid-day there’s no chance I’ll ever find a parking spot when I return. So, most noons see me happily munching in.

But there’s another kind of “brown-bagging it” – the food that’s meant to be eaten right out of the bag. At dinner the other night, some friends were talking about Frito chili. Most often enjoyed at ballgames, they say, the concessionaire hands you a bag of Fritos and a spoon, and then unceremoniously dumps a cup of chili into the bag. This is a new one on me but I love this – probably because it somehow makes a case for the Frito Burrito. Of course, then there’s fish and chips, British style. During his years in London, Simon claims to have eaten the majority of his meals out of a makeshift newspaper envelope, with malt vinegar liberally splattered on top. I’ve also seen recipes for mini-loaves of bread, baked, buttered and bitten into, all in a Kraft paper bag.

The bag itself is the appeal, I think. It brings the same sort of illicit thrill that kids get when they’re allowed to eat outside even though there’s no picnic – the food just tastes better. Besides, it’s functional. Bags hold flavor in until just the right moment, when the bag is finally vented and the heady fragrance comes steaming upward. It’s a poor comparison, I know, but think of that smell that mushrooms out of a bag of microwave-popped corn. Intense.

beans.jpg

So I thought, why not bake beans in a bag? I had some lovely, almost neon-green Old Homestead Kentucky Wonder beans just begging to be bagged. For substance, I threw in some Portobello mushrooms and a slice of veggie bacon (those of you who are gluten-intolerant and not opposed to meat will have to do the real thing; I suppose prosciutto would work well too. I wonder how the Bacon of Fish would taste here? Ah, that’s an experiment for another time). And for flavor, I collected cuttings of herbs from the garden and tossed them in wholesale. I was amazed at how deep the herby flavors were, then, even though I pulled out the stemmed cuttings before eating.

To create the steam that will cook your veggies, you need some liquid inside the bag. I experimented. In half of them, I used an old red wine that was sitting in my pantry – it’s probably safe to say, since this batch tasted fine, that vinegar would work (the wine was that old). For the other half, I used dry white wine. Whichever you use, wash your beans and shrooms just before putting them in the wax paper – the residual water, combined with the oil and wine, will be exactly what you need.

rolls.jpg

And before we get to the recipe, a bit on the beans. As I said, they’re Old Homestead Kentucky Wonders. Introduced in 1864, the Kentucky Wonder is a standard heirloom bean that has managed to hang on and remain commercially in demand – it’s even sold through Burpee. I got mine from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds, and they were one of the first green beans to be ready in my garden this year. The bean is also sometimes referred to as Texas Pole.

*Note: Morningstar Bacon is not vegan; for a vegan option, skip the bacon and use a dash of liquid smoke

The Recipe

Old Homestead Kentucky Wonder Beans in a Bag, with “Bacon” and ‘bellas and Herb Bundles
Makes 4 large bags

4 slices Morningstar Veggie Bacon (or, you know, the real thing if you don’t mind meat)*
10 ounces portabella mushrooms, sliced and stems discarded
1 pound Old Homestead Kentucky Wonder beans (or other fresh green beans)
Several sprigs of fresh thyme, rosemary and marjoram
4 bay leaves
Sea salt
Fresh ground black pepper
Extra virgin olive oil
Red or white wine (or mild vinegar)

beans-in-bag.jpg

herb-bundle.jpg

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Tear four pieces from a roll of parchment paper, about 16 x 16 each. Lay one piece of parchment paper on a work surface, and place on slice of Morningstar bacon just to the left of center. Add 3 or 4 mushroom slices and a handful of the beans (1/4th of them). Top with a couple sprigs each of rosemary, thyme and marjoram, and one bay leaf. Drizzle with olive oil, then sprinkle with salt and fresh pepper. Fold up your wax paper like an envelope, first folding up the bottom, then folding in each side, then rolling it over several times. Just before closing, sprinkle in a dash of red or white wine (or vinegar). Then close the bag by rolling over one more time and place it seam side down on a baking tray. Repeat with other three pieces of parchment paper.

Bake for 15 minutes. Serve immediately, but don’t open the bags until you’re ready to eat – the herb-scented steam will come rushing out as a prelude to the flavors that await.

The Recipes are in the Bag! Never miss one: Subscribe Now to Becky and the Beanstock.