Archive for November, 2008

Cherry Oatmeal Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Wednesday, November 26th, 2008

That scent. Warm and sweet and having the power to make you believe that all is right within the world: brown sugar. Specifically, brown sugar baking, at about, oh, 350 degrees. The heat emanating from the oven is itself a smell, and a memory, of fiercely cold nights made gentle by the pungent spiciness of cinnamon, the kitchen cat curled, ever hopeful, on the stool in the corner, the creak of the oven door, the windows rattling slightly but holding steady against the railing outside, while steam rises inside. Winter baking is the essence of comfort.

Then take oatmeal, solid and dependable and straightforward, flecking the dough throughout. The finished cookies with their crispy edges and pillowy centers. Throw in some dried sweet cherries (since raisins aren’t my favorite), a double dose of pure vanilla extract, maybe a bit of dark chocolate if you’re feeling impudent. Give me only this on a sleet-spitting night and I’ll be content.

And then there’s the secret ingredient.

(Are you expecting me to tell you that there are heirloom beans in these cookies? There aren’t. Not this week anyway…)

Today we’ve got toasted heirloom jungle peanuts. Please. We already established awhile ago, when I used the lentils, that I was allowed some leniency with the beans now that we’re at the close of the year (though, truth told, I could get through another year with heirloom beans). Even so, this is really pushing it because the jungle peanut is not a bean, nor a pea, and not a nut either. Let’s call them, shall we then, alternative beans. Or non-traditional beans. Technically-not-beans. Call them what you will, but you’ll be glad I used these instead of Jacob’s Cattle.

The jungle peanut hangs close on the family tree to the Planter’s Honey-roasted.  What then, botanically speaking, is a peanut? In the botanical sense, the fruit of the peanut plant, though used like a nut, is a legume, belonging to the Fabaceae family (does anyone out there know Latin and want to tell me how to pronounce that, and other botanical words ending with the eae? I’d really want to know). The word pea refers to the edible seed of many plants in that family, and so in that sense it’s sort of like a pea, though technically not.

This Latin semantic maze could wind on and on like a leguminosae tendril, so let me make the seminal point: they taste good in cookies. But first a bit of history.

These heirloom jungle nuts are an ancient variety of peanut which is cultivated in Ecuador by communities of the Achuar Indians (who, among other things, have as their claim to fame the highest murder rate on the planet. This is a fascinating article about that). There are no roads going into this part of the Amazon, and the nuts, which are hand-harvested, then flown or shipped out, represent the Achuar’s only income source.

The big appeal of these nuts, aside from their meaty, earthy, rich flavor and their ability to stay crunchy even after they’ve been cooked, is that they are aflatoxin free. Aflatoxins are the toxic substances, made by molds, that are commonly found on the American peanut. The jungle nuts also contain 26% protein and all 8 of the essential amino acids, making it a complete protein at that. They contain a high percentage of Oleic acid (the fatty acid that gives olive oil it’s healthy kick).

There are lots of places to buy them online, but if you live in a large city, chances are good that you’ll also be able to snag them at (or special order them through) your health food store.

But I promised you a cookie recipe, didn’t I?

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. May yours be filled with warm kitchens, tables surrounded by family and friends, and traditions both new and old.

Cherry Oatmeal Chocolate Chunk Cookies with Heirloom Jungle Peanuts

Makes approx 4 dozen

1 cup butter
1 ¼ cups brown sugar, firmly packed
2 eggs
2 teaspoons double-strength vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon Vietnamese cinnamon (available at Penzey’s)
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 cups oats
1 cup dried cherries
1 cup toasted heirloom jungle peanuts
10 ounces dark chocolate chunks

Preheat oven to 350°.

Heat skillet on medium high heat. Pour jungle nuts into the pan and toast them, shaking the pan frequently, until they begin to brown and smell toasted. Allow to cool.

Beat butter and brown sugar together until creamy. Add eggs one at a time, mixing after each addition. Stir in vanilla.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Add to the butter mixture, ½ cup at a time, being careful not to over-mix. Gently stir in oats, cherries, jungle nuts and chocolate.

For a firmer cookie that holds its shape, refrigerate dough for 45 minutes. If you like cookies that spread slightly and get crispy at the edges, then you’re ready now to drop dough by tablespoonfuls onto parchment-lined baking sheets. Bake for 12-13 minutes, or until bottom edges are lightly browned. Cool on pans for a few minutes, noting that cookies will continue to bake for awhile after they are retrieved from the oven, so time it accordingly. Let cool completely on wire racks.



Roasted Cauliflower Bisque with Mystery Heirloom Beans

Wednesday, November 19th, 2008

Now that we’re into coat weather here, I’ve adopted my winter route around campus. Down hidden hallways and out through the backdoors, shuffling along in the shadow of tall buildings, looping the long way, around the field and under the bridge.

This serves a handful of purposes.  The towering brick buildings shield me from the worst of the howling gales (St. Louis, after all, is known for its ability to generate wind power). Plus, the backside routes keep me off the radar of the petitioners. I work on a university campus – there are always referendums and protests to pen my name to. Oh, I’m a champion for social change, please don’t think otherwise. But this election season was interminable. I need a break.

That’s how I got the inspiration for this recipe, by walking across campus via the winter route, in one of those strange events that can only happen in an urban setting.  Here’s how it went:

I emerged from the backside of our library and was congratulating myself for looking at the backs of the petitioners du jour (which meant that they hadn’t seen me, or if they had, I was too far away to interest them), when a man stepped in front of me and blocked my path.

“Can I borrow a buck so I can buy a bowl of bisque?” he asked, though his tone made it more of a statement than a question.

How very iambic, I thought, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the alliteration. “A quite creative request for a cup of… chowder,” I quipped.  It was the best I could do on short notice. “Coming from a class on Kipling?”  He didn’t smile.

Homeless or a student? In his baggy jeans, faded sweater with the wrinkled cotton cuffs underneath, the faded satchel, lopsided knit cap and the flip flops (despite the cold and overcast sky), it was hard to say. Many of the students look homeless and hungry – it’s in style. Of course, if not on a college campus then where would you expect your panhandlers to be poets? And food snobs? I shrugged good-naturedly and fished around in my pockets.

Later I realized that he probably did use my buck for a bowl of bisque, since tomato bisque was one of the soups of the day in the campus cafeteria.

And that’s how I got bisque on the brain. Well, that and all those butternut squash and sweet potatoes lying around my kitchen. Not to mention that I had a crisper drawer harboring the remains of the cheddar cauliflower from last week. You didn’t think I’d let that go to waste, did you?


Before I get to the recipe, I have to admit that today’s bean is a puzzle, and any help out there is welcome. See, my beans went wild in the garden this year, refusing to stay in the neat little square feet I’d methodically marked out with string early in the spring. No, instead they seemed to explode horizontally, weaving in and out of each others’ reaching tendrils, snagging on poles willy-nilly and otherwise refusing to acquiesce to my need for order. So when harvest came, I picked a cacophony of dried beans and threw them all in a big box. I’ve been sorting them as I can, but I can’t really tell what’s what and somewhere along the way, my nice neat garden markers got swallowed.

In other words, I have no idea what kind of heirloom bean this is. Do any of you?

In any case, they were creamy, sweet, and made a nice addition to this roasted cauliflower bisque.

The Recipe

Roasted Cauliflower and Mystery Bean Bisque
1 head cheddar cauliflower (white will, of course, suffice)
½ cup broccoli florets
1 medium yellow potato, peeled
5 garlic cloves
1 small yellow onion
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 ½ cups cooked mystery heirloom beans (or, if, like me, you don’t know what they are, white beans)
5 cups vegetable broth
1 cup water
3 teaspoons finely chopped fresh thyme leaves (or 1 ½ tsp dried)
1 bay leaf
generous amount of black pepper, to taste
½ teaspoon salt
2 cups heavy cream
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 425°F.  Divide cauliflower head into flowerets.  Chop the potato and onion into chunks. Remove papery skin from each garlic clove.  Place all the ingredients into a roasting pan, then drizzle with olive oil, salt and pepper. Stir well to coat all the veggies, and roast in middle of oven about 30 minutes, or until the edges are beginning to brown.

Heat broth and water in a large stock pot. Remove the broccoli florets from the roasted vegetables. When boiling, reduce to a simmer and add roasted veggies, the beans, thyme and the bay leaf. Let simmer for30 minutes, or until the veggies have become tender. Remove the bay leaf and then, in a blender , puree soup mixture in batches until it is smooth. Add a bit more water if you prefer a thinner soup, then transfer the soup back to the stockpot. While soup is hot (but not boiling), stir in the grated Parmesan and the cream. Stir, then taste and adjust the salt and pepper as necessary. If soup has cooled, heat again just until well warmed, but be careful not to let it boil or the cream will curdle. Garnish with broccoli florets and additional pepper and Parmesan. Serve hot.

Korma with Multi-colored Cauliflower and Spanish Pardina Lentils

Wednesday, November 12th, 2008

The sum total of my cooking efforts this time look like something that oozed out of a soggy… well, I’m not going to say it. I’ll thank you not to say it either (and Benj, whoever you are, that especially means you).

Of course, any Lazy Boy philosopher will insist that things of any significance are always more than the sum of their parts. Then there are the kitchen photographers like me, who come to understand that sometimes the prettiest things are the least photogenic. Somehow those odd ducks are inevitably the tastiest.

I’m not quite ready to show you what a spoonful of my korma, dumped over rice, looked like. I have to sell you on it first. Hence, the cauliflower as the headline photo, because any way you shoot it, this stuff is gorgeous. It’s one of the parts that make up the korma.

Summer produce season is long past, and the autumn crops are beginning to wind down too. Our local farmer’s markets have gone into winter mode, convening just once a month instead of each Saturday. It’s a real adjustment for me. This past weekend, however, the Tower Grove Farmer’s Market had their first winter pantry, and there were still plenty of vibrant veggies to be nabbed. Including the delightfully freakish cauliflower.

These were a new one on me; when I cut into the orange head, I even wondered if it was manufactured, because the yellow runs up the stalks, the way something soaked in food coloring might look.

But no, these are bona fide varieties, The yellow one, called ‘Cheddar’ is the result of a naturally occurring mutation that first showed up in strains of Canadian cauliflower. It’s not just a pretty face; ‘Cheddar’ cauliflower contains a stunning 25 times more Vitamin A than the white varieties. The ‘Purple Cape’ gets its color from the valuable antioxidant group anthocyanin, which is what gives red wine (and purple cabbage, blood oranges, etc) both its color and its nutritional punch.

Now it’s time for a brief semantic debate. Lentils are not beans, you say? You are correct (I’m not in the mood to fight). Not beans, but they do belong to the family.  That is, they are leguminosae but not phaseolus. Eh, cut me some slack. We’re getting to the end of the year here.

These Spanish Pardina Lentils were procured from Purcell Mountain Farms. Tiny and pebble-like when dry, these legumes take nearly 45 minutes to cook, which is a pretty long time for lentils. They’re nutty and sharp, with a hint of black pepper on the finish, and they hold their color and shape after they come out of the pot.

Lentils, cauliflower. Combine that with cold, gray and off-and-on damp weather (just the kind I love. Yes, there’s something wrong with me) and it seems that the only suitable food stuff to bring you this week is Indian food stuff.

What is korma, you ask? I wish I could say, but I’m not sure. To avoid any bad korma though, I must give credit where it’s due, to the woman who would know: this recipe is a heavily modified version of the one found at One Hot Stove. Nupur (the blog’s author) taught my friend Amy and me how to make genuine Indian food earlier this year, including this dish. Nupur insists that Indian cuisine is “simple, really”, and it seemed that way too when we were cooking under her supervision. Left to my own devices, things were less efficient. I’m not complaining though – it was exactly what I needed. This is slow food at its best.

I spent half a day grinding, cutting, stirring, pouring, pounding and peeling, soaking in the warmth of the kitchen while mist formed on the windows, making the damp cold outside seem ever more formidable. If it seems like a lot of work, know that you’ll end up with a quantity large enough to feed yourself and your neighbors for a week.

Indian cooking is deeply satisfying. You get to play the alchemist and combine strange spices.

Then there’s the release, as you take all your recent disappointments, annoyances and fears and pound them into one ginger-garlic paste.

Because the flavors are so potent and strong, you get to use whatever lovely vegetables are in season, or in your fridge, and it’s all good. It’s subtle enough that each ingredient shines; at the same time, if you wanted to, you could probably get away with hiding something offensive, like okra, in the mix.  Don’t worry, I didn’t.

Korma is a changeling in the mouth, shifting from sweet, savory, hot and spicy notes for a, well a sum total, if you will, that nearly spontaneously combusts on the tongue.

So. Promise me that you won’t leave any comments that make me cry.

You do promise?

Right, then. Here’s what my korma with lentils looked like.

Here’s hoping that yours is even half as homely.

Korma with Multi-colored Cauliflower and Spanish Pardina Lentils

2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 large onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons garlic-ginger paste (equal parts fresh ginger and garlic, mashed to a paste in a molcajete).
1 red bell pepper, diced
2 cups winter squash, cubed
2 cups ‘purple cape’ and ‘cheddar’ cauliflower (or white cauliflower), cut into small florets
1 medium carrot, diced small
1 1/2 C tomato puree
1 cup frozen green peas
1 ½ cups Spanish Pardina lentils, cooked
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1 generous teaspoon red pepper flakes (the Scoville scale is up to you)
salt to taste
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 cup almonds
1 generous tablespoon poppy seeds
1 teaspoon kasuri methi *
2 teaspoons garam masala (easy enough to buy, but an even better recipe is below)
¾ cup heavy cream (optional) *note  — I often use greek nonfat yogurt instead, the effect is the same and the fat is deleted
Brown basmati rice (optional)

* I wish I could tell you what makes this herb so special. All I know is that Nupur told me to buy it, and it smells like fennel, dried grass, maple syrup, and something familiar yet far away. It adds a flavor that is almost wholly not found in home cooking, and I’ve become something of an addict. I found it at our local international foods grocery store – honestly, if you can’t find it, I’ll send you some.  But if you use it, be sparing, as it has a distinct presence that can easily be overdone.

To make the almond-poppy seed paste, in a skillet, roast the cashews and poppy seeds until toasted and slightly darkened. Cool for about 10 minutes, then grind in a coffee bean grinder or blender. Set aside.


Add the oil to the same pan. Heat oil on medium-high flame, then add the onion, garlic and ginger-garlic paste. Cook, stirring often, until the mixture is translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the winter squash and carrot and cook for another 5 minutes. Add the cauliflower, and bell pepper and fry for a couple minutes more.

Add turmeric, red chili flakes, salt and half the garam masala mix. Stir around until the spices are aromatic. Stir in the peas, tomato puree, and sugar and heat until warmed. Add the almond-poppy seed paste and stir well. Add 2-3 cups of water, the kasuri methi, and the remaining garam masala and stir well. Simmer for 15-20 minutes on medium-low heat, stirring now and then.

Stir in the lentils and cook another minute or two, until heated through. If using cream, stir this in and warm it gently, being careful not to let it boil or curdle.

Spoon mixture over brown rice and marvel at your accomplishment.

Garam Masala
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon whole cardamom seeds (note: not the pods)
3 teaspoons cumin seeds

In a spice grinder, combine the cinnamon, cloves and cardamom. Grind for about 20 seconds, or until coarsely powdered. Place in a bowl or jar and add the cumin seeds, and stir to combine.