Archive for May, 2009

Food as an Occasion to Eat

Wednesday, May 27th, 2009

Spinach Egg Cake, Herb Salad, Asparagus Vinaigrette, and a Book Review too

crustless-bite

I can hear you.  Grumbling. You’re thinking I’ve turned to summer programming, to reruns. Maybe you’re planning a nasty email, with a subject line that goes  “a tart by any other name is still a tart”. Well look here, this is a cake, and it’s not the same as last week’s cake. Variations on a theme maybe, but that’s because I had another idea. The obvious one.

The last time I made a tart (yes, last week. You’ve already pointed this out) I was complaining about the problem of the greasy puff pastry crust, and I experimented with ways around that.  Another way around it is to dispose of the crust all together. Yes, at last.  A Beanstock recipe that all you die-hard carb phobes can shove a fork into.

The recipes this week – and you’ll get a handful – arose from one sorry realization: blogs have ruined me. Have they ruined you too? What I mean is this:

cookbooks

There are more where these came from.  These are my cookbooks.  Beautiful, redolent of aging cardstock, garlic and curry, their pages muddied with coffee and chocolate, bloodied with wine and beet juice (or is that blood?), and streaked with cinnamon and ancho. Between their covers is a promise: that the world is food, and I can shape it into any reality I want.  In that moment when I first pull one toward me, my pulse quickens and. . . I believe.

But that’s only when I use these splattered treasures, and I don’t use them.

The embarrassing majority of my recipes come from blogs. Hers, and hers, and his, and this one, and yours too. My Google reader allows me to tag recipes with overwhelming precision, and daily they flood in.  Here are my categories:  vegetarian, vegan, beans (obviously), pescetarian, salmon, halibut, cod, tuna, barramundi , make when not vegan anymore, beets, cauliflower, spicy, tofu, not diet food, breakfast, appetizer, entrée, dessert, condiment, party food, potluck, try this soon…

Ironically, some blogs were born in protest of this phenomenon. 101 Cookbooks, for example.  And there are several others that I read who pull recipes from books – but they’re not my books. And then there are the times that I don’t even use a recipe, but instead open the pantry, the fridge, the cabinets, and cook. This, of course, shows my progression, it shows what I’ve learned – hell, it shows that I’ve learned something anyway. It’s perhaps the purest expression of cooking, and yet I mourn my lovely, picture-laden books. They truly embrace all cuisines – there is no theme. I have more meat recipes than most meat eaters, and more bean recipes than, well, anyone you know. Their publication dates range from 1947 – 2010 (if you count the advanced preview copy of one I got, which I’m not yet allowed to name).

Except that the relatively recent focus on local and seasonal foods is changing that a little. That’s because these books emphasize a way of being in the kitchen, a relationship to food, rather than step by step instructions for adding this and getting that. No book embodies this idea more to me though than David Tanis’s A Platter of Figs. This book is less about how to make food and more about how to eat it. How to love it, in the way that you can only love something you truly, intimately know.

dill-with-knife

Tanis explains this best in his introductory paragraph, when he writes: Do you really need a recipe for a platter of figs? No. Is that the point? Yes. Does it have to be more complicated than that? Not really. Yet to serve the figs, you need to know about ripeness and seasonality – the seasons of the garden, and you need to know your figs.

You can read my full review of the book here. But for now, just know that this book, along with The Flavor Bible (which I’ll be telling you about soon) have changed my cooking dramatically and in just the last six months.

So, I wanted to cook and I had fresh market food and a book that gave me its blessing to feel my way through the combinations in the ways that felt truest to me.  I was in the mood to craft it into something beautiful, and most of all,  I wanted to share it with people that matter to me. Nothing else to do then except what Simon and I did: we called an impromptu gathering this past Sunday, which is the kind of gathering that Tanis seems to love best. We sent out an email Saturday afternoon and by Sunday evening nine of us were gathered in our home, strewn on couches and in chairs, laughing, talking, sipping wine (and limoncello mixed with dry champagne — try this, and thank me later), sharing, remembering past meals and dreaming ahead to future ones. Celebrating the first tender harvest of the season.

Here’s with what:

The Recipes

Crustless Spinach Cake with
Herb Salad
Asparagus Vinaigrette

herb-salad2

I’m going to give you the food preparation instructions from Tanis’s book pretty much verbatim. I want you to see the importance he places on handling the food, the loving attention he directs to it. The way you handle it, and the quality of ingredients in the first place, is far more vital to a dish than the amount of any particular ingredient used.

Spinach Cake — Vegetarian, Gluten-free
(from page 34 in A Platter of Figs)
Tanis calls this a cross between a custard and a frittata, and he recommends serving it chilled or at room temperature – which means it’s a great make-ahead dish.

spinach-pie

2 bunches fresh spinach (about 2 pounds)
2 medium leeks
2 tablespoons butter
Salt and pepper
Nutmeg
2 cups whole milk
6 large eggs
A pinch of cayenne
A little bit of Parmigiano

Cut the spinach into ribbons, discarding the tough stems. Clean well – Tanis recommends swishing it in a large basin of cold water, then lifting it out into a colander and repeating, twice, with a fresh bowl of water each time.

Trim the leeks and remove the tough outer layer. Cut the leeks into a small dice, then clean these as well. The Tanis method is to fill a bowl with water, submerge the leeks, agitate them, then let the dirt settle to the bottom of the bowl. Remove the leeks with a slotted spoon – then repeat, twice. Tanis is freestyle about recipes but not when it comes to cleaning the ingredients.

Melt the butter in a deep pan over medium heat. Add the leeks, season with salt and pepper and sauté, stirring now and then. Cook for about 5 minutes.  Turn up the heat and add nutmeg, then add the drained spinach in layers, sprinkling each layer with salt.  Cover tightly and let the spinach steam rapidly over the leeks. When spinach is barely wilted (about two minutes), turn out the contents onto a platter and let cool.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Taste the cooled spinach-leek mixture for seasoning and adjust – it should be strongly flavored with pepper and nutmeg.  In a blender, puree the cooked vegetables with the milk and eggs, in batches, adding a bit more salt, pepper and some cayenne.

Pour the soupy green mixture into a buttered baking dish or a 9-inch deep-dish pie pan. Grate a bit of Parmigiano over the top and bake, uncovered, for 45 minutes or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool to room temperature and serve in wedges.

all-three-half tarragon-dill-salad-half

Herb Salad – Vegan, Gluten-free
(from page 17 of A Platter of Figs)
This salad celebrates the first herb harvest of the season. I had enough of everything, even tarragon, and to my mind that made it all taste even better.

8 handfuls small arugula and lettuce leaves, the smaller the better (about ¼ pound)
4 Belgian endive (optional)
A mix of compatible fresh herbs – I used parsley, mint, dill, tarragon and chives
1 shallot, macerated
Juice of ½ lemon (I used a whole lemon because I can’t stand to see the other half go to waste)
Salt and pepper
¼ cup olive oil

grandma-einks-dill

Wash and gently dry the arugula and lettuce leaves. Trim the endive, if using, and discard the outer leaves and slice crosswise about 1 inch thick. Combine with the washed greens and wrap in a clean towel and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Pluck the herb leaves from their stems, tearing larger leaves into rough ribbons. You will need roughly 2 cups of mixture of sweet herbs, plus a few chopped celery leaves (I didn’t use the celery).

Prepare a vinaigrette: Macerate the shallot with the lemon juice and a little salt. Then whisk in the olive oil. Add a little freshly ground pepper.

Put the arugula, lettuce and herb leaves in a low wide bowl. Sprinkle very lightly with salt and toss gently. Rewhisk the dressing and spoon half of it over the salad, then toss again to coat very lightly. The idea is that the salad will be barely dressed, but sprightly. Adjust with a little more vinaigrette, lemon juice, or a drop of oil. Toss taste and serve. (A spoonful of the vinaigrette over the spinach cake tastes good too).

Warm Asparagus Vinaigrette — Vegan, Gluten-free
(from page 62 of A Platter of Figs)
4-5 pounds fresh green asparagus
2 small shallots, finely diced
2 to 3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
salt and pepper
¾ cup olive oil

asparagus1

It should be noted here that Tanis is not obsessive about olive oil. He finds it silly that Americans spend upwards of $30 on a bottle – a surprising viewpoint from someone so dedicated to quality. His point is that price does not equal quality, and he goes on at a bit of length about this on page 22.

For the asparagus vinaigrette, break the tough ends off the asparagus spears and discard. If the spears are quite thick, peel them with a sharp vegetable peeler. Fill two large pots with 4 quarts water each, salt the water heavily, and bring to a rolling boil.

While the water is coming to a boil, make the vinaigrette. In a small bowl, macerate the shallots in 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar with a little salt. Let sit for a few minutes, then whisk in the olive oil and a little freshly ground pepper. Taste and reseason, adding more vinegar and salt if necessary – but don’t make it too tart.

Just before you’re ready to eat, put the asparagus in the boiling water and let them simmer briskly for 3 to 8 minutes (I went with 3), depending on their size. Remove them while they are firmly al dente and still bright green (the best way to check is to retrieve one and taste it). Lift the asparagus from the water with a large strainer and let them drain on a clean kitchen towel for a couple of minutes. As they sit they will continue to cook a bit.

Pile the spears onto a platter. Sprinkle lightly with salt and freshly ground pepper. Whisk the vinaigrette again and spoon it over the asparagus. Serve warm.

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Food as Family Entertainment

Monday, May 18th, 2009

Crispy Camembert Tart with Marjoram, Asparagus and Chard

tart-slice2(Vegetarian)

Simon’s mom was nonplussed when the camera came out, and then bemused. She chuckled over it, the way one would over a private joke, sporadically and without warning, throughout the meal.  Mostly when she was biting into the tart. At one point she might have muttered, in her crisp Queen’s English,  “Can cheese say cheese?”  My mom, on the other hand, wanted to get in on the game, helping to arrange the fork and sprinkle a crumb here and there. “Oh, this plate looks really nice with the green stuff in the pie. Is that spinach?  And the yellow rim matches the egg.”  Simon, of course, had learned long ago to refrain from saying anything that could make things take any longer. He knows that when the camera comes out, it’s nearly time to eat.

It was a belated Mother’s Day Tea Time.  To do a proper British tea, I would have had to come up with seven courses. Simon’s mother, who is a proper Brit,  agreed that the American version would be lovely jubbly.  And so we settled for two courses, plus a smattering of teas.

First course: poppyseed scones.  They highlighted the bergamot and citrus notes in the Lady Grey tea that was served alongside.  Mine weren’t lemony enough so I made a lemon cream garnish.  To accomplish his I added lemon rind, lemon extract, and then, out of necessity, a pinch of confectioner’s sugar, to the cream I was whipping up. Though I’m not sharing that recipe today I tell you this for a reason: I learned something. I feared that the cream would curdle as soon as the acidic  lemon was added, and in fact it did. But after a minute or so of whipping it all emulsified again, and it turned out to be rich, smooth and bright.

Second course, then, was this Camembert tart with parsley, chard, marjoram (the green stuff my mother spoke of) and asparagus, plus a few mushrooms. It was ad hoc, pieced together with what I had bought at the market earlier that morning or what I was able to snip from the backyard.

baked-tart

I am fond of tarts, except for the problem of a crust. I often find that store bought puff pastry dough leaves me wanting to swab out my mouth with a paper towel. I really wanted to avoid that — but not by making my own from scratch. I’m not that Slow a Foodie.

Then I hit upon an idea: pastry sheets. Right, so what really happened is that I accidentally grabbed them instead of pastry dough.  True serendipity. It was perfect, and I was chuffed. And here’s why I think it worked so well: the sheets have to be buttered individually – and laid one at a time – which means that I could decide how much to grease them and how thick to pile them. Lisa at Lisa is Cooking also pointed out to me, during a recent email discussion, that if they’re cooked hot and cooked till brown she thought the unctuous factor would be reduced, and that sounded about right to me. So I made sure to cook them well and oil them lightly, and the crust was crispy and the color of dark caramels, and it flaked into tissue-paper crumbs on the plate.

The thing that makes this tart special is the Camembert.  A lightly-aged, bloomy-rind cheese, Camembert is very similar to Brie. Both are creamy and straw-colored and represent the ultimate decadence in cheese. The primary difference between the two is that Camembert is produced in smaller wheels, which ultimately does affect its flavor.

camembert

Because Camembert is made is smaller pieces, it loses moisture faster (whereas a true Brie gets softer as it ages) and therefore the (very subtle to begin with) flavor is concentrated faster in Camembert. It’s also saltier to my tongue – probably for the same reason.  Unfortunately a true Brie or Camembert is nearly impossible to come by in the US (hey Gilda – can you get it in Canada?) because of laws governing raw milk. In the US, cheese made with raw milk must be aged at least sixty days before it can be sold; Camembert and Brie, if aged that long, would take on the qualities of hazardous waste. In the US, then, these cheeses are made with pasteurized milk and therefore lack some of the complexity of a true raw milk cheese.

Happily, very good substitutes are available. I like Ile de France, which I was introduced to a year ago when the company sent me a sample. Since then I’ve found both the Camembert and the Brie at my Trader Joe’s, and both are rich, gently flavored, a touch salty and undeniably luxurious.

camembert-package

Camembert Tart with Market Chard and Asparagus and Backyard Marjoram and Parsley

Can you tell I’m pretty excited about being able to get food locally again? My favorite local spot is the pots on my front porch – I feel very Jamie Oliver-esque, leaning out the window to snip off dinner.

The mushroom variety you use here is entirely up to you. Note that wild mushrooms have stronger flavor – which will pair nicely with the Camembert. I went with baby portabellos this time.

The Recipe:
About 16 sheets of phyllo puff pastry
1-2 tablespoons butter, melted
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 leek, diced (white part only)
4 tablespoons fresh marjoram, chopped
4 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
3 large leaves of chard
4 mushrooms
8 ounces fresh asparagus, bottoms snapped off
2 eggs plus 1 egg yolk
4 ounces cream or half and half
4.5 ounces Camembert, sliced thinly
Salt and black pepper, freshly ground
Freshly ground Parmesan

Preheat oven to 350.  Brush a round pie plate with oil, then layer the pastry sheets, brushing each one with melted butter and rotating the plate slightly after each sheet is placed so that you end up with equal thickness around the edges. After you have laid about 12 sheets, fold over the remaining sheets and place them in the center of the pie plate so that all the pastry is used to thicken the bottom of the tart. You’re aiming for a sturdy base with thin, delicate sides.

Dice the leeks, using just the white part. Leeks need special cleaning, as their papery layers grow sort of like rings on a tree, trapping in the dirt particles as they expand. Make sure you rinse between each layer then.

leeks chopped-leeks1

In a skillet, sauté the garlic and leeks on medium heat for about 3 minutes. Stir in half the parsley and marjoram and the mushrooms. Add more oil if necessary and lower heat just slightly. Cook till mushrooms are soft, about 4 minutes. Add the asparagus and cook for another minute or so (if the asparagus is very fresh this is all it will need; you can test it by trying to eat an uncooked piece. If it offends you, then you’ll need to cook a bit longer). Stir in the chard and stir it until it’s wilted.

Stir the cooked vegetables into the pastry crust and distribute them evenly across the tart. Layer the cheese across the top of the vegetables.

Beat together eggs, yolk, cream and remaining parsley and marjoram. Add fresh pepper and salt to taste. Whip well with a form then, pour this over the vegetable and cheese mix.

mushroom-chard-mix tart-w-camembert

tart-w-egg

Bake for approx 20 minutes until the cheese has melted and the egg mixture is set and golden — the pastry dough should be deep brown and crispy. Remove from oven and immediately grate some Parmesan on top. Add another round of fresh ground pepper. Allow to sit for about 10 minutes before serving – long enough to set, but not so long that it gets cool.

Serve with tea and scones and you’ll have a right proper British repast.

tart-bite-2

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Food as Answer to a Prayer: The Magic Bean

Monday, May 11th, 2009

Cajun Grilled Shrimp Gumbo with Traveling Beans

bowl-of-beans

(pescetarian, gluten-free option)

Not long ago, a box showed up at my front door. Sturdy and rectangular and curiously not-book shaped, it inspired a million fleeting possibilities as I ran up the steps toward it. The return label bore an address somewhere in New Orleans, and the name Poche.

package

Reggie Poche. Now this was a mysterious surprise. Even though Reggie and I drank and smoked (well, not me, but some of us) and wrote fiction late into the night as part of the same posse, I hadn’t spoken much to him since we graduated from our MFA program circa 2007.  In our pod of 8 or so, some of us were very good writers and all of us were smart asses, and what we failed to accomplish in measurable written words was more than made up for with snarky jokes, long, wailing discussions about the demise of our own creativity (feared more than death, loneliness or finding a Meg Ryan moment in our writing) , and late nights at the Pin Up Bowl. Oh, the old days of not-even-five- years- ago!  How I miss them so!

For a moment I stood on the porch and held the box in my arms, imagining that unbeknownst to me, Reggie had published his first novel. Trust me when I say that it’s going to be any day now. Of all the writers in the group, Reggie was by far the most talented (and we all know it so I know I’m not offending any of the others who might read this) and he also had a work ethic that was nearly unrivaled. That, of course, is the biggest problem for most writers: the actual, well, writing part of writing (you might point out that this seems to be my problem lately too, but I’ll thank you not to).  But Reggie wrote first and did everything else as an afterthought.

But no novel yet. What I found inside that box instead made me happier than a letter saying someone wants to publish one of my stories. But I’ll let you read it in Reggie’s words:

Becky,

I’ve never gifted anyone beans before, so I am enjoying the novelty of sending you this. But also, when these beans were given to me, I had no idea what to do with them. If they can’t be microwaved, I’m powerless. You were the only person I thought of who may appreciate them.

They were given to me by the parents of one of my University of New Orleans colleagues. They drove from Idaho to Louisiana last week and brought some crops from their farm along. The beans come from Gott Farms in Eden, ID.  I was only told that the pink variety is called Viva; I’m not sure what the red ones are.

By now you’ve probably noticed the smaller bag with the prayer card and dried fava bean. That’s from me. I have not found religion or anything like that; it’s just a little bit of New Orleans culture I thought you may like.

st-joseph

I’m currently writing an essay to be collected in an anthology of why people choose New Orleans as home. My contribution is on the St. Joseph Altar tradition of my childhood, which has been practiced in New Orleans since the turn of the century, when immigrants from Sicily came to the city.

According to legend, Sicily suffered a severe drought in the Middle Ages. The people prayed to St. Joseph to deliver them from the drought, and he did. To offer thanks for their survival, they and their ancestors created elaborate altars of food dedicated to the saint.  This tradition is still very strong in New Orleans, and celebrated on March 19 each year. The fava bean is called a lucky bean, a magic bean of sorts. It represents the only crop to survive the famine in Sicily because of its drought tolerance. This crop was the saving grace delivered by St. Joseph.  The public is invited each year to view and eat from many family and church congregation altars around the city. When you leave, you receive a lucky bean, along with a prayer card, Sicilian cookies, and blessed Italian bread.  Since the lucky bean is blessed by a priest, many people consider them to be magical. Keep it in your purse, and you will never go broke. Keep it in your pantry, and you will never go hungry. I hope you use it well.

Take care,
Reggie

Well. The only possible thing to do was to make authentic Cajun shrimp gumbo.  And don’t worry – I didn’t cook the blessed fava bean. It’s in my purse so that I might never be broke, and so that I will always have money to buy wonderful food.

Thanks Reggie, I wish you were here to share it.

fava-bean

gumbo3

The Recipe(s):

Lately, my recipes have been two-step. I apologize for that, but I have to admit that I’m enjoying the flavor-layering effect that’s rendered in the final dish. In this recipe, I marinated and grilled the shrimp over an outdoor fire to get the distinct, hickoried piquancy. Less complicated, I also layered dried oregano and thyme with fresh from my backyard – the first clippings of the year (well, not counting the mint for the last post).

shrimp-on-grill

[In garden news: Radishes coming in a week or so! Take a look at the end of this post for a few shots from the garden (the pretty little white flower is an alium of some sort. The big purple aliums are the variety chrisophii, which stun me each time I see them.]

Since we’re talking history, I’m using a recipe adapted from a book that’s about as old as the fava bean blessing tradition. Called Warm and Tasty: The Wood Heat Stove Cookbook, and written by Margaret Byrd Adams, this treasure from 1981 (okay, okay…. still, you might be painfully shocked to realize that this was almost 30 years ago) is a collection of recipes that were originally cooked, on an open fire. What’s endearing about the cookbook, besides its splattered and thinning pages and its fraying corners, is that each of the recipes in some way reflects a part of American History. I picked it up used back in the early 90s, and my most reliable chili recipe comes from it. You probably can’t find this book anymore, which makes me love it even better.

Reggie sent some mystery red beans along with the pink Viva beans. I know red ones are traditional in New Orleans food, but I was pulled in by the little cherubic ones. Cooked, they keep their soft pink hue, and their flavor is gentle and starchy — perfect for a kicked up dish like gumbo. Of course no one sent you pink beans from Gott Farms, so you can substitute red ones.

reggies-beans

The recipe also calls for bacon, and you can omit that. I used Morningstar veggie bacon, but a splash of liquid smoke and soy sauce would convey the same flavor.

Cajun Seasoning Mix:
1 1/2 tablespoons sweet paprika
1 tablespoon  smoked or half-sharp paprika
1 teaspoon salt
¾  tablespoon black pepper
¾ tablespoon cayenne pepper
½ tablespoon dried leaf oregano
½  tablespoon dried thyme
1 tablespoon fresh oregano, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh thyme, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced

Place the paprikas, salt, black pepper, cayenne, and dried oregano and thyme in a small bowl. Stir to combine.  Add the fresh oregano and thyme and the garlic and stir again. Set aside.

Shrimp Gumbo with Viva Beans
1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 1/2 tablespoons of the Cajun seasoning mix (above), plus one tablespoon olive oil

6 strips vegetarian bacon – or a dash of liquid smoke and soy sauce
2-3 tablespoons butter (see note in recipe instructions)
A splash of olive oil
1 bunch chopped green onions
1 small white onion
4 cloves garlic, minced
¼ bunch fresh parsley
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 tablespoon Cajun seasoning mix
1 28-oz can of tomatoes
10 cups water
2 cups cooked rice (I used brown but white is traditional in New Orleans cooking)
2 cups cooked Viva beans (or small red kidney beans)

To grill the shrimp:  Place the cleaned, deveined and peeled shrimp in a large container with a tight-fitting lid. Add the oil and the Cajun seasoning, place the lid on the container, and shake well to coat all pieces. Refrigerate and let marinate for at least 30 minutes and up to several hours, shaking and turning the container occasionally. Grill the shrimp – an outdoor, fire grill is best.

Gumbo: This recipe requires an authentic roux – a mixture of flour and fat, used as a thickening device often called for in New Orleans cooking. To achieve this, cook the bacon strips and then remove them from the skillet. If, like me, you used vegetarian bacon (or if you went with the smoke/soy sauce), you won’t get much fat from that, so use an extra tablespoon of butter instead (for three, total).  Add the butter to the same skillet and let it melt, then add the flour, stirring well and constantly to make a golden brown roux. You’ll need to cook this for about 12 minutes – and don’t skimp, because this step mellows the pasty flavor of the flour that would otherwise haunt your whole pot of gumbo.

Next, add the onions, parsley, garlic, a tablespoon of the Cajun seasoning mix and a generous splash of oil. Cook, stirring often, for about 5 minutes. Add the bell pepper and cook a minute longer.Transfer to a large pot and add the tomatoes and water. When it begins to simmer, add the shrimp.  Cook for about 10 minutes, then add the cooked beans and rice and cook for another 10 minutes.

And as promised, the garden photos. They are the mystery white allium, some Grandma Eink’s dill from Seed Saver’s Exchange, and a mix of heirloom lettuces, also from SSE.

alium2

grandma-eincks-dill

heirloom-lettuce

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