Green Tea Risotto with Peas and Mint

Now this is a springtime recipe.  And it came about in several different ways.  First, there was the issue of the dying refrigerator, which forced me to pour a pot of just-made chicken stock (tearfully, of course) down the drain.  Then there was John Thorne and his homage to rice and peas, risi e bisi, in his book Simple Cooking.  Should they, as Elizabeth David maintains, be cooked as a risotto, or should they, as Marcella Hazan believes, be made into a soup?  I don't presume to take sides, but I do love risotto...

Then, when reading about tea somewhere, it was suggested that when cooking, it might be used to replace a stock.  A stock which, unfortunately, I needed to replace.  And if I was going to make a risotto with green tea, I thought I'd keep it all green.  With peas and mint.  This is a light, subtle dish, not the brick that some richer risottos can be.  If you pay attention, and slow down a bit, taking care to breathe in deeply, you'll notice the undertone of tea.  Just after you get through the fresh flavors of mint, lemon juice and peas.

If you crave something with a bit more body, add a splash of white wine before you begin to stir in the tea.  If you crave something richer, you can add in a few pats of butter just at the end.  

I've never found risotto to be too much of a chore.  I kind of like the stirring.  I like watching the transformation, helping it along, coaxing out the creaminess.  Normally I'm not paying enough attention to anything to actually witness a change.  I like that risotto demands to be watched.  So don't let anyone tell you that it's complicated, or just too much effort.  When did stirring becomes such a Herculean task anyway?  Didn't we all start out standing on a stool wearing a too-big apron, wooden spoon in hand, entrusted with slopping some batter around in a bowl?  It's time to bring the joy back.

Green Tea Risotto with Peas and Mint

A Cooking Books Original

2 quarts water

8 bags green tea

oil for the pan

10 oz package frozen peas, thawed

1 cup mint (1 smallish bunch), minced

Juice of 1 lemon

2 cups arborrio rice

1 small onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

Salt and pepper to taste

1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese, plus more for passing at the table

Bring 2 quarts of water to a near boil, then pour it over 8 bags of green tea in a pot.  Allow to steep for 5 minutes, but be careful not to over-steep, as you don't want it to get bitter.  Place the pot over a medium to medium-low flame to keep it warm.

Blanch the peas in boiling water for one minute, then drain and run them under cold water to stop the cooking process.  Set aside.

Warm the olive oil in a large pan or heavy-bottomed pot and sauté the onion for about 4 minutes until it softens.  Add the garlic, and continue to cook for 1 minute more.  Add the rice and cook, stirring, for 7 minutes, then begin adding the tea, one cup at a time.  Stir constantly until all of the tea has been absorbed by the rice and add another cup.  Continue this process, adding tea and stirring to incorporate.  As the rice gets thicker, it will take more time for it to absorb the liquid.  The rice will be done in around 20 minutes, so begin tasting at about minute 17.  The rice should be creamy, but still firm.

Stir in the grated cheese and peas until the cheese is melted and incorporated and the peas are warmed through.  Remove the risotto from the heat, and begin adding the lemon juice, tasting, until it has a bright flavor.  Then stir in the mint as well as the salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a few shavings of parmesan cheese over the top.

Notes:

*  This is not a thick, creamy risotto the way I have made it, but a more lightened version.  If you want something more along those lines, you might think about adding in some butter at the end.  And perhaps some white wine at the beginning, before you start with the tea.

*  Have leftovers?  Here's an idea for what to do with them.

Little Jacks, French Cookies with Hazelnuts and Apricot Jam

I think there are certain indicators of fussiness.  The number of porcelain figurines inhabiting a room, for instance.  Or even more, a room full of porcelain that actually gets dusted.  But in baking, if we were to measure fussiness by the number of times ingredients get passed through a fine-mesh sieve, these cookies would be the Jack and Belle Linskys of the baking world.  (That is totally unfair, actually.  Two years after her husband's death, Belle Linsky donated most of their vast art collection to the Met in 1982.  And, while it does boast an insane collection of porcelain figurines, they also collected painting, furniture, objects d'art not made of porcelain, sculpture, jewelry, carpets, furniture...But man that room with all of those figurines is crazy, I'm telling you.)

But back to these cookies.  First there's the issue of blanching the hazelnuts.  In The French Cookie Book, Bruce Healy suggests toasting the nuts and then rubbing them against a fine-mesh sieve to remove the skins.  Is this the easiest method?  I'm not sure.  But I've never found an effortless way to remove nut skins.  Then there's the melting of the apricot jam, which gets pushed through a fine-mesh sieve in order to fully purée the fruit.  And the making of the hazelnut/powder sugar mixture, where once the nuts and sugar are ground together they get sifted through, what else, but a fine-mesh sieve and reprocessed until not a lump remains.  Even the flour should be sifted before being added to the batter.  

But that tender texture you achieve through all of your sifting is, in the end, worth it.  And anyway, these things can be done in steps, jams melted and powders ground far in advance of making the actual cookies.  Traditionally, Little Jacks are meant to be shaped like little fingers.  But I'm not a fan of piping cookie dough.  So instead, I took little spoonfuls of dough and rolled them between my hands into little balls, which I flattened into little disks on the prepared backing sheets.  Proving once and for all, that I am just not that fussy, and that I will never own a house full of porcelain.  

By the way, you can tell from the small flecks of black that I also didn't bother removing all of the hazelnut skins, but settled for most instead.  Think of it as extra fiber.

Little Jacks

From Bruce Healy's wonderful The French Cookie Book

7 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cups hazelnuts

3/4 cups plus 4 teaspoons powdered sugar

1 large egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon strained apricot jam (instructions follow)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 large egg, beaten, for wash

Preheat oven to 325F, and grease two baking sheets with your preferred method (butter or spray).

For the nuts:

Toast the hazelnuts in an oven, stirring occasionally, until the skins are dry and cracked, but the nuts are still white.  This will take about 7 minutes, but it depends on the oven, so watch closely.  Place the nuts in a sieve and, using a towel to protect your hand, rub them around so that the skin mostly fall off.  Let the nuts cool.

Grind the nuts with the sugar in a food processor until well ground but not oily.  Sift through a fine-mesh sieve, and re-grind the nuts that don't pass through.  Put the entire mixture into a bowl and set aside.

For the apricot jam:

Use more jam than you will end up needing, because the volume will reduce, but not a ton.  In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the jam, stirring with a wooden spoon.  Pass the jam through a fine mesh sieve to purée the fruit.  Discard the thick bits that don't make it through.  Return the jam to the pan and, warm it gently over low heat so that it thickens slightly if needed.  It should remain smooth and spreadable.  Set aside.

For the cookies:

Place the butter in a small, stainless-steel bowl and beat it with a wooden spoon, setting it over low heat if needed.  Beet until its smooth, white and creamy.  Stir in the hazelnut mixture, followed by the egg, then the vanilla and jam.  Sift the flour over the top, and stir it in.

Roll the dough into small balls between the palms of your hands, and flatten into little disks on the prepared baking sheets.  Brush the cookies with a bit of the egg wash.  Bake, one sheet at a time, for about 14 minutes, until the bottom is browned, but the top is still light.

Cool on a wire rack and enjoy.

French Cornmeal Cookies

We all know about the French macaron and Proust's by now clichéd madeline.  But these little cookies don't even approach the macron's fussiness, or the madeline's smooth refinement.  They have that wonderful, almost grainy texture from the cornmeal, while the lemon zest brightens their buttery flavor.  

In Bruce Healy's fantastic The French Cookie Book, they're described as a rare cookie, hailing from the Bresse region of southern Burgundy.  Traditionally shaped like tiny ears of corn, I didn't have the necessary pastry tip, and used a cookie press to shape the dough into little flowers, perfect for spring.  The recipe doesn't make a ton.  Just enough for an afternoon treat for a couple of people with no will power on a sunny, if too-cold, afternoon.  Enjoy.

Cornmeal Cookies

3 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1/2 cup confectioners' sugar

2 large egg yolks

Grated zest of 1 medium lemon

1/2 cup plus 2 teaspoons all purpose flour

7 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon yellow cornmeal

Oven preheated to 475F

In a small stainless steel bowl, beat the butter with a wooden spoon, placing it over low heat if necessary, until it's smooth, creamy and lightened in color.  Sift the sugar over the butter and continue to beat.  Next, beat in one yolk, still with the wooden spoon, then the next yolk, this time beating it with a wire whisk.  Whisk in the lemon zest.  Sift the flour and cornmeal into the batter, and using the wooden spoon, mix them in.

Scoop the batter into a cookie press or just spoon it in small balls onto a baking sheet prepared with a layer of parchment paper.  Bake, 1 sheet at a time, for about 5 minutes.  The bottoms should be browned, but the tops still a light, buttery yellow.  Cool on a wire rack and enjoy.

Off the Shelf Guest Post: Pinto & Black Bean Stew from Amy

Hi there Cooking Books readers; Amy here from Eggs on Sunday. Andrea was nice enough to ask me to write this month's Off the Shelf post; being a fan of her blog and all the luscious food she creates, I was happy to do so!

When Andrea approached me about writing this post, she told me that I could write about anything I wanted, from any cookbook in my collection that I'm finding particularly inspiring. I decided pretty quickly that the recipe I'd talk about was one from the cookbook that's gotten the most play in my kitchen over the past year: Vegetable Soups from Deborah Madison's Kitchen. In fact, sometimes I think I should start another blog called “Cooking Deborah Madison's Soups,” or something like that, because I seem to slowly be working my way through her book. She has chapters for each season, filled with delicious-sounding soups utilizing vegetables at their peak, as well as chapters on hearty bean soups and broths. If you enjoy cooking seasonally (like I do) and are looking for new and interesting ways to cook your seasonal vegetables, this book has your name written all over it. I've been thumbing through it and dog-earing recipes year-round, and many of the pages by this point are splattered with the end results of the soups I try.

My husband and I have a share in a local CSA during the growing season and through the winter, which means that we're faced weekly with a hoard of local, delicious vegetables  that need to be used fairly quickly. Our winter share was heavy on the root vegetables, but also peppered occasionally with some other treats, like bags of dried beans from a local farm, Cayuga Pure Organics.

One day, I was looking for a way to start using up some of these beans that had begun accumulating in my pantry, and turned to Deborah for inspiration. It was the dead of winter, and I was in the mood for something warming, hearty, and nutritious...a recipe that would make a big pot that I could leave bubbling on the stove for a few hours on the weekend, infusing the house with its delicious scent, and that we could eat multiple times during the week for lunch.

My eyes locked on her recipe for Pinto Bean Stew – simple in preparation, but intriguingly chili-like in some of its flavors, and thickened at the end with a touch of cornmeal, which I knew would give it a really nice undertone of corn tortillas...yum. Instead of using just pinto beans, I like to mix a combination of black beans and pinto beans together, and the end result is a different – and better – creature than a humdrum bean chili. Something about the dried chiles that are simmered and then pureed with the beans, along with the cornmeal, makes it more interesting and (in my mind) even more delicious. I serve it over short-grain brown rice, which has a nice somewhat sticky texture, and top it with shredded monterey jack and sharp cheddar cheese, chopped cilantro, sour cream and scallions. It's homey, feeds a crowd (or two people for about a week!) and is, to me, comfort in a bowl.

I've made this stew more times than I can count this year, and I look forward to it every time I do make it (and that's saying a lot, since we rarely have repeats in our house!)

 

Pinto & Black Bean Stew

Adapted from Vegetable Soups from Deborah Madison's Kitchen

Deborah uses just pinto beans in her stew, but I like to use a mix of pinto and black beans. You'll need to soak the dried beans overnight, so plan accordingly. Also, she uses dried New Mexican chiles; I usually use Ancho chiles instead.

Ingredients

1 cup dried pinto beans

1 cup dried black beans

2 onions, finely chopped

3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 teaspoons dried oregano

2 teaspoons dried cumin

½ teaspoon dried coriander

3 New Mexican or Ancho dried chile pods, stems, seeds, and veins removed

sea salt

3 tablespoons cornmeal

for serving:

cooked white or brown rice

grated cheddar and/or monterey jack cheese

chopped scallions

chopped cilantro

sour cream

Directions

The day before you're going to make the stew, sort and rinse through the beans, place them in a large bowl and cover them with about 2 inches of water. Leave them overnight to soak. The next day, drain the beans and set them aside.

Heat the oil in a large heavy pot, then add the onions, garlic, oregano, cumin, coriander, and dried chiles. Stir to combine and toast the spices a little bit, then add the beans along with 2 quarts (8 cups) water and 1 ½ teaspoons sea salt. Bring to a boil, then turn down the heat and simmer until the beans are soft, about 1 ½ hours.

Puree two cups of the beans and any large pieces of chile until smooth, then return them to the pot. Whisk in the cornmeal and simmer for another 10 minutes, until the mixture thickens slightly. Taste for salt. The texture should be soupy, but punctuated with beans.

Ladle some beans and their liquid over rice, and top with shredded cheese, scallions, cilantro, and sour cream.

Makes about 10 cups.

Lavender and Crème Fraîche Scones

This is one good example of when nice things come out of annoying situations.  I won't go into it too much here, but my landlord is the worst landlord on the planet.  I have a whole list of reasons to dislike him and how he treats his tenants.  Poetic justice has actually been served, however, because he fled from the US recently after being charged with something like 13 counts of fraud or some such nonsense.  So now his adult children run the family business, but you know what they say about where the proverbial apple falls.

So anyway, we've been through about 3 weeks of haggling to get a new fridge before the one we have officially dies.  And guess what.  Yesterday, it happened.  So now I am without a fridge, although the freezer manages to eak out a few little puffs of cold.  I've salvaged a few things, transferring them from the fridge to the freezer.  My little tub of crème fraîche didn't quite make the cut.  I came up with this recipe to use it up in one shot.  

These turned out very well.  Very, very well if I'm forced to say so.  They're not the kind of sugar-bombs one would get at Starkbucks, however.  They're much more subtle, with just a hint of lavender.  Springtime scones, really.  A tang from the crème fraîche, and lavender fresh-cut spring.  Enjoy.

Lavender and Crème Fraîche Scones

2 cups flour

1 cup crème fraîche (8 oz package)

1/4 cup neutral tasting oil, such as sunflower

1 tablespoon sugar

2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

3/4 teaspoon lavender buds

A few pinches of sparkling sugar

Oven preheated to 425 F, grease a baking sheet.

Combine the flour, sugar, baking powder salt and lavender in a bowl.  Add in the creme fraiche and oil, and mix until it begins to form a dough.  Either turn it out onto a lightly floured surface, or give it a few good kneads right in the bowl until it holds together.

Divide the dough in half, and, on a greased baking sheet, flatten each half out into rounds about 1" thick.  Cut each of the rounds into quarters using a knife, and separate the sections by about 1" on the baking sheet. 

Bake on the middle rack for about 15 minutes, until the edges are lightly golden.  As soon as the scones come out of the oven, sprinkle with a little sparkling sugar and serve.

Steak with Melting Marrow Gremolata

I'm having trouble deciding how I want to write about bone marrow.  It's one of those ingredients that feels so old world, so in keeping with using every part of the animal, that we don't see it much anymore.  After all, the way we consume meat nowadays pretty successfully separates us from the source both technically and intellectually.   You rarely see a cut of meat, save, perhaps, for a roasting chicken, that even remotely resembles the animal from which it came.  

But beef marrow has long been prized for its fatty succulence, one of the easiest fats, in fact, for the body to digest.  It has been used in England since at least the Middle Ages.  There, it's eaten as a savory course following dinner and preceding drinks.  Richard Olney, in his Simple French Food asks that it be chopped and added to the filling for Beef and Marjoram Ravioli, a recipe, he claims, of Tartar origin.  During the period of the Industrial Revolution, Queen Victoria was known to spread the steamed stuff thickly on toast, which, one presumes, would then have been sprinkled with parsley and fresh lemon juice.  

Parsley and lemon, by the way, do seem to have a special affinity to beef marrow, especially when spiked with a little garlic.  And that is how I used it, as a topping for pan seared steaks in a recipe from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers.  

When buying a marrow bone, ask that your butcher cut it in half or in thirds for you, as it makes the process of scooping the stuff out much more manageable.  I used a grapefruit spoon, since I'm ever on the look-out for new ways to use that handy utensil.  As I scraped, the marrow fell in little flakes, much the same consistency as very cold butter.  For this recipe, 1 marrow bone, even a small marrow bone, is sufficient.  When you spread the marrow gremolata over the still-cooking steaks, the marrow begins to melt over the meat as it heats.

If you do have leftover marrow, you can always boil the bone, finish removing it, and, with a piece of good bread, a bit more of that parsley, and a squeeze from your newly zested lemon, have yourself a wonderfully old world snack. 

Steak with Melting Marrow Gremolata

Adapted from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers

For the Gremolata

4 tablespoons loosely packed chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

3 small garlic cloves, finely chopped

Zest from 1 medium lemon

1 teaspoon black pepper

2 tablespoons cold beef marrow

Combine all of the ingredients and toss lightly.  Store in the refrigerator until ready to use.

For the Steak

2 steaks

oil for the pan

salt and pepper

Bring the steaks to room temperature.  Season liberally on both sides with salt and pepper.  Heat the oil in the pan over high heat until it smokes.  Using tongs, place the steaks in the pan and cook for about 4 minutes, until dark brown on the bottom side.  Turn over, and top with the gremolata.  Continue to cook for about 4 minutes more, until the steak is done to your liking and the gremolata has warmed, the marrow melting over the steaks.  

Remove the steaks to a plate and allow to rest for about 5 minutes.  Serve.

Kidney Beans Stewed in Red Wine with Tomatoes and Herbs

This seems like a good time for me to make the case (again) for dried beans.  Ironically, although about the least expensive food you can buy, I do realize that they are a bit of a luxury time-wise.  I'm not talking about the overnight soak.  I think many of us have an idea of what we'd like to make a day out, and soaking takes all of about .5 seconds actual work.  But even after a good night soaking, the beans do have to be cooked for a bit of time to be ready.  I don't judge if you want to use canned beans in your cooking.  I'm merely suggesting that if you find yourself with a bit of extra time, canned has nothing on dried.

Although this is by no means a labor intensive recipe, using dried beans is an apt metaphor for the entire process.  Relatively light on work, but heavy on time.  We are talking about stewing, after all.  For me, that's okay most any day of the week since all I do is sit around and read a gazillion books.  If it's not okay with you on a regular basis, save this recipe for a lazy Sunday afternoon when your only responsibilities include lounging, drinking coffee, and lounging some more.  You'll be amply rewarded.

This is an extremely healthy recipe, loaded with things that are nothing short of spectacular for your body.  Primarily beans.  And I'm willing to bet that just about everyone could use a few more beans in their lives.  The recipe comes from Peter Berley's The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen, and has been only slightly adopted by me.  The yield is 4 servings, but not if you take the easy way out and make it your main course for two people who pride themselves on healthy appetites.  Then it serves 2, with unfulfilled requests for more.  What can I say, we're gluttons.  In this case, gluttons without guilt.

Kidney Beans Stewed in Red Wine with Tomatoes and Herbs

Only slightly adapted from Peter Berley's The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen

1 1/2 cups dried red kidney beans, soaked overnight

Olive oil for the pan

1 small red onion, chopped

1 small carrot, diced

1 small celery rib, diced

Salt and pepper

4 tablespoons tomato paste

3 garlic cloves, chopped

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1/2 cup red wine

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

1 bay leaf

2 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 sprig fresh thyme

1 sprig fresh rosemary

Handful of minced parsley

Combine the drained beans and 4 cups of fresh water in a pot over medium heat.  Bring the water to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer, partly covered, for one hour.  I added a bit more water part way through so the mixture wouldn't dry out.

Preheat the oven to 275 F

Warm the oil in a dutch oven over medium heat and cook the onion, carrot and celery, along with a pinch of salt, for about 5 minutes.  Add the tomato paste, garlic and red pepper flakes and cook for 5 minutes more.  Be sure to stir once in a while so nothing sticks.

Add the wine, increase the heat, and bring the mixture to a boil. Add the vinegar and bay leaf, and finally the beans with their water.  Tie a bouquet garni made up of the fresh herbs (see note) and add it to the pot.  Also add any additional water necessary to barely cover the beans.

Bring the mixture to a boil, then cover and place in the oven.  Bake in the oven, covered, for 1.5 hours, then uncover for the last 1/2 hour.  Remove the bouquet garni, and season with salt and pepper.  Serve with minced parsley sprinkled over the top.

Note:

* I find an easy way to deal with the bouquet garni is to use an empty tea sachet meant for loose tea and just cram the fresh herbs inside.  Fold the lip over and toss in the pot.

UPDATE: Peter Berley e-mailed me!  I'm such a loser, and get star struck so easily (but only by people I care about.  For instance, I saw Cameron Diaz walking her dogs in Central Park a couple of months ago, and I really couldn't have cared less.).  But anyway, he was so gracious and said that he's glad we're enjoying his cooking.  Rock on!

Caution: Woman Eating

This post is a little different from what I usually offer you.  I don't normally tend to get overly political on this blog, although sometimes I can't help myself. However, I also believe that it's impossible to really extricate politics from life, so I don't really try.  If you're not in the mood for a rant, you might want to move on and come back a little later when I'll have a tasty little kidney bean number waiting for you.  If not, stick around...

Somehow I find myself subscribed to a whole mess of newsletters and mailing lists on the internet.  I usually just delete, but lately I've been taking the time to unsubscribe.  This morning, when I clicked on the link to unsubscribe from JCrew's mailing list, I was redirected to a website, presumably their last chance to make me change my mind.  I could have screamed.  Waiting for me at this pivotal moment, when I am supposed to decide if I really want to banish their e-mails from my inbox, was this image:

This emaciated, sickeningly thin model, with sunken eyes and arms so frail they couldn't be trusted to life a Le Creuset from the oven (wait, that sounded sexist. They couldn't be trusted to life, well, just about anything.) is supposed to convince me that I need JCrew in my life.  She's also supposed to convince me, I suppose, that the fact that I do not practice self-starvation makes me less desirable.  A condition JCrew just might be able to ameliorate, if only I would take them back.  

My stomach turns just looking at her razor-sharp collar bones and rubber band-sized wrists.  I want to grab her, sit her down at my kitchen table, and, well, feed the crap out of her.  I want to tell her that her body, and presumably her spirit, would be better served if she took care of them with an eye toward her own well-being rather than punishing herself for the sake of advanced capitalism's insistence on her own objecthood.  I've always had a sneaking suspicion that our society's obsession with the sickly woman as object of desire (as that's how I'd describe her) has a whole lot to do with punishment.  With putting a women in her place by depicting all women as something less than human.  With forcing the burden of guilt on her if she dares to give in to her own desires, rather than literally starving her body into submission for the desiring gaze of others.  I can think of few things more repulsively violent.

And for some strange, inexplicable reason, JCrew is trying to shove this guilt down its unsubscribers' throats.  JCrew feels the need to align themselves with this kind of damaging imagery, proving that we just have not come all that far.

So to JCrew and all others of its ilk: yes, I want you out of my inbox.  In fact, I want you out of my magazines, off of my television, away from my billboards, extricated from my subway ads.  I want to see real women who refuse to punish their own bodies, who are capable of individuality, health, independent thought, and enjoying a nice plate of food.

Simple Breakfast Quinoa

Here's what I like about quinoa.  I love that when it's been cooked, it becomes a collection of translucent little grains with a thin ribbon running through each one.  And I love that it kind of pops between your teeth.  I love how, when prepared like this, you can almost suck the slightly sweet liquid from it, which it is so willing to give up, as you roll the grains around on your tongue.  Obviously I have a perhaps too intimate relationship with quinoa.  But if you're a texture eater, there's almost no better texture in the world.

I've made savory versions before, meant for lunch or after, and baked it into bread.  But for breakfast, quinoa, versatile whole grain that it is, easily usurps oatmeal's throne, at least for one morning.  And if you make a batch you can actually store it with no soggy, ill effect.  I imagine there are innumerable ways to spice this, but since we're not quite out of the woods with winter yet, I went with those old cold morning standbys, ginger and cloves.  Sweetened with a little agave nectar, and if I'm being honest, a dash of maple sugar.  What could possibly be anything but lovely about that?

With quinoa for breakfast, you start your day with one of the healthiest, most nutrient dense whole grains out there.  It fills you up long-term (unlike those cereal bars we're all guilty of grabbing sometimes) because it's rich in protein.  And, if you feel as I do, you just cannot beat that wonderful nutty flavor.

Like oatmeal, flavorings and sweeteners should be added to suit your taste, so there's really no recipe.  More like a list of suggestions.  Below, I'll suggest what I did.

Breakfast Quinoa

1 cup quinoa

2 cups water

Cinnamon, to taste

A pinch of ground cloves

1 fun sized package of raisins

Agave nectar, to taste

Maple sugar, to taste (optional, which is a silly thing to say, because it's all optional and easily switched out).

In a saucepan, combine the quinoa and water.  Add the rest of the ingredients and give it a good stir.  Bring to a boil, then turn down to low and cover.  Allow to simmer until the water has been absorbed, about 15 minutes.  Enjoy your day.

Indian Inspired Pissaladière: The Classic French Pizza with Onions Caramelized in Indian Spices

This might sound strange, but I love an empty refrigerator.  Don’t get me wrong, I love a full fridge, too.  But there’s something about an empty refrigerator.  I think it has to do with possibilities.  I tend to buy in cycles, filling it up with loads of groceries, then watching them dwindle away.  I once had a friend who would periodically donate a large percentage of her clothing.  She thought an empty closet was easier to work with, and found that having fewer options led to more creative pairing.  You could say the same thing about the refrigerator.  And when the task is accomplished, when everything has been used up, and you’re left with only basics, it’s liberating to start all over again.

That's about where I was when I concocted this pizza.  Frozen dough in the freezer, caramelized onions in the fridge, and not much else.  And what came out of it all was, if I have to admit it, brilliant.  I'm in love with these onions anyway, no matter what they're used for.  Here, they infuse a pissaladière with new personality.  Traditionally, pissaladière is a French pizza of caramelized onions, olives and anchovies.  A perfect medley of Mediterranean flavors.  

But in this preparation, since my onions were already flavored with a combination of deep Indian spices, olives and anchovies just would not have been the thing(s).  So instead, I coated the dough with a thin film of crème fraîche before spreading my spiced onions over the top.  On request or demand, I added some poached chicken and the whole thing was done.  And R and I were both sent directly over the moon.

Indian Inspired Pissaladière

1 recipe Onions Caramelized in Indian Spices

1 recipe pizza dough, frozen or homemade 

Crème fraîche

1 chicken breast, poached.

To poach a chicken breast:

Fill a sauce pan with water deep enough to cover the chicken breast.  Bring the water to a boil, then add the chicken breast, cover and reduce the heat to low.  Cook for 15-20 minutes (or as little as 10 minutes if you're using a boneless chicken breast) until the chicken is cooked through.  Allow to cool a bit, then cut into bite sized pieces.  

For the pizza

Preheat the oven to 450F.  If you're particularly well equipped (which I am not) preheat a baking stone in the oven.

Roll out your pizza dough to desired thickness.  Spread with a thin coating of crème fraîche and top with the caramelized onions.  Finish with a layer of chicken pieces.  On a baking sheet, pizza sheet or baking stone, bake your pizza for about 10-15 minutes, until dough is browned.

Notes:

* For a vegetarian version, obviously just leave off the chicken.  I got talked into chicken by R, but the pizza would have been just as good without it.

* This would be a good recipe to use up leftover poached (or otherwise cooked) chicken, so keep it in mind next time you prepare some breasts, and cook an extra one.

*  If you can't find crème fraîche, you can just use a little sour cream, or you can make your own.

Hard Boiled Eggs with Onions Caramelized in Indian Spices

The original idea for these eggs came from a new-to-me blog called Teczcape - An Escape to Food, where you will find a plethora of delicious-sounding, and often quite healthy, recipes.  On Teczcape, the recipe was for Spicy Chili Sambal Eggs, which were made up of hard boiled eggs, topped with caramelized onions that had been cooked in, what else,  sambal.  Sambal is a kind of spicy chili chutney that sounds crazy good.  It can be both purchased and made at home, assuming you either have the ingredients or want to go get them.  Neither was the case for me.  

Instead, I decided to caramelize my onions in a medley of Indian spices, which I both already know I love and already had in the kitchen.  So instead of spicy chili sambal eggs, I give you...

Hard Boiled Eggs with Onions Caramelized in Indian Spices

6 hard boiled eggs, cooled

2 large onions, white or brown are best, don't go with an overly sweet onion to begin with

Sunflower Oil for the pan

Heaping 1/2 teaspoon mustard seeds

1 1/2 teaspoons ground fenugreek

1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin

1 teaspoon chili powder

1 1/2 teaspoons ground coriander

Peel and slice the onions into 1/4" thick half rings.  Heat the sunflower oil in a pan over medium heat until it shimmers.  Add the mustard seeds and allow them to pop.  When they're no longer popping, add the onions and reduce the heat to medium low.  Add the fenugreek and cumin and  stir to coat the onions.  

Cook the onions until they have reduced to about half the volume, then add the chili powder and the coriander.  Stir to combine and continue cooking until the onions reduce your desired doneness.  It took about 1 hour total for my onions to caramelize to the degree that I wanted.  It's worth it to keep them over a low heat and allow them to take their time.  They don't require much watching, just an occasional stir. 

Slice the eggs in half lengthwise, top with a small spoonful of caramelized onion and enjoy.

Notes:

* You can serve with either warm onions straight from the pan, or with room temperature onions once they've cooled.  It's good both ways.

* Extra onion can be stored in the refrigerator for quite some time, I'd say at least a week.  You can even freeze leftover onion for a later use.

Here are some ideas for what to do with leftover caramelized onions:

* Put them on a baguette with a little paneer or other cheese

*  Use them on a homemade pizza

*  Layer on sandwiches to make them really sing

*  Make French Onion Soup with an Indian Twist

* Use them as a garnish for meat or fish or veggies for that matter

* Puree them into a dip

* Add to pasta

Pasta with Fennel Tomato Sauce

You know, I used to hate Cubism.  I used to think it was all needless complication of the visual field, just for the sake of needless complication.  I no longer think that way.  You can argue with me if you want, (assuming you even have an opinion of Cubism) but I've since come to realize that complicated looking can be extremely satisfying.  Since I'm in the middle of writing a paper filled with torturous rhetoric (actually, I hope that's not true), I'm not going to bore you here with the subtitles of shifting planes and forms that melt into space and back again.  But I will say, after all of that complicated looking, I want my food to be the opposite.

 

This is a photograph I took of a sculpture by Juan Gris, actually the only sculpture by Juan Gris.  It's called Harlequin and it's in Philadelphia.  I kind of like the reflections on the glass case, I like how they allow the surrounding environment to be reflected on the work.  Somehow I think Gris would like this interaction between form and space (nerd alert, I know).

Never mind that I haven't had the time or the inclination for a challenging recipe lately.  I also haven't had the appetite.  I'm sure you know what I mean.  And this recipe is for those times when you just want ingredients to combine.  Simply and easily.  Just come together, don't play games, don't expect to me to uncover layers.  

And as an aside, I'd like to nominate the conchiglie rigate, those little shells, for best shape for pasta.  I love how they fill up like little cups, wrapping themselves around pockets of sauce.  This recipe is adopted from At Home in Provence by Patricia Wells, and it is the epitome of simple, satisfying peasant cooking.  In her recipe, she uses the zest from an orange, but in keeping with the spirit of simplicity, I used a lemon since that's what I had on hand.  I'd like to try both versions, though.  Maybe you would, too.

Shells with Fennel Tomato Sauce

Adopted from At Home in Provence by Patricia Wells

Olive oil for the pan 

1 medium onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1 fennel bulb, diced

1, 28 oz. can diced or crushed tomatoes

Zest of 1 medium lemon

Salt and Pepper

Chopped parsley

For the sauce:

Sauté the onion over medium low heat until softened, but not browned.  Add the garlic and red pepper lakes and cook for a few minutes more until fragrant.  The garlic should not brown.

Add the fennel and stir the mixture together.  Cover, and sweat until the fennel is soft.  This will take about 10 minutes.

Add the tomatoes and lemon zest, bring to a simmer, and cook uncovered for another 15 minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  

In the meantime, cook your pasta according to package instructions.  Once cooked, drain the pasta and add it to the sauce in a large pot.  Stir so that the pasta is evenly covered.  Transfer to a serving bowl and scatter a handful of chopped parsley over the top.

Notes:

* Use any shape of pasta that you want, or happen to have on hand.  No need to make extra trips.

* You can replace the zest of 1 lemon with the zest of a medium orange

* Some people use only the bulb of the fennel, but I chopped up through a bit of the stalk as well, which gave me crunchy little pieces almost like celery but tasting of anise. 

* For a slightly spicier version, I could see adding more crushed red pepper flakes, maybe even doubling it or more depending on your tolerance for heat.

Completely Inauthentic, but Very Tasty Achari Paneer

There are some picky eaters around here, and I am not one of them (which leaves only one, since the dog certainly isn't picky).  But if there is one word that will make R stop, mid suspicious complaint about the strange stuff I've piled on his plate, it's "Indian."  As in Indian food.  I can get absolutely anything by him if I use a little fenugreek and cumin.  Handy.

And speaking of fenugreek (also called methi), it's a spice I only recently discovered, but I swear I could burry my nose in a bag of the stuff and just breath deeply all day.  Is that strange?  Perhaps, but to me fenugreek smells almost like caramel at first, before it gives way to a spicy headiness.  In powdered form, it's a beautiful golden color.  Powdered gold.  

Traditionally, at least as far as I can tell, achari paneer is a preparation of fresh cheese (the paneer) which is coated in a mixture of spiced tomatoes and onions.  I increased the amount of both tomatoes and onions, and made it into a kind of chunky salsa in which little balls of paneer where heated through.  I also adopted some of the ingredients according to what I had on hand, and what was easy for me to get.  And let me tell you, the sauce was delicious.  The smell was almost as good.  Since then, I've been obsessively trying to figure out what else I might douse in my new favorite condiment, after I double or triple the recipe below.

So to Indian food purists, I'm sorry.  This is not real achari paneer.  For those who love Indian flavors, I think you'll enjoy this mixture of masala spices, tomato and onion.  It's single pan cooking, done in a matter of minutes, and with a few spices, is easy to produce in an American kitchen.  Enjoy.

Achari Paneer

Quite a bit adopted from Good Tempered Food by Tamasin Day-Lewis

Sunflower oil for the pan

2 pinches of mustard seeds

1/2 teaspoon of ground fenugreek

1/2 teaspoon of ground cumin

1 small onion, chopped

1 small tomato, chopped

1/2 teaspoon chili powder

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1 cup paneer, rolled into little bite-sized balls between the palms of your hands.

salt

sugar

lemon juice

cilantro

Heat the oil in a pan over medium to medium-low heat.  Once the oil is hot and shimmering, add the mustard seeds and allow them to pop.  This will only take a moment, and once they're done, add the onion, fenugreek and cumin.  Cook until the onion is brown, then add the tomato.  Cook down for about 10 minutes.

Add the chili powder and coriander and continue cooking for a couple of more minutes.  Drop in the balls of paneer, making sure they are coated with the mixture.  Add salt, a pinch of sugar and a little lemon juice to taste.

Top with some fresh, chopped cilantro and serve.

Notes:

* For the paneer, you can also use a good cottage cheese that's been drained of excess moisture.  To do this, fold a piece of cheese cloth over a bowl and put the cheese in the cloth.  Either hand the cheese wrapped in the cloth over the sink, or  put it over a sieve propped in a bowl.

*  Or you can make your own paneer by following the recipe here.

Healthy Peanut Butter Ricotta Spread for Fruit or Toast

Sometimes, my winter fruit needs a little gentle coaxing.  I can't be the only one tired of apples at this point, can I?  At this time of year, especially on those tauntingly warm days we know can't last, I go positively stir crazy for summer fruit.  But patience is a virtue (they say, those who, I would guess, aren't really waiting for anything) and so I thought I'd better come up with a way to make apples interesting again without undoing all of my fruit-eating virtue.

This spread works magic.  I often slather peanut butter on apples, and especially bananas, and when in Europe, it's always nutella.  But I can now say that I'm a convert to peanut butter ricotta instead.  Guys, this is good stuff.  This will make your apples sing, and your toast will never be dry again.  And guess what.  It's not half bad for you.  In fact, it's even less than half bad.  And it is so, so good.

Peanut Butter Ricotta Spread

Adapted from Canyon Ranch Cooking

1 cup ricotta cheese, part skim is fine, so is homemade

1/2 cup roasted, skinned peanuts

2 tablespoons milk, skim is fine

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 tablespoons sugar

Grind the peanuts in a food processor until they're the consistency of a grainy paste, or smoother if you like.  Add the rest of the ingredients and process until smooth.  Spread on fruit, toast, bagels, waffles, anything you come across.  Or eat it with a spoon. 

Update: for a delicious variation, try substituting real maple syrup for the sugar. The extra liquid from the syrup makes the milk unnecessary, if you don't want to use it. 

Navy Bean and Pasta Gratin with Basil and Ricotta

In an attempt to use up some of the evidently faux ricotta (better called paneer or queso fresco) I made a couple of days ago, I've been bookmarking recipes like a crazy person.  Cheesecake was out because there's only two of us, and who needs the temptation of an entire cheesecake anyway?  Didn't really feel like going the lasagna rout, at least not right away.  So I chose this recipe from Deborah Madison, the grande dame of vegetarian cuisine.

Here are the things I love most about this recipe: the surprise pockets of ricotta hidden beneath a coating of panko, swirls of beans and roasted tomato, and shells that fill themselves up greedily with stock and cheese.  Those shells and I have a lot in common.  But the best part of this dish are the spoonfuls of pesto nestled in and among all of that other good stuff.  Little explosions of spring, of bright green color, peaking out from among the pillows of white.  

I do have to warn you, however, that the stock remained a bit runny through cooking, but I'm willing to overlook that.  I left most of it behind in the dish when I served it.  Next time, I'd use an entire onion instead of half, only because I hate ending up with halves.  And we love onions.  But it's perfect for this time of year, because even if the tomatoes aren't at their most flavorful, the oven will coax something sweet out of them.  And if you feel yourself to be on the cusp of spring, even if the weather is not yet cooperating, this just might push you over.  And give you someplace lovely to land.

Navy Bean and Pasta Gratin with Basil and Ricotta

Adapted from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

1 cup navy beans (or any white bean) soaked overnight

Olive oil as needed

1/2 onion, chopped

1 bay leaf

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

Salt and pepper

4 large garlic cloves, chopped

2 cups basil leaves, loosely packed

1 cup grated Parmesan

1 1/2 cups dried pasta shells

4 medium sized ripe tomatoes, seeded, chopped and peeled only if you want

1 cup ricotta

1 cup panko bread crumbs

Boil the beans in fresh water for 10 minutes.  Drain and set aside.  

Heat some oil in a soup pot and sauté the onion, bay leaf and thyme over medium heat for a few minutes, until softened.  Add the drained beans and 6 cups of water.  Increase the heat to bring to a simmer, then cover and continue to simmer for about 30 minutes.  If you need to, add additional water so that the beans are covered.  After 30 minutes season with salt, recover and cook for another 15 minutes.  Remove from the heat and set aside.

In a food processor, process the garlic and basil until everything is chopped.  Add the cheese and enough oil to moisten, I used about 2-3 tablespoons.  Process until you reach the consistency of a coarse puree.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Oven preheated to 350F.  Oil a large baking dish.  Cook the pasta in salted water until more al dente then usual, as it will continue to cook in the oven.  Drain the pasta and run under cold water to stop the cooking process.  Drain the beans from their broth over a large bowl, reserve the broth.

In the oiled baking dish, combine the pasta, beans, 2 cups of the bean broth and the tomatoes.  Nestle spoonfuls of the pesto and the ricotta into the bean mixture.  Spread the panko over the top, then bake for about 35 minutes, until heated through and browned.

Notes:

* I tend not to peel my tomatoes because, well, I just don't really care enough about tomato skins to bother.  Nothing has ever been the worse off for it.

* In the recipe, Madison suggests 6 tablespoons of olive oil for the pesto, but I found that using just enough oil to moisten it was sufficient, especially because I didn't need it to hold up structurally. 

Healthy Fruited Muffins, in this case Cranberry and Lemon

It's been a long day of writing.  And grading, and reading and I'm just about all art'ed out.  You know the kind of hunger you get from a day of mental exertion, as opposed to a day of physical exertion?  The latter is somehow so much more primal, but the former, so much more emotional.  Do you think there is a difference between fueling the body and fueling the brain?  I'm inclined to say yes.  Yes, definitely.

I'm not talking about emotional eating in the sense of trying to fill a void.  But sometimes the brain craves sustenance at the very moment when the body, having been inactive most of the day, is not interested in heavy things.  Yet at moments such as this, raw carrots just will not do.  And when your head is already spinning, sugar is definitely not what's called for.

My solution?  Healthy muffins.  I know, I know, healthy baked goods are usually nothing to write home about.  But sometimes, a cakey muffin is just not in the cards.  I think that would actually make my stomach turn at this moment.  

These muffins aren't overly sweet, they derive most of their flavor from the fruit.  But they are satisfying, especially if you've had an ascetic day of coffee and not much else.  Then, they are pure comfort.  The recipe is mostly for the batter.  You can use any kind of fruit you want: fresh, frozen, dried.  I put cranberries in this batch, along with some lemon zest, which goes well with most things.  Since it's a low sugar recipe to begin with, nothing masked the cranberry's assertiveness.  So if that's a bit too much personality for you, try it with blueberries or even frozen raspberries.   Sure to make you feel a little less tortured.  

Healthy Fruited Muffins, Cranberry Lemon

makes about 7 muffins, adapted from Canyon Ranch Cooking

3/4 cup whole wheat flour

3/4 cup all purpose flour

1/4 cup agave nectar

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 large egg, lightly beaten

2/3 cup non-fat milk

2 tablespoons melted butter

3/4 cup fruit, diced if needed (in this case, frozen cranberries)

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest

Oven preheated to 350.

Oil your muffin tin and set aside.

Mix the flours, baking powder, salt and agave nectar in a medium bowl.

In another bowl, whisk beaten egg with the milk and butter.  Pour these wet ingredients over the dry, then add the zest and fruit.  Fold until just combined.

Fill your muffin cups 3/4ths of the way full.  Bake for about 20 minutes, although you might start checking at 15.  They should pass the toothpick test.  Cool slightly before removing to a cooling wrack.

Notes:

* Try other fruit combinations, fresh, frozen or dried

* There's no need to defrost frozen fruit, just mix it in and it will plump up with cooking

Homemade Ricotta

Time has slipped away from me lately.  Suddenly it's March and I was pretty sure I had at least a week left in February.  Since when are there only 28 days in February anyway?

In the last week and a half, I have visited 5 museums in 3 different cities: The Art Institute, Chicago for the permanent collection, of course, and Edvard Munch; The Marlborough Gallery, New York City for some Cubist sculpture; the Rodin Museum in Philadelphia; as well as the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Barnes Foundation for Renoir's centrifugal swirls of color.  Speaking of the Barnes, it's such a singular place, dedicated as much to one man's idiosyncratic view of art as to the objects themselves.  When Albert C. Barnes established the foundation in 1922, he stipulated that his collection be forever hung in precisely the same organization as he had devised himself.  The most amazing part is his insistence on symmetry, which necessitated buying pieces in part according to their size and how they would fit into the overall scheme.  

But the Barnes Foundation is moving.  Right now, it's still housed in the Barnes mansion in Merion, the pictures hanging on the same walls on which Barnes had placed them, their arrangement punctuated by small, decorative metal objects positioned between pictures, in an almost salon-like arrangement.  On an as yet undecided date, the collection will be relocated to Philadelphia, to a new building which, it is claimed, will maintain the layout of the original house.  But the mansion will have to stay behind, and with it, those Jacques Lipchitz reliefs which Barnes commissioned from the artist the year the foundation was started, about 20 years before Lipchitz fled to New York as a war refugee, and which decorate the house's facade.  The setting will no longer be a somewhat secluded domestic location, but a modern building near the Rodin Museum and the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  So while the collection will be more accessible to the casual visitor (right now an appointment must be made at the foundation and I have no idea if this will change in the future), something of its status as personal collection (in the vein of the Frick Collection, for instance) will be lost.

But since this blog is about food, and not art, I won't belabor the point except to say that if you're near Philadelphia, and you haven't been, make an appointment and see the collection the way it is truly meant to be seen, before you no longer have the opportunity.  

And then yesterday in New York, it was snowing.  Actually, I guess yesterday in most places it was snowing.  One of those huge blizzards that tries to make up for a relatively dry winter in one massive blow.  Actually, that's fine with me, because while Mother Nature reigns down her snow drifts, I made some pretty wonderful snow of my own.  Homemade ricotta.  Which, by the way, is embarrassingly easy, with only two ingredients and almost no hands-on time.  And what you're left with is a pillowy kind of ricotta to rival any of those fluffy flakes still falling, and, I imagine, infinitely better for snow balls.

This was February's Recipes to Rival challenge, but February snuck out in the middle of the night without even a word, so I'm a couple days late.  And I still don't know exactly what to do with my ricotta, as anything this special deserves something extraordinary.  But that's another post for another day in the very near future.

Homemade Ricotta

1 gallon milk (1% and up, the higher the fat content, the more cheese you'll end up with)

1 quart buttermilk

Into a very large pot, pour both the milk and the buttermilk.  Heat slowly over medium low heat until it reaches a temperature of 185 on a thermometer.  At this point, the mixture will have begun to separate into curds and whey.  Stir occasionally so that no curds stick to the bottom.

Line a collander with cheesecloth and set over a large bowl or in the sink.  Spoon the curds into the collander, separating the curds and whey.  Tie the ends of the cheesecloth together and hand like a sack for 10-15 minutes.  I hung it over the nozzle of the sink. 

Remove from the cheesecloth and place in an airtight container for storage.

UPDATE:  Evidently this is a bit of an impostor, although it can be used in place of ricotta in any recipe.  Thanks to Mark, who drew my attention to the fact that, and I quote "Ricotta is the oddball of the cheese world.  During the cheesemaking process, the curds are separated from the whey, pressed, and subjected to various types of fermentation.  Romano cheesemakers discovered that the discarded whey contained small amounts of protein which could be cooked to render additional curds."  

As you can see from the above recipe, these curds are rendered only once, making this more of a farmer's cheese (or paneer, queso fresco etc.).  Mark also gave us a link to a great site on cheesemaking in general, with a post on ricotta (among others).  Isn't it nice to have such informed readers?  Everyone give Mark a nice big "thank you!"

Need some ideas for what to do with your homemade cheese? Try one of these:

Achari Paneer

Healthy Peanut Butter Ricotta Spread for Fruit or Toast

Navy Bean and Pasta Gratin with Basil and Ricotta