Butternut Squash Fondue

I readily admit to being a huge butternut squash fan. It's the vegetable that keeps me going through the winter, because it's sweet, and bright, and, it turns out, the perfect serving vessel. Not that I don't have my fair share of dishes, although none of them match. (I don't believe in matching plates. Why would I want them all to be exactly the same? Better to have two of each, all different kinds.) But actually, I am kind of lacking in the serving platter department. Everything comes to the table on a dinner plate, and if it doesn't fit, it gets cut down so that it does. I also lack a fondue set. But that's okay. Because with butternut squash fondue, you don't even need one.

Of course, the butternut squash itself makes a wonderful vehicle for the melted cheese. But this is best served with cubes of day-old bread lightly fried in oil or butter. You should look for a butternut squash on the small side of the spectrum, since each person is served an entire half. Cooking times will vary according to the size of your squash, so you'll be eating faster if you manage to find a little one.

Butternut Squash Fondue
Adapted from Annie Bell's In My Kitchen: Food For Family and Friends

1 tablespoons white wine
1 teaspoon cornstarch
130 grams Gruyère cheese, grated
40 grams crème fraîche
salt and pepper to taste
freshly ground nutmeg to taste
2 small butternut squashes (around 700 grams if you can find them. If your squash are larger, you'll have to adjust the cooking time. You might even have to double it.)
1 garlic clove, passed through a press
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
1 tablespoon butter, melted

Preheat the oven to 375F. Whisk the wine and cornstarch in a medium bowl, then stir in the cheese and crème fraîche, as well as salt, pepper and nutmeg to taste, until it forms a thick paste. Half the butternut squashes (carefully!) and remove the seeds and stringy fibers. I usually use a grapefruit spoon for this, which words well. Score the squash in an X-pattern with the tip of a sharp knife down the length of the body.

Divide the garlic into 1/4ths and rub a 1/4 of it into each of the hollows left from removing the seeds. Fill the hollows with 1/4 of the cheese mixture.

Place the squash halves in a baking dish, nose to tail. In order to keep the squash level while baking, ball up a bit of aluminum foil and use it to prop the end of each squash up. Season the squash with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, as well as with the chopped thyme. Drizzle with the melted butter.

Bake for 35-40 minutes if you have small squash, up to an hour or more for larger ones. The fondue should be golden and bubbling and the squash itself should be tender enough to be easily pierced with a knife. Serve with cubes of fried bread.

Upside Down Lemon Cake

I've been cooking for friends a bit lately. You can tell, because there seem to be quite a few baked goods popping up, and I tend to save those indulgences for times I can pass them along to others. You may remember when I was studying for my oral exams. Or at least, you might remember my complete absence from this blog during that time. Well, one of my good friends is getting ready to take her test. The other day I was sitting with her at school and she looked at me with some seriously fatigued eyes (from those 12-hour reading days!) and asked me how I found the time to feed myself when I was studying. The truth is, I pretty much didn't. I ate a lot of 3 Musketeers bars from our vending machine, and the same 2 or 3 sandwiches from a nearby shop every day. Of course, I immediately invited her over for dinner last Sunday when she was done with her reading.

Anyway, I'll post a bit about what we had over the next couple of days. For now, I couldn't help but start at the end. With the highlight. With dessert. Okay, so I'll warn you upfront. If you don't like the orange peel in marmalade, that slight bitterness that cuts through the sweet, this cake is not for you. But I have more faith than that, I think you're going to love it. Not to mention that it's totally beautiful, with thin slices of stained-glass lemon, near translucent after cooking. The recipe is from the LA Times, which I know pretty much only through the Internet and the warring food sections pitted against each other at The Wednesday Chef. But after this recipe, all I can say is well done, LA Times, well done.

Lemon Upside-Down Cake
Adapted from The LA Times

4 small lemons, 3 if they're closer to medium-sized
1 1/4 cups butter, divided into 1/2 cup and 2 tablespoons
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 vanilla bean, split
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk

Wash the lemons since you're going to be using the rind, then cut all of them but one as thinly as possible. Shoot for 1/8". I tried a mandolin at first, but found I had trouble getting whole slices, so switched to the knife. Zest 1 teaspoon of lemon peel from the leftover lemon and set aside. You won't be using the rest of the last lemon in this recipe.

In a 10" oven-proof skillet, melt 4 tablespoons of the butter over medium heat. As the butter is melting, use your spoon to spread it up the sides of the pan as well. Off the heat, add the brown sugar and stir until it is all moistened by the butter. Spread the sugar/butter mixture into an even layer on the bottom of the pan. Arrange the lemon slices on top in a concentric circle. The slices should slightly overlap so that the sugar mixture is completely covered. Don't worry if you don't use all of the lemon slices.

This is a good time to preheat the oven to 350F. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt and set aside. Cut up the remaining 6 tablespoons of butter and put the chunks in another bowl. Use the tip of a knife to scrape the seeds from the vanilla been into the same bowl. With an electric mixer, cream the butter and vanilla seeds. Add the sugar and lemon zest and continue beating until the mixture is fluffy. Beat in the first egg until it's well combined, then beat in the second.

Add half of the flour, then all of the milk, then the other half of the flour, and beat between each addition so that the mixture is well-blended.

Spread this batter over the lemons and be sure that they're covered evenly. Bake for 30-35 minutes until the cake is a light golden color and it passes the toothpick test. Remove from the oven and allow to rest for a few minutes before inverting onto a plate. Serve warm or at room temperature. Be sure to use a sharp knife to cut it, so you can get through those lemon slices!

Quinoa Parsnip Maple Cookies

I have a few complaints to which I'd like to give a platform:

1. It's getting warmer (which is nothing but good), however that causes my dog to shed everywhere. And worse of all, she sheds on the low coffee table that I use for pictures. I have to clean it each and every time I want to put anything on top. It's getting old.

2. All winter I was missing my favorite pair of ultra-warm boots. Brown suede with cream flowers stitched up the sides. I love those boots. And I just found them yesterday. Which is good, except they may as well go back into hibernation because it won't be cold enough for them for another ten months. People conceive and have children in less time.

3. I have too many books. Not for my own good, mind you, but for my bookshelves. They are all breaking, seriously, all of them, because the books are piling up. I need a larger apartment. I'd sooner give away the couch than get rid of books.

But, one thing I won't complain about is Quinoa Parsnip Maple Cookies. Because these things are good. And, for a cookie, relatively healthy. Rolled oats, quinoa, parsnip, for goodness sake. I was introduced to this recipe by Sarah, of Simply Cooked, who originally found them on A Crafty Lass (and who doesn't want a Crafty Lass in their life?), written by Erin. Actually, Erin invented these little gems, so she gets double props for that. But Sarah played around with them, and I picked and chose from both of their adaptations.

I agree with Erin when she bemoans the underrating of the parsnip. Not quite a carrot, definitely not as colorful, they're often overlooked. Actually, speaking of carrots, you could certainly use those in place of the parsnip if you happen to have them on hand, or if you have a strong preference. And with a generous drizzle of maple glaze, these cakey little cookies are pretty darn delicious.

Quinoa, Parsnip and Maple Cookies
Adapted from Erin's recipe, and Sarah's version as well

1 stick unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup packed light brown sugar
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup ap flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup cooked quinoa (start with 1/3 cup dried and cook it in twice as much water)
1 cup rolled oats
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 cup grated peeled parsnip, depending on the size of your parsnips, this might be half a very large one, or one kind of more normal sized one.

Oven preheated to 375 F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

With a mixer, cream the butter and sugar together until fluffy. Then beat in the eggs one at a time, making sure that they are well combined before adding the next. Then beat in the vanilla.

In another bowl, mix together the flours, quinoa, oats, baking powder, salt, cinnamon and allspice. The buttermilk should be ready. Set your mixer on low, and beat in 1/3 of the dry ingredients, then half the buttermilk. Next add in another 1/3 of the dry ingredients and the last of the buttermilk before adding in the last of the dry mixture. Fold in the parsnips with a spatula.

Drop the cookie dough in tablespoon-sized mounds on the prepared cookie sheets. Bake for 11-13 minutes, until golden around the edges. Transfer to a cooling wrack and let cool completely.

For the Maple Glaze

While the cookies are baking, whisk together 1 cup powdered sugar with 1/4 cup real maple syrup until smooth. When the cookies are completely cool, drizzle the maple glaze over the top. Allow the glaze to set before storing or serving.

Greek Beef Casserole

I consider myself lucky for any number of reasons, not the least of which is that I get to live in NYC (at least for now, you never know when New York Play Time will end). I also get to live just a few blocks away from one of the only butcher shops left in the city, and really, how many butcher shops do you know of in the rest of the country either? I can't remember really seeing any in Denver, but I may not have been looking.

Anyway, the Holland Court Meat Market is only a couple of blocks further than the grocery store, so a trip there is really no extra effort. I'll admit I don't buy meat all the time, and its probably the one food group with which I'm the least familiar. Enter the butcher. My grandmother learned to cook by asking her butcher questions when she was a newly married young mother. At Holland Court, if they don't stock it, they can get it, and pretty darn quick as well. Plus there's just something about buying your meat from a person who has dedicated (in this case) his life to a craft which seems to be dying out. Anyway, this really isn't an ad for our local butcher, but I'm so frequently disappointed with our large chain stores, that any opportunity to support smaller businesses is a welcome one.

This dish is something like a very paired-down beef bourguignon (but then, anytime beef gets cooked with red wine I think of Julia Child's famous dish), or better, a more sophisticated beef and noodles without the canned cream-of-whatever soups. You can put this one almost completely together well before you intend to serve it, but you do still need to leave 2 hours for it to stew. The spices, especially the cinnamon, are wonderful, and that final sprinkling of feta brightens up a relatively long-cooked casserole.

Greek Beef Casserole
Adapted from Annie Bell's In My Kitchen: Food for Family and Friends

4-5 medium sized plum tomatoes, chopped (you can skin them if you want, but I'm kind of anti the skinning of tomatoes. Too much effort and I like the skins.)
Oil for the pan
2 pounds top rump, fat trimmed and cut into 1" stewing cubes (this is another place the butcher comes in handy)
3 garlic cloves, passed through a press
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon round cumin
1 cinnamon stick
2-3 large shallots, peeled and diced
2/3 cup red wine
1 cup water
Salt and pepper to taste
Tagliatelle or linguine for serving, enough for 4 servings
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
Fresh feta and chopped flat leaf parsley for serving

Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a dutch oven or other large pot. Have a paper towel or brown bag waiting, and sear half of the beef on all sides. Remove the beef to the towel or bag, and sear the remaining half. Return all of the beef to the pot and add the garlic, nutmeg, cumin and cinnamon stick. Toss to coat the beef in the spices.

Add the tomatoes, shallots, wine, water and salt and pepper to taste. Bring the liquid to a boil, then reduce the heat to low, cover and simmer for 2 hours. Stir once in a while. Be sure near the end of the cooking time that your pot has not dried out. The liquid should have reduced to a rich broth.

25 minutes or so before serving start the pasta. Bring another large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook according to the amount of time specified on the package. Drain the pasta into a colander, and add the butter to the pot in which it was just cooking. Toss the pasta with the butter. To serve, mound some of the pasta on a plate, and top with a serving of beef. Garnish with crumbled feta and chopped parsley.

Mixed-Grains with Dried Fruit

I was recently talking (okay, emailing. Okay facebook mailing) with a cousin of mine, when I admitted to eating fig jam spread on bread for dinner. She asked if I would be willing to admit it on my blog, and I said of course. So here it is: I don't cook everyday. I really don't cook dinner everyday. Sometimes, in fact, I make one dish and stretch it into several meals, either eating it all day for every meal or several days in a row.

In his book Mexican Everyday, Rick Bayless talks about the concept of feasting. He says that in most cultures, day to day eating is a simple exercise in nourishment, or "simple preparations of natural ingredients." And periodically, whether it be the celebration of the weekend or more elaborate holidays and events, feasting punctuates the usual restraint at regular and frequent intervals. I like the idea. It's why I love having people over on Friday nights to enjoy a big meal, but feel content to eat something like a wholesome grain dish sprinkled with dried fruit as dinner. Or even more ascetically, fig jam spread on a couple of pieces of bread. (By the way, that fig spread? Highly recommend. In fact, here's a post about it on that same cousin's blog! It's called Dalmatia Fig Spread, and the stuff is addicting.)

With spring right around the corner, and the promise of all that fresh produce, I thought it would be a good idea to use up some of the dried fruit I've been stockpiling all winter. This recipe comes out of that need. It makes a whole boatload of grain. I mean really, probably too much if you're not feeding a seriously hungry crowd. So you could consider cutting it in half, which is what I'd do next time. Also, there's a lot of vinegar. I love vinegar. Love it. But you may not. In which case, I'd suggest adding half and then going from there and deciding if you want more. One commenter said that she uses sherry itself instead of the vinegar, which is a substitution I would definitely try next time. One more note is that you don't really have to be bound by the grains suggested in the recipe. You can use any combination in any proportion, leaving out things you might not have. For example, when I made it, I used only wheat berries and brown rice, no wild. I just increased what I did use. That seems obvious enough. So there you go. Think of it as saving up for your next feast (or, serve it as a side dish for said feast!)

Mixed-Grain Salad with Dried Fruit
Adopted from Bon Appétit

1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup chopped shallots
1 cup brown rice
1 cup wild rice
1 cup wheat berries (may also be found under hard wheat berries)
2 cups water
2 cup chicken stock (or veggie, really)
3/4 cups dried cranberries
1/2 cups chopped dried apricots
1/2 cup dried currants
1/4-1/2 cup Sherry wine vinegar
2 tablespoons walnut or olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped fresh sage or 2 teaspoons dried rubbed sage
1 cup chopped pecans

Heat a large saucepan over medium-high heat, and preheat the oil. Add the shallots and cook for about 5 minutes, until tender. Add the grains and stir to coat everything with the oil and shallots. Add the water and the stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, cover and let cook until all of the liquid has been absorbed by the grains, about 40 minutes. You'll want to check it near the end to be sure the pot hasn't dried out and burned on the bottom. Off the heat, stir in the dried fruit and let cool to room temperature.

In the meantime, whisk together the oil, the sage, and the vinegar in a small bowl (you can add as much vinegar as you want, to taste). Pour over the cooled salad and toss. Season well with salt and pepper, then fold in the pecans. They say the salad is best served at room temp, but I eat it straight from the fridge myself.

Maple Quinoa Pudding with Ricotta

I really am a pretty big fan of quinoa. I love its texture, those little grain bubbles, and how they become translucent when cooked with that little thread running through the center. I've told you already about how I sometimes eat it in the morning, prepared pretty much like oatmeal and with many of the same fixings. And I still like that way. But I like this way even better.

If I had to say, I'd choose this as the best way to eat quinoa for breakfast. Or dessert. Or throughout the day, with spoonfuls taken furtively from the bowl in the fridge. However, it does require a few notes on ingredients. The original recipe calls for fat free ricotta, which you can use. But imagine how much better it would be with at least part-skim. And if you don't like tofu, you can always skip it and just double the ricotta (or replace it with vanilla yogurt, like Megan did!). I personally love silken tofu in things like fruit shakes, so it was perfectly at home for me here.

Also, the recipe is kind of specific about what kinds of dried fruit to use, which is just silly since you can do anything you want. And next time I make it, I might even consider going a little retro and adding in drained canned pineapple chunks or, maybe even better, chopped drained mandarin oranges. Dated? Probably. But I love those little mandarin oranges. I also happened to have a dwindling bag of red quinoa, so that's what I used because it's pretty and it was on-hand. But you can just as easily use the normal kind with no difference in flavor.

Maple Quinoa Pudding
Adapted from Vegetarian Times

1/2 cup uncooked quinoa
1 cup ricotta (the recipe says fat free, which you can get away with, but wouldn't even part-skim be better?)
1 cup silken tofu (if you can't get behind tofu, leave it out and double the ricotta or replace it with vanilla yogurt)
3-4 tablespoons pure, Real, maple syrup
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 handfuls of dried fruit, according to what you like. Some suggestions: current, raisins, dried pineapple, dried apricots, dried papaya. I used pineapple and currents. (Another idea would be to use drained canned pineapple chunks or chopped mandarin oranges.)

In a large pot, bring 2 cups of water to a boil over medium heat. Be ready with the lid, then add the quinoa, reduce the heat to low and cover. Allow the quinoa to cook for about 20 minutes.

In the meantime, whisk together the ricotta and the tofu until smooth. Add the maple syrup, start with 3 tablespoons and add the forth only if you want it. Add the vanilla, then stir in the cooked quinoa (you don't really need to wait for it to cook). Fold in the dried fruit. You can either refrigerate it before serving so that it's a uniform coolness, or just dig in. I did both.

By The Way:

Do you like those gray napkins? I know, they're lovely, aren't they (that's not really a question). Well, I got them on Etsy from my new favorite seller. I am majorly coveting those beautiful colander napkins. Anyone want to send them to me?

Balsamic Onion and Polenta Cake

So you know sometimes when you have a bunch of flavors kind of bumbling around in your head, and maybe odds and ends in the pantry you haven't looked at lately. And sometimes the two mix and create strange cravings, or at least, impulses. That's all to say that I made this one up. Not out of whole cloth or anything, there's really no reinventing the wheel when it comes to cooking. I mean, if a particular combination works, chances are it's been discovered before now. But I had a feeling this would be good, and it was. And the proof is that I ate it. As in I ate the whole thing. In one day. With No help. Granted, I ate it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, so it's not as excessive as all that. Okay, it's still pretty excessive. But part of the reason for it's creation in the first place was my not wanting to go to the store. So I didn't, and I'm full, and that's how it worked out.

This is a Vinegar-Caramelized Onion Upside Down Polenta Cake. Or, it's an Onion Tart Tatin, with Polenta instead of puff pastry. Or it's a mess of Balsamic Glazed Onions with a coating of Gruyere-spiked polenta to string them together. I've never been one much for titles. My dissertation is still called merely "Andrea's Dissertation in Progress" with no colon to separate the snazy part from the academic elaboration part. When Onions and Polenta Meet: A Study in Savory Cakes, for example. Anyway.

Remember the Balsamic Roasted Onions I told you about maybe a week or so ago? I still had onions kicking around, and one go at the recipe left me with a well-developed taste for them. I have a friend, let's call her J, who told me once that she wasn't interested in trying any new foods because she didn't need additional things to crave. That's what happened here. Additional things. So I thought, let's gussy these little red onions up a bit and give them their own bed of baked polenta to roll around in. Yes, polenta with cheese mixed in of course, baked into a savory crust.

Now, I have to admit to you that there was one side of the cake that didn't get as much polenta as it should have, and wasn't able to hold up its end of the deal. So a couple of onion wedges got loose and kind of rolled to one side. I think this problem would be solved by using an additional 1/2 cup of polenta to begin with. So I'll add that into the recipe. This is a particular method for polenta which negates the need to stir constantly. You won't end up with the perfectly creamy porridge of the labor-intense sort, but it's perfect for baking. Otherwise, this thing is rustic. It is not your perfectly shaped tart tatin, because 1) I am not French and so lack the necessary finesse to achieve it 2) we're using polenta and not a sheet of puff pastry which can be neatly folded down over the edges of whatever it encases. But if that's okay with you, it's certainly okay with me.

Onion and Polenta Upside Down Cake

For the onions:

3 large red onions
Olive oil for the pan
Salt and pepper for seasoning
2 cloves garlic, passed through a press or minced
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, finely chopped
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar, divided in half

Preheat the oven to 450 F. Peel the onions and cut them into quarter or thick wedges. Be sure to keep the root end attached so they don't break apart. In an ovenproof 10" pan, heat the oil over medium-high or even high heat, add the onions, and cook them over the heat reduced to medium until they're brown on both sides. This will take 5-10 minutes. Season with the salt and pepper, then add the garlic and cook until it's light brown. Mere moments, really. Add the thyme, and then three tablespoons of the vinegar and toss the onions to coat them well. Be careful with this adding the vinegar part, because it can splatter.

Be sure that your onions are in one layer. They should fit snuggly together, in what would normally be considered an over-crowded pan. Remove the onions from the heat and set aside while you finish the polenta.

Drizzle the last tablespoon of vinegar over the onions before adding the polenta. Set aside

For the polenta:

1 1/2 cups polenta, the slow cooking kind (try Bob's Red Mill if you're having trouble finding it)
5 cups water
1 cup grated gruyere cheese
¾ teaspoon salt

Mix the salt into the polenta in the top of a double boiler. Bring all of the water to a boil in the bottom of the double boiler, then stir 2 cups of the water slowly into the cornmeal until well combined. Add the remaining water and stir well, leaving about 2 inches of water in the bottom of the double boiler. Place the top of the double boiler over the bottom and cover. Cook for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Be sure that the bottom of the double boiler doesn't dry out.

When the polenta is done, or nearly so, stir the cheese into it. Cover the onions with the polenta. You’ll have to do some patch work here, but just be sure the onions are covered and that the polenta encases them around the edges. Bake for 20 minutes in an oven preheated to 450 F.

When the polenta is crusty on top, remove form the oven and let sit for a couple of minutes before inverting onto a serving plate.

Another Norwegian Apple Cake

Last weekend, R made an apple cake that was dreamy. I'll admit that we've been a little obsessed with baking with apples lately, and I'm not sure it shows any signs of stopping. I have yet another apple cake, or pie kind of, at least, an apple dessert that I've made before and that I've been craving lately, and another one that I made recently but haven't put up. (I didn't love the pictures, although I did love the cake.) So don't be too surprised if both of those also show up in the near future. I'm not one to resist cravings. I don't believe in it, as a rule.

But first, let's talk about this particular cake, because it is pretty particular. First, R used green apples. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Right from the oven the green apples were waaay too much. Too tart, too overpowering, too green. Bummer. But by the next day, the cake had cooled, the flavor had mellowed, and things were looking up. It became the perfect breakfast cake, of the European variety. Okay, now I'm making things up, that part about it having some kind of intrinsically European quality. That is just to say that it's not a flouncy, springing, fluffy American cake whose sole purpose in life seems to be climbing up the sides of the cake pan. This one didn't rise much, perhaps weighed down by the apples, it stayed pretty earth-bound. Denser, like a breakfast cake. I said that already. So anyway, I recommend making it, and then waiting, and eating a sophisticated breakfast. Like a European.

The recipe comes from yet another Norwegian cookbook that R's parents gave to us, but it's been translated and modified by R along the way. The measurements were in deciliters, one of which is equal to about 1/2 a cup. But maybe you have a liter measuring cup yourself? It wouldn't be a horrible investment anyway, because then you don't have to worry about that little bit of difference between the deciliter and the half cup. So you'll find deciliters below because that's what we used, and I therefore can't guarantee the results if you convert to cups. (But it will probably be fine. This is a simple little cake, afterall.)

Another Norwegian Apple Cake
Adapted and translated from Kokebok for alle

2 eggs
1 1/2 deciliters sugar plus 2 tablespoons for tossing the apples
3 apples, peeled, cored and diced (I'd recommend red. I'm a sucker for Pink Ladies.)
1/2 deciliter walnuts
4 tablespoons melted butter
1 1/2 deciliters milk
3 deciliters flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon plus a sprinkle more for tossing the apples

Oven preheated to 350F. Grease a round cake pan and set aside (we used a 9" springform pan).

Whip the eggs and the 1 1/2 deciliters sugar together until the mixture is stiff. Toss the apples with the extra cinnamon and extra sugar, then stir them into the batter along with the nuts, butter and milk. Sift in the flour, baking powder and 1 teaspoon cinnamon. Use a rubber spatula to mix until combined and free of lumps.

Pour into a round cake pan and place in the middle of the pre-heated oven. Bake for about 1 hour, until it passes the toothpick test. Remove from the oven, and let it stand for a few minutes before turning it out onto a cooling wrack.

Semolina Butter Cookies with Sea Salt

Here's the thing. Chocolate is overrated. It's always held up as the best out of the pair in the chocolate/vanilla dichotomy, and an entire industry of propaganda has sprung up around it. Such as the insatiable cravings all women are supposed to have. But butter as a flavor in its own right hardly ever gets mentioned. And the butter cookie seems to be barely a blip on the craveable radar. Well it isn't right. The butter cookie has long been a favorite of mine because, frankly, what could better than the pure taste of butter? I mean, really.

All of that is to say that these cookies are unapologetically butter rich in taste and texture. And speaking of texture, they use semolina flour which, although itself coarse, makes them incredibly delicate and crumbly, threatening to disintegrate in your hand. And making good on that promise on your tongue. But the real secret here is the salt.

Rather than finishing them with a sprinkling of, say, rock sugar, they get a gentle shower of sea salt just before baking. Anyone who has enjoyed the chocolate- or yogurt-covered-pretzel, kettle corn, or bacon in any kind of dessert knows how natural the pairing of opposites can be. And in this case, a good sea salt really gets the opportunity to show itself off. Sweet, buttery, crumbly, then a hint of salt at the finish.

This recipe comes from Mark Bittman who, of course, can always be trusted. And it's a perfect example of how the combination of a few simple, but well-chosen ingredients can be transcendent. I really think you're really going to like this one.

Brown Sugar Semolina Cookies with Sea Salt
Adapted from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian

2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 egg yolk
1 cup semolina flour
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
Coarse sea salt for sprinkling.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar on low until well combined. Add the egg yolk, then both of the flours, and then the salt as you continue to beat until the mixture just starts to hold together.

Turn the dough out onto a clean surface and roll it into a log. Wrap with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, until the dough is well chilled and firm enough to be cut into slices.

Preheat the oven to 325 F. Have 2 cookie sheets ready, either ungreased or covered with parchment paper. Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Using a sharp knife, the slice the dough into 1/4" slices, and put them on the cookie sheet with a couple of inches room between them. Sprinkle the cookies with a little bit of sea salt. Be relatively conservative about this, since you don't want to over-salt them. Bake right away until they're firm but not browning, or about 15-20 minutes. Let the cookies rest on the sheets for a moment before you remove them to cooling wracks.

The Ultimate. Balsamic Roasted Onions

Reader, I'd like to introduce you to your new favorite onions. Uumm, onions. I know. There is nothing in this world better than the melting sweetness of a good roasted onion. Oh wait, yes there is. A good roasted onion doused in balsamic vinegar, pan fried and then left to sweat it out in the oven until its top layers curl into a slightly incinerated, but nonetheless rainbowed, paper-thin crunch. You don't normally think of the onion as sweet right off, but subjected to some serious heat, the layers caramelize and crust over, full of juice and sugar. And. To top it off. There are few onion tears, because they're merely quartered, not sliced or diced or any other thing. I personally have very sensitive eyes (you know, being so sensitive in general and everything (right)) and almost always cry over my onions. People make fun of the onion goggles? I wish for them every single time. Except this time, because even I can quarter an onion. (Plus, I can't really bring myself to embrace the onion goggle. My sense of irony isn't well developed enough.)

The original recipe is Michael Chiarello's and he wants these onions piled on top of a large porterhouse steak, which he starts in a pan and finishes in the oven. We had two smaller steaks, which I simply panfried with salt and pepper, mostly to appease R. I'm not a huge fan of hunks of meat in general. Or rather, I like them okay, but I only need about half before the flavor gets monotonous for me. I'd rather just eat the onions.

Balsamic Roasted Onions
Adopted from Michael Chirallo's Tra Vigne Cookbook

3 large red onions
Olive oil for the pan
Salt and pepper for seasoning
2 cloves garlic, passed through a press or minced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar, divided in half

Preheat the oven to 450 F. Peel the onions and cut them into quarter or thick wedges. Be sure to keep the root end attached so they don't break apart. In an ovenproof pan, heat the oil over medium-high or even high heat, add the onions, and cook them over the heat reduced to medium until they're brown on both sides. This will take 5-10 minutes. Season with the salt and pepper, then add the garlic and cook until it's light brown. Mere moments, really. Add the thyme, and then half of the vinegar (2 tablespoons) and toss the onions to coat them well. Be careful with this adding the vinegar part, because it can splatter.

Transfer the onions along with their pan into the oven and roast until they're tender, browned and even a little charred, about 30 minutes. Stir the onions once or twice during roasting so they don't adhere to the pan. Remove from the oven and put the onions on a plate. While the pan is still hot, add the last 2 tablespoons of balsamic and deglaze the pan by stirring and scraping up the brown bits (see, this process isn't just for meat!). Pour over the onions. Serve on a nice steak or pick at them with your little fingers.

Medley of Mushrooms, Pearl Onions, Celery Root and Chestnuts

I kind of have a thing for ugly vegetables. Except turnips, it turns out. Not a huge fan, and that may be a first for me. A vegetable I actually don't much care for. So no turnips here, at least not today. But celery root, or celeriac as it's sometimes also called, for some reason always seems to make for delicious meals. I may have gotten lucky before with this soup (This Soup! If you haven't tried it yet, I suggest you put it immediately on the top of your to do list), or perhaps it's just this book. Because both recipes started life in Alfred Portale's Simple Pleasures, and both, for some reason, ended up being relatively photogenic in the end. So much for ugly vegetables. I guess AP was betting on people not being overly taken with the poor celery root, because he doesn't even include it in the recipe title. That doesn't seem right to me, so I've returned it to its rightful titular position. I've got you, celery root.

Oh, I also have a thing for vegetable medleys. I mean, what the heck else should I be calling them? These funny little side dishes that, in my life, tend to become entire meals. I was actually vetting this little number for a position as accompaniment for our Easter feast (which R and I are cooking this year at my grandmother's house), but in all honesty, I think it might have a little too much...Personality. Or something. Too much flavor? No, I mean, it just, well, it's a head turner. Maybe even a show-stealer. What I'm trying to say is that it's so flavorful that I think whatever is served along side will end up being the side. So a roast chicken might be a good idea, but less an Easter ham. Anyway.

It's getting kind of near the end of chestnut season. You might still find them, like I did. But then after roasting and shelling, you also might find that only, say, half are actually good. Honestly? The chestnuts weren't the main deal anyway. I might even prefer this recipe without them to begin with. That would certainly save your thumbs from the shucking. Stupid shucking. Such a pain. So forget the chestnuts, don't let their absence stand in the way of you and this perfect side-dish-meal.

Pan-Roasted Mushrooms, (Chestnuts - maybe), Pearl Onions and Celery Root
Adapted from Alfret Portale's Simple Pleasures

16 chestnuts, fresh, or the vacuum-packed kind. If you use the vacuum-packed kind, you can skip the roasting. Or you can skip the nuts altogether.
4 ounces slab bacon, diced
tablespoon olive oil
12 pearl onions, peeled
1 medium celery root, peeled and diced (need some help with peeling? See this post)
8 ounces cremini mushrooms (you can use white bell mushrooms, too) trimmed, and thickly sliced
Salt and pepper
2 cloves garlic, passed through a press
a pat of unsalted butter
Flat-leaf parsley for garnish, chopped

To Roast the chestnuts:
Preheat the oven to 425. Slit an X in the flat side of each chestnuts and spread them out on a baking sheet. Roast in the oven for 35 minutes, shaking the sheet occasionally to prevent sticking. Remove from the oven and let cook before you shell them. Once that chore is done, chop them and set aside.

For the rest:
In a large pan, fry the bacon in the olive oil until crispy and most of the fat has been rendered, coating the pan. About 6 minutes. Stir them while they cook so they don't stick and burn. Remove the bacon bits with a slotted spoon, but keep in all of that wonderful grease. Drain the bacon on a paper towel while you do the rest.

Add the pearl onions and celery root and cook for about 6 minutes, stirring. Then add the mushrooms, and season with your salt and pepper. Sauté until they vegetables are just soft, about 4 minutes, then add the garlic for 1 minute. Add the bacon back in, then toss in the chestnuts, the pat of butter and the parsley. Toss until the butter is melted and everything is coated. Serve and enjoy!

* * *

And Now, a Public Service Announcement:

Also, you guys, I have to tell you something. So there's this new site, it's called Eat Your Books and it is Bomb. Seriously. It's a project that's pretty well underway to catalog the recipes out of practically every cookbook In The World and make them all searchable. So you know how easy it is to search for recipes in the Web (that's probably how you got here, isn't it? Isn't it?). Well now you can do it in your own cookbooks. I have Too Many cookbooks. Way too many. Too many, sometimes, to even use. But with Eat Your Books, I can search my own cookbook collection by recipe title, according to the ingredient that I want to use (that's how I found this recipe in the first place, by searching for "pearl onions"), by author or whatever. The site doesn't have actual recipes, it doesn't need them. You have them already in your own books. What it does do is make your books Infinitely easier to use. And you know I wouldn't tell you about it if I didn't love it myself. You should try it. You'll love it, too.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts

Maybe a post about brussels sprouts (or brussel sprouts, or brussels sprüts, however you want to spell it, I'll just switch back and forth) isn't the best time to talk about fantasies of super powers. I mean, most people would perhaps use a super power to avoid brussels sprouts. But don't we all have some kind of super power fantasy when we're little? Mine was very well thought out, during that half hour every night before sleep. Here it is. If I had a super power, it would be the ability to choose one quality from every person I meet that I would like to incorporate into myself. I'll explain. If I met, say, Cesar Millan, I'd be able to whisper with dogs. If I met a brilliant forensic anthropologist, I'd be as much a genius as Brennan (you know, from Bones? Don't you watch Bones? Whatever, Bones rules my little world). I wouldn't be stealing these qualities from people, they'd be able to keep them too. It's just that I could instantly be fluent in any language, brilliant at any instrument, a genius in any subject, the fastest runner, best swimmer, and most limber gymnast (well I guess technically it would be a tie between myself and whoever had the skill to begin with). I still fantasize sometimes.

And maybe from Elise at Simply Recipes I'd take her skill with brussel sprouts. Except, of course, I don't have to because the recipe is simple and not beyond anyone's ability. Still, it accomplishes a major feat, since poor brussels sprouts are too often boiled to within an inch of their existence before being plopped down in front of some whiny complainer who doesn't want to eat boiled cabbage-mush. I have to admit that I like them even when they are mistreated. My dad is another story, and his complaining (did I just call my dad a whiny complainer about brussels sprouts? I think maybe yes.) successfully convinced my mother to serve them only on Thanksgiving. Only once a year, and he only had to eat one. I'm not sure the good roasting we're about to give them would convince him otherwise, he's pretty stubborn about things like that, but it sure does bring the nuttiness of the brussel sprout to the fore, which plays oh-so-nicely with the garlic and lemon juice. And I'm sure they'd get along famously with the Parmesan cheese I was kicking myself for forgetting.

Unfortunately, I don't have any of those super powers, nor, it seems, the ability to maintain my 100% healthy streak through the winter. I'm sick, I don't feel like typing anymore, and so I'm going to send you over to Simply Recipes for your sprouts fix. Enjoy!

Candle Cafe's Paradise Casserole

I can't, by any reasonable stretch of the imagination, claim to be an expert on New York City restaurants. For one thing, I don't have very much money, which eating out requires. For another, I don't always have a lot of energy, which constantly searching out new places also requires. But I have my favorites. There's our local neighborhood French bistro which is basically the best restaurant ever in the world. I could eat there multiple times a week, and sometimes I do. Oh, and our local taqueria, with the best guacamole and some seriously good horchata. And then, there's the Candle Cafe, that famous vegetarian restaurant for which I have to wait for willing friends, since R's reply to most vegetarian food is "it would be better with meat" (meat schmeat, I say). And this, their Paradise Casserole, is one of the best things on the menu.

Layers of cinnamoned sweet potato, black beans stewed with onions and cumin, and a crust-like spread of millet. Millet, by the way, is a pain to find. Don't bother with Gristedes, or Gourmet Garage. Or any other grocery story for which I don't have to get on the subway. But they have it at Whole Foods. As usual. And one oh-so-precious thing I learned from the Paradise Casserole is this: sweet white miso makes for the most spectacular sweet potato whip. I could lick the sweet potato layer right off of the beans. Don't test me.

I should warn you that when you're boiling your black beans (which you remembered to soak overnight the night before) be sure that you cook them All The Way Through. Not part of the way through, not to al dente (which is not meant for beans) but All The Way. Check, and when you notice a little resistance, don't figure it will be fine. Just return them to the water for an extra few minutes. I mean really, self, you should know better by now.

Paradise Casserole
From the Candle Cafe Cookbook

4 sweet potatoes (I used yams, that's what I could find)
1 tablespoon sweet white miso
1 teaspoon Umeboshi vinegar (if you can't find umeboshi, you can substitute with red wine vinegar)
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 cup black beans, soaked overnight with a 1" piece of Kombu, drained (I used the Kombu because, strangely, I had some sitting around. But I wouldn't necessarily make a special trip for it)
2 cloves garlic, minced or passed through a press
1/2 cup white onion, finely chopped
1 teaspoon cumin
Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes
Pinch of sea salt
1 1/2 cups of millet
Oil for the casserole pan

Oven preheated to 350F

Bake the sweet potatoes for one hour until a fork goes in easily. Remove to a bowl and let cool a bit, until you can work them out of their skins. Place the pulp in a large mixing bowl and mash with a potato masher until smooth. Add the miso, vinegar and cinnamon and continue mashing, then give it a good stir to be sure it's all combined.

While the sweet potatoes are baking, put the beans in a large stock pot and cover with water by 2". Add the garlic, onion, cumin, crushed red pepper and salt and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer for 45-60 minutes, until tender. Drain, and set aside.

In the meantime, put the millet in a large pot with 4 cups of well salted water. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover, and simmer over low for 40-45 minutes, until the water is absorbed. Set aside.

Oil a large casserole dish (I actually used a 10" springform pan) and spread the millet over the bottom. Spread the black beans over that, and then spread the layer of sweet potatoes.

Bake for 45 minutes. Remove and let cool a bit before serving. Serve slices of the casserole over steamed kale, as they do at Candle Cafe.

Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24: Norway in New York

I've been itching to get into this Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24 thing for a while, and was extremely excited when I was selected for February! Preparing an as-authentic-as-possible Norwegian Feast in New York was quite an undertaking, and as I began preparing this post, I realized there was so much I wanted to tell you about each recipe. As a result, please consider this your introductory post, which comes complete with links to more detailed posts about each recipe, the ingredients, the history behind many of them, and why my husband, R and I chose to make them for this event.

Just a few of our guests, getting ready to eat

Here's a bit of back story. R is from Norway. He's from a small town (by my standards!) on the Southwestern coast called Haugesund, so the theme for our Norway in New York feast is foods from his region of Norway. R and I were married last June, and since we met I've been exploring Norwegian recipes off and on. For our wedding, his sister and brother had our guests play a game. They passed out 12 balloons, one for each of the twelve months of our first year of marriage. When a guest popped their balloon, they had to complete the task written on the piece of paper they found inside during the month they'd been assigned. This is all to say that R's other sister was charged with translating some of their family recipes for us. She did this all the way back in October, I think, but I was studying for orals then and, if you'll remember, not cooking. So several of these recipes are R's old family recipes, translated by his sister.

Another source for these recipes is a book that R's parents gave me for my birthday (also last October!) called Norwegian National Recipes, by Arne Brimi and Ardis Kaspersen. These are very authentic recipes, organized by region. All of the recipes used here come from the section dedicated to the region around Haugesund.

A little view of Norway!

Finally, the last source for these recipes is yet another cookbook R's parents gave to me for my birthday. It's called Haugesund Husmorskoles Kokebok, and it was the text book produced for a college in Haugesund in 1929 dedicated to teaching young women home economics. The book was a compendium of the recipes which the students had been cataloguing since the school's founding in 1913. The book ended up being something of a classic in Norwegian cooking because it's full of all sorts of traditional recipes. In fact, it's been reprinted 23 times since it's first run, and can be found in most everyone's kitchen in Haugesund, partly because the local bank gave it out to women on their confirmation. The fact that there are no pictures can make it a little difficult if you don't know anything about Norwegian cooking (not to mention that it's only in Norwegian!) but luckily R was there to make sure everything went well and that everything was done correctly. I've stayed as true to the recipes as possible, not being in Norway and all. When I write out the recipes, I've used my sister-in-law's and R's translations, and elaborated on them a bit to make them accessible to an American kitchen which probably lacks a real live Norwegian standing over you making sure things are done correctly!

Another view of Norway!

Before we get started with the food, I must mention that this was totally a joint effort between R and myself. We split the cooking and I relied on him to translate recipes and to make sure things were done according to tradition. I would also like to dedicate this post to R and to my family-in-law, for introducing me to Norwegian cooking. You can click on the title of the recipes below to be directed to a post which explores each recipe in more depth.

Okay, so let's start with appetizers and drinks. The first thing we made was a Norwegian Berry Drink called Rå bringebærsaft. As someone who doesn't drink alcohol a whole lot, it was really refreshing to have a non-alcoholic drink meant to compliment a meal.


We then set out a spread that consisted of Stavanger Herring Salad and its accompaniments:


Along with the Herring Salad, we made Potato Lefse, a Norwegian flat bread:


Herring is also normally served with a Cold Potato Salad, so we did that, too:


The Herring should be scooped up with, or wrapped inside, the lefse with a helping of potato salad on the side.

For our main courses, we cooked up two dishes. One a bit more time intensive than the other. The first one, which takes a bit less commitment, was a Sour Cream Porridge, or Rømmegrøt. Rømmegrøt is usually served with a cured mutton called fenalår, which I explain in more detail (and show you!) if you click through to the recipe.


Our next main dish was one of R's favorites. It's called Komler, and it's basically potato dumplings stuffed with a little piece of bacon, simmered in meat broth. It's served with boiled or mashed carrot and rutabaga, as well Norwegian sausage. You can find all about it in its dedicated post.


For our desserts, we made two of R's favorites. The first is called Dronning Maud Pudding, named for Norway's first queen. It was developed in Haugesund, but the name was changed for reasons I go into in the dedicated post.

Our final dessert is called Kvæfjordkake, named for a fjord in the north of Norway. It also goes by the name of Verdens Beste, or World's Best, and after tasting it, I'd have to agree. It's built around two pieces of meringue baked on top of a thin layer of cake, that then sandwiches a filling of vanilla cream. I predict that it will be the next big thing. So click through and read about it now!

Rå bringebærsaft, Norwegian Berry Drink

I thought about making Glögg for our Norwegian dinner, that world-famous mulled wine of Scandinavia, but since it's primarily a Christmas thing, and we're well past the holidays, R and I decided on this berry drink instead. R's family drinks this regularly with any dinner, and he always remembers it being homemade, because of the abundance of berries in his grandparents' garden. You can buy it at the grocery store in Norway, but of course we also prefer the home made version around here. And since I don't really drink (alcohol) very much, I just love the idea of having a delicious, non-alcoholic drink to enjoy with a meal.

I'll admit that this isn't quite the season for a drink made primarily out of totally non-seasonal berries, but it was totally worth it. Totally. Expensive, as a result, but worth it.

Rå bringebærsaft, Norwegian Barry Drink
From the Haugesund Husmorskoles Kokebok

1 kilogram berries, your choice. We used raspberries for this version and I recommend them.
4 dl water (about 2 cups), plus more for serving.
3/4 - 1 kilogram sugar, we used 500 grams
16 grams of tartaric acid (only if you want to store it. If you're going to drink it right away, don't bother)

Mash the berries, then mix in the sugar and the 2 cups water. Pass through a fine-mesh sieve to separate the seeds and any pulp. Chill for several hours before serving. Before serving, thin it out with additional cold water. We used 2 parts water to 1 part berry juice, but that's according to personal preference.

Note: if you use blueberries instead of raspberries, increase the water to 8 dl, or about 4 cups.

Stavanger Herring

My husband is from Haugesund, Norway, a town famous for its herring which is abundant in its coastal waters. So when I was choosing recipes that would be representative of his region, herring was on the list from the start. This recipe, from Norwegian National Recipes by Arne Brimi and Ardis Kaspersen is called Stavanger Herring, named for a town not far from Haugesund. I've been to Stavanger twice, and experienced one of the most miserable ferry rides of my life to get there one year in January! It's a pretty quiet place, really, but charming. In Haugesund, however, herring is such a part of the cultural fabric that they host a herring festival every August, in which the town builds a huge table which is then loaded with different sorts of herring, free for the tasting (and I've heard, smuggling for later enjoyment). I've never been, but it's on my list, and I think, given my undying love for the stuff, a good reason to plan a trip back some August.


However, the salted herring that would be used in a herring salad such as this is not as easily accessible in New York City as I thought it would be. I figured with The Lobster Place at Chelsea Market I was sure to find some. When that failed, and neither the first market at Whole Foods nor the market at Grand Central came through, I started getting a little desperate. So rather than starting with salted herring (which, by the way, if you plan ahead, you can order from The Nordic House), I bought three jars of herring in wine and vinegar and decided to give them the same soaking treatment I would have used for the salt herring.

In either case, you should soak your herring in water over night, changing the water when you think of it. If you manage to find whole salted herrings, you'll also need to debone and deskin them. If you're not as well prepared and using jarred, you can skip straight to the dressing.

Stavanger Herring (Stavangersild)
From Arne Brimi and Ardis Kaspersen's Norwegian National Recipes

6 salted herrings, deboned, deskinned and filleted (or, failing that, 3 small jars of herring in either wine or vinegar), soaked overnight in fresh water
3 hard boiled egg yolks, cooled
1/2 teaspoon mustard
Pepper to taste
2 tablespoons oil plus more for consistency
1 tablespoons vinegar, plus more for consistency
2 teaspoons sugar
fine chopped parsley for garnish

Place the herring on a serving dish. In a separate bowl, mash the egg yolks with a fork, then add the mustard and a few grindings of pepper. Stir in the oil and vinegar a little at a time until it reaches a smooth and shiny consistency. I ended up using about 3 tablespoons oil and 2 tablespoons vinegar. Mix in the sugar, then pour the dressing over the herring and toss together. Garnish with the parsley and serve with a flatbread (such as this one) and potato salad (like this one).