Mixed Grain Mango Chutney Salad

I can't say I'm often frustrated by food, but I have to tell you. Sometimes I dread trying to feed myself at lunchtime. My school is located in a virtual culinary abyss, with only maybe two sandwich shops anywhere around. One of which is actually pretty good, but I've been going to this school for five years and they only have about 6 kinds of sandwiches. At the other one, you better be prepared to pay six bucks for a teensy tiny tub of gingered pureed carrots. I mean seriously, it must be some kind of magic ginger, because I'm pretty sure carrots are basically free.

So the moral is that I should be bringing my lunch. But for some reason I'm really bad about it, I get tired of what I bring, or it doesn't travel well, or there isn't enough. So I've been on the lookout for things to bring, and I thought I'd better mention this one thing, because it's fab, and it's spring-like and it's coming with me to school for the rest of the week (okay, for tomorrow).

And I thought I'd give one more plug to my new favorite website, because you have Eat Your Books to thank for this killer little salad. Before the days of a site that indexed many of my cookbooks in order to make them searchable on-line, I would have found myself with a half-used jar of mango chutney (leftover from some pretty serious mac and cheese, I might add) and I would have looked at it whenever I opened the fridge wondering what the heck to do with it. And since I hate wasting food, R would eventually have been forced to throw it away since I'm always in denial about food going bad. And he probably would have lectured me on how I just need to throw it away myself, and then I would have countered that he's so much better at it than I am. I think we're all glad that we've been spared this exchange. Not to mention that I can feed myself at lunch tomorrow. Finally.

I've cut the original recipe in half because, well, we don't have six people around here, and I don't need to be eating anything for six days straight. Also, instead of using only brown rice, I've turned it into a mixed-grain salad by also adding wheat berries. Don't have wheat berries? Use all brown rice. See? Easy!

Mixed Grain Mango Chutney Salad
Adopted from Bon Appétit Fast Easy Fresh

3 cup water
Salt
1/2 cup long grain brown rice
1/2 cup wheat berries
1/2 cup mango chutney
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large green apple, unpeeled, cored and cut into bite-sized chunks
1 cup thinkly sliced celery
1/2 cup raisins
2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint (or more, if you really like mint. I sure do.)
Handful of toasted slivered almonds (you can just dry toast them on the stove in a little pan)
Salt & pepper

Put the watter into a large pot and salt as though you were cooking pasta. Add the wheat berries. Bring the water to a boil, then reduce the heat, cover, and let simmer 15 minutes. Add the rice, cover again, and continue to cook for about 45 more minutes. Check to make sure the water doesn't evaporate. When finished cooking, allow the grain mixture to cool in a large bowl.

Whisk the oil and the mango chutney together. Toss the rest of the ingredients with the cooled grains, then fold in the chutney dressing. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Orange, Date and Spinach Salad with Lemon-Cardamom (and mint!) Dressing

There are some food bloggers who say things like, do you really need a recipe for a salad? Or a sandwich? I mean, who among us does not know how to make one of these things? But it's a silly restriction, because it's not about instruction. It's about flavor combinations, and we could all use some help breaking out of our old stand-bys. So yes, I realize you know how to make a salad. But the point is, maybe you've never made this salad, and maybe if you did, you'd really like it. I loved it. I loved it so much, that I ate all 4 servings over the course of about 1 1/2 days. By the way, those must be 4 main-course servings.

And, you know sometimes when you've baked something with buttermilk, but then you have most of the carton left over? And then, when you're trying to figure out how to use the rest of it up, suggestions of more things to bake aren't really that helpful since you've just, you know, baked something? Well you can use some of it for this dressing and have a nice salad to go with your breads, cookies and cakes. Sometimes it's good to have both hanging around.

It's somewhat heavily adopted from a Cooking Light recipe. Because I've noticed Cooking Light often restricts things like dressing to a fault. And this, in my opinion, was a wonderful dressing. Not that I like my salads doused, but still. Also, the original recipe called for endive, but I went with spinach. I realize it's a totally different beast as a result. But I like it my way, and I think the spinach required a little extra dressing because of its bulk. Oh, and the last thing is that I decided to bloom my red onion in the juice of the lemon whose zest was used in the dressing. Blooming, or rather, just dousing your onion in something acidic, like lemon or lime juice, calms down the raw bite it can otherwise have, and it adds a wonderful extra flavor. It was a good move, and you should try it, too.

Orange, Date and Spinach Salad with Lemon-Cardamom (and Mint!) Dressing
Adopted from Cooking Light's Annual Recipes, 2004

For the dressing:
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 cup low-fat buttermilk
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 teaspoons chopped fresh mint
grated zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon held aside for the salad
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

For the Salad:
1 bunch spinach, rinsed and dried
3 medium-sized oranges, pulled apart into sections
1 bunch radishes, sliced
1 medium-sized red onion, thinly sliced
about 7 sliced pitted dates (or more, I'd go for more)
4 teaspoons chopped fresh mint

In a small bowl, place the sliced onion and pour the reserved lemon juice over it. Set aside.

For the dressing, whisk all of the ingredients together in a small bowl.

For the salad, umm, toss all of those ingredients together, including the lemon juice-soaked red onion. Serve with the dressing.

Effortless Breakfast Burritos

Man, to look around here, you'd think it was all cupcakes, sticky buns, and cheesecake. I mean, obviously there has been some of that, but I've been making healthy stuff, too. Just nothing really blog worthy. A ho-hum dish with daikon radish and an even more ho-hum eggplant affair. I won't bother you with the details. So I decided it was time to bring back an old standard that, shockingly, hasn't made it onto the blog yet.

I've always had kind of a love affair with breakfast burritos. Back in high school, when I was on the swim team, one particularly enterprising mother used to bring them for us after morning practice. And let me tell you, there is nothing better in this world than a big breakfast burrito filled with eggs and veggies and cheese after two hours of swimming before dawn. This one is a little different, because it's a crockpot filling to which I've added eggs so it would be breakfast acceptable. They're a little bit spicy, totally filling, and pack a pretty darn good nutritional punch, what with the eggs, barley and vegetables. A quick shaving of cheddar cheese never hurts, nor do your favorite burrito fixings: guacamole, salsa, sour cream. And the filling can be reheated easily so that for busy mornings, it's just to scramble a couple of eggs and roll 'em up.

Crockpot Breakfast Burritos
Adapted from Cooking Light Slow Cooker

Place the following in a crockpot, give it all a stir, and set the pot on low. Cook for 4-5 hours (I usually go for 5).

1 15oz can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 10oz can diced tomatoes with green chiles, don't drain
1 cup uncooked pearl barley
2 cups vegetable broth
3/4 cups frozen corn, no need to thaw
1/4 cup chopped green onions
1 tablespoon fresh squeezed lime juice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon ground red pepper
3 garlic cloves, chopped

When the filling is done, scramble however many eggs you intend to eat, and spread some of the filling on an flour tortilla along with the eggs. Garnish with any or all of the following:

Shredded cheddar cheese
Fresh cilantro
Salsa
Lettuce
Guacamole

Norwegian Dinner Pancakes, or Pannekaker

Here in the US, when we think pancakes, we think the fluffy buttermilk sort, doused with maple syrup perhaps, or bubbling blueberries. The true Norwegian pancake, however, is a savory affair, with bits of browned bacon studding a thin, almost crepe-like batter. Sprinkled with sugar and folded in fourths, they're eaten for dinner, with little else beside. You don't need much else, as these are pretty filling. Dream-inducing even, if you put your head down for a second after dinner.

R's dad is usually in charge of the pannekaker making in his family. And since R comes from such a large one (5 kids!) he remembers his father cooking up huge stacks to satisfy the masses. Since it's his recipe, this project was R's deal, and I'm not even sure I was awake when the actual cooking was going on. Oh, I know, I said they're meant for dinner. We had them on a Sunday early afternoon, which is basically a Sunday morning. You can still totally eat these for breakfast, after all. I mean, bacon, pancake batter and sugar. Sounds like breakfast to me!

Pannekaker, or Norwegian Savory Pancakes
Family Recipe

3 deciliters flour
5 deciliters milk
1/2 deciliter sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
butter for the pan
a slab of bacon, diced

Sift the flour, sugar and salt together, then mix in half of the milk until it's smooth. Then mix in the rest of the milk and beat in the eggs. Allow the batter to rest for 1/2 hour before cooking.

In the meantime, your bacon should be chopped, so heat a small skillet over medium heat and brown the bacon until you have crunchy bacon bits. You don't need extra fat, since the bacon will render much of its own.

After the batter is finished resting, heat an 8" skillet over medium heat and spread a thin layer of batter over the bottom (see the picture above). You can tilt the pan to help spread it around evenly. The pancake should pretty much fill the skillet and be about the thickness of a crepe. As the first side cooks, sprinkle some of the bacon bits over the top of the still-raw side. When the cake becomes solid, which doesn't take very long, flip it over and cook until done on the other side. Transfer to a plate while you finish up with the rest.

Serve with sugar, which should be sprinkled over the pannekaker. Fold into fourths and enjoy.

UPDATE: I've changed the title of this post from 'Norwegian Savory Pancakes' to 'Norwegian Dinner Pancakes' because these aren't so much savory (sprinkling them with sugar pretty much takes care of that) but they are for dinner.

Totally Pumped up Mac and Cheese

I never really grew up eating much mac and cheese as a child. Not from the box, and my mother never made it. I went through something of an obsession with the mac and cheese at Noodles & Company during college, Noodles being part of that phenomenon of mid-level fast-ish food restaurant chains so popular in suburbia and nowhere to be found in NYC (I don't think).

I've been planning on this particular mac and cheese since Easter, back when I had a bag full of leftover ham. Leftover ham meant to go into this mac and cheese. But I put it off, and put it off, and we snacked on the ham, sneaking bits out of the bag furtively every day until it was gone. And the mac and cheese never made. So I have to admit to you right now, that I've committed quite a sin by leaving out a titular ingredient. I left the ham out of what was supposed to be a Mac and Ham and Cheese, from a book actually called Ham. I wouldn't even post about it except that it was still incredible. I didn't even miss the ham, although I don't doubt for a moment that it would have been a beautiful addition. But with artichoke hearts, mustard, mango chutney and two cheeses, it was hard to really miss anything. All I can say is that if you leave out one of the three main ingredients, and the result is still pretty sublime, well, you're going to want to make this one, that's all.

You can bake it up in a nice large casserole, that would be the easiest and most cook-friendly way to go. But, and this is the only time I'll ever reference a math concept, I prefer a high crunchy, burnt cheese to ooey-gooey cream ratio. I want lots of crusty bits on the sides of the pan, and lots of crusty bits all over the top. So I baked it in little individual casserole dishes which finished off for about 2 minutes under the broiler. We're pretty serious about our burnt cheese around here.

Mac and Cheese where there should have been Ham
Adopted from Ham: An Obsession with The Hindquarter

4 tablespoons or 1/2 stick unsalted butter
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
4 cups milk - I used 2% and you can use anything but skim
12 ounces Gruyère cheese (uumm, Gruyère)
1 pound smoked, wet-cure ham, chopped. It's okay if you inadvertently leave this out. It will still be delicious (but I'm sure the mustard in the recipe plays really well with the ham)
One 15 oz can of artichoke hearts, drained and kind of squeezed with your hands to get out some of the extra liquid
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon mango chutney
1 1/2 teaspoon minced dried tarragon (or a tablespoon if you can find it fresh)
12 ounced dried ziti, cooked for about 5 minutes and then drained. Don't cook it for the full time specificed on the package, because they're also going to be baked
1 ounced grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for sprinkling on the top

Oven preheated to 350F, with a wrack in the center.

Make a roux by melting the butter in a large pot over medium heat, then whisk in the flour. Whisk every once in a while until the mixture is off-white, about 2 minutes.

Whisk in the milk and continue to whisk until the milk starts to thicken slightly. My stupid burner turned off (because I have a crappy rental kitchen) and I didn't notice, so I think I ended up whisking for about 10 minutes in total once I realized and turned it back on. But you should be fine with around 5 minutes.

Using a wooden spoon, stir in the rest of the ingredients except the Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and the pasta. Remove the pan from the heat and add in the ziti.

Pour the mixture into either a large casserole dish or individual gratin dishes or a large, shallow pyrex dish, or a combination of the three. Sprinkle the Parmigiano-Reggiano over the top. Bake for about 35 minutes if it's in a large casserole of pyrex, and for about 20 minutes if it's in smaller dishes. If you're as crazy about burnt cheese as we are, heat up the broiler and give it about 2 minutes in the broiler, but watch it closely so that it doesn't go from "uuumm, burnt cheese" to "this cheese is no longer edible."

Favorite Whole Wheat Banan Bread with Grand Marnier

For some people, it's the chocolate chip cookie, for others it's mac and cheese. Those things we try out, over and over again, each time a little differently, until we've found the version that we will make our signature. Around here, we seem to keep going back to banana bread. We've made classic versions, and coconut versions, lower-fat versions, and whole wheat with chocolate chips, and now whole wheat with Grand Marnier. And I think I'm ready to declare a couple of winners. But first.

This recipe comes from a small little spiral-bound book from one of Aspen, Colorado's most famous old restaurants, now closed. The Copper Kettle was started by a group of friends in Aspen, recently returned from tours of duty in the Foreign Service during World War Two. Each had spent considerable time abroad, some in North Africa, Italy and Germany, others in Eastern Europe, Northern Europe and Central America. They traveled in the Near East, in Iran, Turkey, Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan and Syria and on their return, decided to open a restaurant in the middle of the Colorado Rockies. Each day, they featured one menu, with no choices, based on the cuisine of a different country or region. Beginning with the food of France; then the "Latin countries"; Eastern Europe and the Balkans; the middle, near and far east, central Europe and finally Scandinavia.

Anyway, funny thing to find a banana bread recipe here. But at the Copper Kettle, a basket of bread related to the country or region of the night would be delivered to the table, and during the dinners from the Latin Countries, this bread from El Salvador made its appearance. And so very ahead of its time, really. 100% whole wheat, a thick banana flavor, and a splash of Grand Marnier for depth. So here's my pronouncement: this bread wins for best whole wheat, hands down, and this one, from Mark Bitman wins for white. I think I can finally stop searching.

Oh, by the way, Yea for Spring!

Banana Bread from El Salvador
Adopted from In a Copper Kettle

1 cup sugar (you can adjust this a bit if you'd like a slightly less sweet bread, but it is 100% whole wheat, so I wouldn't call it overly cloying or anything)
1/4 pound butter (1 stick), softened
2 eggs
3 very ripe bananas, mashed
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 cups whole wheat flour

Preheat the oven to 350F and lightly grease your loaf pan. Set aside.

Cream the butter and sugar together, then add the eggs and continue to beat. Blend in 3 mashed bananas, then the Grand Marnier, the salt and the baking powder, and finally beat in the whole wheat flour.

Continue to beat until the mixture is smooth. Pour into your prepared loaf pan and bake for 1:10-1:30. The time really depends on your oven, but start checking at about 1:10.

My Go-To Chocolate Cake

It might be trite to compare a go-to chocolate cake with a little black dress, especially since the former isn't necessarily conducive to the latter, but you'd be surprised how often a great chocolate cake comes in handy. I've made this for birthdays, and probably most significantly, I tripled this recipe for my wedding cake. I also made it last night for a friend's birthday party, and partly because I wanted to see if she liked it enough to want it for her wedding cake, which I'm making in, oh, about 500 days (we like to get started with the dreaming early).

This is the Buttercup Bake Shop chocolate cake. R and I used to walk across Central Park in the summertime to get them. The first time there was some grumbling from him, complaining that I was making him walk all the way across the island for a cupcake. But after he tasted his first (and then his second in the same sitting) it became a tradition: the walk through the park, cupcakes and milk, and the bus back to the east side. So it's a good one, this little black cake.

And there's the frosting, a rich chocolate buttercream that even non-frosting lovers like. I have evidence from last night, and the fact that 8 of us managed to get through 18 cupcakes. What? It was a party.

Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Buttercream Frosting
Adopted from Buttercup Bakes At Home

For the Cake

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
6 ounces unsweetened chocolate, melted (easy to do in the microwave)
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup sour cream

Oven preheated to 350. Grease two 12-cup muffin tins for cupcakes, or line with cupcake papers if you're using them. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda and salt, then set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, or with a hand-held mixer, cream the butter and sugars together until light and fluffy. This should take about 2-3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time and beat after each egg until they're incorporated. Add the melted chocolate and mix until it's well incorporated. Add the flour mixture in thirds and alternate with the buttermilk and vanilla. Beat between each addition. The mixture should be smooth once everything is added. Stir in the sour cream, and make sure any ingredients on the bottom of the bowl have been incorporated.

Fill the muffin cups to about 2/3rds full. Bake for 20-22 minutes, until the tops spring back when poked with your finger. Allow to cool for 10 minutes before removing the cupcakes to a cooling wrack. Cool completely before frosting.

For the buttercream

1 1/2 cups unsalted butter, softened
2 tablespoons milk
9 ounces semisweet chocolate, melted and allowed to sit until lukewarm
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups powdered sugar

In the bowl of an electric mixer, or with a hand-held mixer, beat the butter until light and creamy. This should take about 2 to 3 minutes. Add the milk in a thin stream and continue beating until smooth. Add the melted chocolate, then add the vanilla and beat for another minute or so. Gradually add the sugar and beat until it reaches a creamy, wonderful, shove-your-face-into-it consistency. Taste as you go so it's exactly as sweet as you want it to be.

You should store the buttercream at room temp, otherwise it will get hard in the fridge. Use it to frost your cupcakes!

Savory Greek Cheesecake

This time last week I was in Connecticut, where it gets dark at night, dark and silent, where there's room to move around, room to cook, room to think. An idyll, really, when compared to NYC sometimes. Of course, I love NYC, but I love to get the heck out every once in a while, too. I mentioned before that we did a tornado of cooking last weekend, but it was strangely restful. Don't you love work that doesn't feel like work? It saves me from feeling lazy.

So I have a recommendation for you. Something good if you're having people over and you want an appetizer that's a little stunning. I tell you what, I didn't change a thing here, and I didn't need to. (Okay, fine. I upped the garlic a little. I tend to.) Although I thought the feta I bought was a little on the mild side, and I like my feta strong, so next time I'd search some out with a little more tang (I think that's what you'd call it when describing feta). But otherwise, this was pure delight. I mean, if you're feasting, you've already decided to perhaps eat past the comfort point, so a Savory Cheesecake (!!) isn't really that out of place. It's like the classiest, most delicious cheeseball, without being a kitschy cheeseball, ever. You can spread it on crackers, or eat it with bread, or just plunge in your fork. We all have Julia of Fat Girl Trapped in a Skinny Body to thank, because it's her recipe, she created it. And it's pretty brilliant. Pretty flippin' brilliant. Oh, and if Greek ain't your thing, she has three other flavors to choose from (that Pear and Gorgonzola cheesecake is just screaming to be made).

Greek Cheesecake
Adapted from Julia of Fat Girl Trapped in a Skinny Body

This bad boy serves a ton. 11 of us only made our way through half (although happily)

2 tablespoons butter, softened
1/4 cup breadcrumbs (I used Panko because it was on hand)
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
4 8oz packages cream cheese at room temperature
1 cup feta cheese crumbled, with additional cheese set aside for garnish
4 large eggs
1 cup sour cream
1 14oz can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped, with part of a second one for garnish
1 small can black olives (whatever you can find), drained and chopped (or get some good Greek olives from one of those snazzy new olive bars that seem to be sweeping the country)
2-3 large garlic cloves, passed through a press (What? We love garlic)
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped

Rub a 9" springform pan with butter. In a small bowl, toss the breadcrumbs and the Parmesan cheese together, then spread them on the bottom of the pan like a crust. Set aside.

Oven preheated to 375F.

Use a mixer to beat the cream cheese until it's fluffy, then add the feta, eggs and sour cream. Continue to beat until the mixture is smooth. With a spatula, fold in the red bell pepper, olives, garlic and basil.

Pour half of this mixture into the springform pan, then put in the artichoke hearts. Pour in the last half of the cheese mixture. Bake for around 50 minutes (but start checking earlier!) until the cheesecake is golden. Remove from the oven and allow to cool to room temperature. I left it in the pan to chill in the refrigerate overnight, but you should chill it for at least 8 hours. Unmold and sprinkle the rest of the chopped red pepper, feta crumbles and black olives over the top. Serve to your admiring guests.

Lemon Sticky Buns

Hey New York, let's just skip from 50F to 89F ... it's not like anyone will miss the 60s and 70s. That's a direct quote, actually, from a facebook update, but it's the flippin' truth. I went on a bike ride yesterday over the GW bridge and up to Peirmont and Nyack New York and it turned out that I was giving myself a slow roast for four hours. And now I have a sneaking suspicion that the tan lines I acquired are going to be permanent for the year. But really, that's okay. I prefer cycling in 90 than in 30. And anyway, I had these sticky buns to think about. Or rather, to remember fondly. And to pine for. So even if it feels like the height of summer, lemon-infused sticky buns scream spring.

It's not often that I'm on the frontend of a trend, but I have a feeling these might be the next bandwagon. I love Apartment Therapy's The Kitchn, it's probably my most-read blog. The one I keep up with on a regular basis. And for good reason, because now they've given us Sticky Lemon Rolls with Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze. And these are perfect for spring. They were also perfect, incidentally, for Easter breakfast. I made them at my Grandmother's house the night before we were to prepare a feast for 11. I found them to be light, and citrusy, of course, but not overly dense the way a traditional sticky bun can be. Some reviews on The Kitchn have called them too sweet, but they are sticky buns, after all, and I found the original measurements to be fine. Consider yourself warned if you're the type who normally likes to cut sugar in half.

One thing I would say for the filling however, is that depending on the size of your lemons, you might want to adjust how much juice you use, or it can get really, really runny. So if you have large lemons, perhaps start with half the indicated amount, and add more as needed. Actually, same goes for the cream cheese glaze, depending on how much run you like in your topping. But that's an easy adjustment to make, and shouldn't throw anything off.

A couple of important discoveries I made at my grandmothers house: she has a beautiful collection of china teacups and saucers. Flowered and patterned and gold-lined, I was in love with them all. I think you can tell. I also re-discovered that it is much nicer to cook in a normal-sized kitchen. Two people (more even!) could be in there at the same time without getting elbowed and having toes stepped on. After so many years of apartment living, it's always a nice break to be in an actual, honest to goodness house. It reminds me of how much I sometimes miss, well, room. Easter weekend was like a cooking retreat. I got to cook in a real kitchen, photograph in an enclosed porch with wooden tables and slate cooling plates, in beautiful natural light, and actually have more than two people to consume the finished product. I already can't wait for next time.

Sticky Lemon Rolls with Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze
Adapted from Faith Durand's recipe on The Kitchn

For the Dough:

1 envelope active dry yeast (.25 ounces, or 2 1/2 teaspoons)
3/4 cup milk, warmed, but not hot (about 100 F, but just heat it a little in the microwave)
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, very soft
1/4 cup white sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
2 lemons, zested
2 large eggs

For the Sticky Lemon Filling
1 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon freshly-ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon powdered ginger
2 lemons, zested and juiced, the juice of each lemon kept separate
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, also very soft

For the Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
Juice of 1 lemon
Zest of 1 lemon
1 cup powdered sugar

You can choose to use a stand mixer for the dough or to do it by hand. I did it by hand at my grandmother's house. In a large bowl, pour the warmed milk, then sprinkle the yeast over it and let it bloom for a couple of minutes. Beat in the softened butter, sugar, vanilla and one cup of the flour either with a hand-held mixer, or with the paddle attachment of a standing mixer. Next add the salt, nutmeg and lemon zest, then the eggs and enough of the rest of the flour to make a dough. If using a hand-held mixer, you'll have to stop mixing once you add a good bit of the rest of the flour, and switch to using your hands to knead the dough.

Once the flour has been added, if you're using a stand mixer switch to the dough hook and have at it for about 5 minutes. If you're hand kneading, turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until the dough is smooth and elastic.

Spray the bowl with vegetable oil (Pam for instance) and return the dough to the bowl. Roll the dough around a bit so it is evenly coated in the oil. Cover with a kitchen towel and let rise until doubled. This should take about an hour.

For the filling:

Mix the sugar, nutmeg and ginger together in a small bowl. Then add the lemon zest and crumble it around a little with your fingertips until it feels like wet sand. Start by stirring in the juice of half a lemon in order to make sure that the filling doesn't get too runny. You can add more if you need it. Keep the other lemon's juice aside for the glaze.

Grease a 9x13" baking dish and set aside. Return the dough, once risen, to a lightly floured surface and pull and stretch it out until it's a large rectangle, about 10x15". Spread the softened butter evenly on top, then pour the lemon-sugar mixture over it. Hopefully you were careful in adding your lemon juice and it's not too terribly runny! Roll the dough up tightly from a long end, then cut the roll into 12 even pieces. Place the buns cut side up in the baking dish. It's okay if a little of the filling seeps out during this last rise. Cover the dish with a kitchen towel and allow to rise for another hour, until puffy and doubled. It will bake into a kind of crust, which is never a bad thing. If you want to make them ahead, you can refrigerate at this point overnight (covered tightly, of course!). The next morning, simply remove them from the fridge and let them rise for an hour before proceeding.

Preheat the oven to 350F, with a rack in the center of the oven. Plot your risen rolls in there and bake for 35 minutes, until golden brown and cooked through. In the meantime, make the glaze.

For the Glaze:

With a mixer or in the bowl of a small food processor, cream the cream cheese until it's fluffy, then add about half of the reserved lemon juice. Add the powdered sugar and continue to blend until creamy. If you want a runnier glaze, add more of the lemon juice.

As the rolls come out of the oven, drizzle the glaze over the top, then sprinkle the remaining zest over the top again. Serve warm to giggles of delight.

The Only Easter Ham You'll Ever Need

I don't think it's a huge secret that I'm not a big meat eater. It's not that I don't eat meat, it's just that I prefer it as an accompaniment to something green rather than the main attraction. But for Easter, nothing quite beats a roasted fresh ham for a number of reasons: 1) it's impressive. If you're going to feast, you must have a centerpiece, and a fresh ham can't be topped. 2) It's easy. If you consider throwing a huge hunk of meat in the oven and setting the timer to be easy. This particular recipe only requires basting for the last 1:15. 3) Leftovers. This being perhaps the best reason to roast your ham. You get the coveted ham bone, which is one of the most prized additions to spring soups like split pea, not to mention all the leftover meat itself.

Before this weekend, however, I was a fresh-ham-roasting-virgin. So when I was contacted to review Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough's new book Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter, well, I guess you can tell what my answer was. You might recognize the authors from their prolific collaborate efforts at mono-thematic books: books dedicated to pizza, to frozen desserts, to potatoes, to chocolate, to peanut butter (!) and now to ham. Their writing style is extremely engaging, each chapter introduction reads like a vignette from a novel. And in the present recipe, when they suggested you dab on the maple syrup with a mind to Impressionism, not Abstract Expressionism? Well, the art historian in me did a little happy dance (not to mention that it was damn good advice).

I have a few more things on deck from the book to help use up some of our very coveted leftovers. But I have to tell you, this recipe, this maple-spice glazed ham alone makes the book worth its keep. It's stellar, you guys. Seriously. Not to mention that after an evening reading Ham like a novel, you'll find yourself with all sorts of new knowledge, not just about the fresh ham, but about European dry-cured hams (things like the Italian culatello, the Bulgarian elenski but, the French jambon de bayonne and the Spanish jamón ibérico), American country hams, and wet-cured hams which make up the majority of cured hams in the US. And it's full of traditional and not-so-traditional ways to use them all (like the Moroccan-style Roasted Ham which even the authors admit to be a cultural oxymoron). So we'll start with this, the Roasted Fresh Ham with a Maple-Spice Glaze because I'm sure it's the only fresh ham recipe you'll ever need. For one thing, I was only able to snap basically that one picture above before everyone descended on the thing. The measure of a great ham.

Roasted Fresh Ham with a Maple-Spice Glaze
Reprinted with permission from Bruce Weinstein and Mark Scarbrough's Ham: An Obsession with the Hindquarter with my parenthetical notes

One 8-10 pound bone-in fresh ham, preferably from the shank end, any rind removed (my ham was 8.5 pounds and it fed 11 adults with leftovers)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup real maple syrup (please use the real stuff! After all of this effort, you deserve it)

Put the Dickensian joint in a large roasting pan, preferably one that's shiny enough to reflect lots of ambient heat and not so flimsy that it tips willy-nilly when you pick it up. Set the oven rack as high as it can go and still afford the ham at least 2 inches of head space. Leave the roast in its pan out on the counter and fire the oven up toe 325F.

Mix the sugar, cinnamon, allspice, cloves, nutmeg, and salt in a small bowl. Wash and dry your hands, then smooth the spice mixture all over the ham's external surface. Work it down into some the crevices, but be careful to avoid any deep-tissue massage. A ham is a complex structure of muscle groups - too much massage and they can come apart like Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her.

Cover the whole kit and caboodle with aluminum foil, shove it in the oven, and leave it alone for 3 1/2 hours, while you go do whatever it is you do when a big, sweating hunk of meat is roasting in your oven.

Peel off the aluminum foil. Baste the ham with about half the maple syrup, preferably using a basting brush. Take it easy so you don't knock off the spice coating. Use small strokes - think Impressionism, not Abstract Expressionism. Or just dribble the syrup off a spoon.

Continue roasting the ham, uncovered this time, basting every 15 minutes or so with more maple syrup as well as any pan drippings, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickets part of the meat without touching bone registers 170F, about 1 1/4 hours. If it starts to singe or turn too dark, tent it loosely with foil, uncovering it just at the last to get it back to crunchy-crisp.

Transfer the ham to a cutting or carving board and let it rest at room temperature for 15 minutes before carving into slices.

Norwegian Pancakes, or Lapper

I first ate these when I visited R for the first time in Norway, the trip during which I first met his family, saw where he lived, and realized that there are places on this earth where it can actually rain for 85 days straight. That sounds worse than it was, because it didn't rain all day every day. Just part of all of the days.

You know, there aren't that many recipes that R gets truly excited about (hardly any of mine, I've noticed, but he's stoic like that.) Three exceptions that I can think of on the spot are his mother's komler, his mother's kvæfjordkaka, and these, his mother's lapper (I'm sensing a pattern). Not far from American pancakes, closer, in fact, than what Norwegians actually consider to be pancakes, these are like the best buttermilk flapjacks you've had. In R's family, they tend to use Kefir, a probiotic fermented milk drink that can be found in Turkish stores. (This is the brand we found and used.) If you can't find kefir, you can certainly use buttermilk, but our discovery of the drink in a local Turkish shop precipitated our making the recipe in the first place.

If you want to be authentic about this, you'll serve these with jam rather than syrup. And you won't eat them for breakfast. Maybe you'll invite a friend over to get out of the rain and drink some tea and eat some lapper. This recipe certainly makes enough for a small army, so there should be plenty to go around.

Lapper, or Norwegian Pancakes
Family Recipe

4 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
4 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 cups plain Kefir (you can substitute buttermilk if you'd like)
3 teaspoons baking soda
A few tablespoons of sour cream (optional)

Dissolve the baking soda in the kefir and set aside. Combine the eggs, sugar, salt, baking soda dissolved in Kefir and sour cream (if using) in a large bowl. Sift the flour into the bowl, then mix gently until the flour is combined. Be careful not to overmix.

Grease a a large pan or skillet with a little bit of butter, then heat over medium. Pour in about 1/4 cup portions onto the skillet. The pancake is ready to turn when bubbles begin to burst on the surface. Flip, and cook for a bit less time on the second side than on the first. If you want to be authentic, serve with jam rather than syrup.

Blueberry Tart

Oh I know. You're probably not even thinking about blueberries yet. They haven't even crossed your mind. But damn it. I need to believe that summer really is just around the corner, because all of this rain lately? It's getting me down. And for baking, you don't really need the most luscious berries ever to see the light of day. Heat does something great to fruit that helps it overcome any of its still-out-of-season limitations.

Of course, what would be even better is if you happened to live in Northern Europe somewhere, one of the Scandinavian countries perhaps, where you might traipse around bare-footed and carefree (okay, probably not bare-footed. Going without shoes being highly overrated when foraging for your food) plucking a basket full of small, tart bilberries from their low-growing bushes. In fact, if you were Scandinavian, it would be your government-given right to gather the fruit on any public land. The fruit of the people. Bilberries are closely related to our more familiar blueberries, but are smaller, more tart. Oh, and wild. Always wild.

If you don't have bilberries on hand, you can use blueberries for this dessert, or any in-season (or out of season but available!) berry. Blackberries, raspberries, black currants...you get the idea. The recipe is Joanne Harris's, from her French kitchen. If I had a french kitchen, I think this particular tart would be on my counter at all times. The recipe seems to have been written for the bilberry, as we've been saying, so the sugar content might be a bit high for the more demure blueberry. Next time, I'd adjust accordingly. You should, too, depending on the tartness of your fruit.

Blueberry Tart
Adapted from Joanne Harris and Fran Warde's My French Kitchen

For the pâte brisée:

1 3/4 cups flour
12 tablespoons chilled, unsalted butter, cut into cubes and kept in the refrigerator until needed
1 tablespoon sugar
1 large egg
1/2 tablespoon cold water

For the filling:

1 lb blueberries (or other berries!) washed and picked over
3/4 cup heavy cream
2/3 cup sugar (or perhaps a bit less depending on the sweetness of your berries), plus a bit more for sprinkling
2 large eggs
3 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon crème de cassis (totally worth it, don't skip it. There are other things you can use it for. Like drinking it.)

I really find the easiest way to do a crust like this is in the food processor. So that's what we'll do, although Harris and Warde keep it old school. So anyway, put the flour and butter into the bowl of a food processor and process for about 15 seconds, until the mixture reaches the consistency of coarse bread crumbs. Add the eggs, sugar and water, and process again, for no more than about 30 seconds, until the mixture starts to come together in larger chuncks to form a dough. You don't want to overwork the dough, so, umm, don't.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead only long enough to bring it into one homogenous lump of dough. Wrap and refrigerate and rest the dough for 40 minutes.

Lightly butter a 10" tart pan with a removable bottom. On the same lightly flour surface, turn out the chilled dough and roll it out to a size slighly larger than your pan. Transfer the dough to the pan, with dough hanging off all sides. Now here's a cool little trick: to trim the dough, simply roll your rollingpin over the top of the tart pan. Magic! Refrigerate the lined pan for 20 minutes.

While the pan is cooling, preheat the oven to 400F. In a medium bowl, mix together the cream, sugar, eggs, flour and liqueur. Whisk until there are not lumps. Take the pan out of the refrigerator and put the berries in the crust. Pour the cream mixture over the fruit, then lightly sprinkle the top with a little bit of extra sugar. Bake for 35 minutes, until the crust is fully cooked and the cream is set. Allow to cool before serving.