Steak with Wild Mushroom Barley Risotto

When you think of risotto, perhaps you think of something thick, and creamy, and starchy and in the end a bit brick-like in the stomach. We're getting to that point in winter now when such things might start sounding a little less-good. Not the risotto part, of course, just the brick-like part. I've personally given up on winter, and started counting down the days until I can be truly happy again when going outside. And I've been craving lighter food, although we're still basically stuck with winter ingredients. Mushrooms pretty much save winter, as far as I'm concerned. R keeps talking about foraging for whild mushrooms in Norway, in the forests near where he grew up, where the poisonous ones, he claims, are actually red with white spots. Red with white spots. As though straight out of Mario Brothers Land. Nothing could be more perfect.

I'm sorry to say that these mushrooms weren't foraged from the forests of Norway, but found at the local produce stand. And I keep going on and on about the mushrooms because the mushroom risotto was so amazingly wonderful that I nearly forgot about the steak. If you wanted a meatless dish, you could literally forget about the steak yourself, as this risotto definitely stands on its own. R even called it the best risotto I've made so far. And the best part of that statement is that it's made with barley, not rice. And is still the superlative. If you haven't tried a risotto yet with an alternative grain, this is a great first introduction. Seasonal, delicious and virtuous, to see us through to spring.

Steak with Wild Mushroom Barley Risotto
Adapted from Cary Neff's Conscious Cuisine

For the Risotto:

3/4 cup barley
Oil for the pan
1/2 chapped yellow onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 ounces fresh, wild mushrooms, whatever is available
1 bay leaf
3 1/2 cups vegetable stock, heated
1/2 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme
1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup Parmigiano cheese

In a medium saucepan, toast 1/2 cup of the barley over medium heat until it's golden brown and nutty smelling. Stir fairly constantly so it doesn't burn for about 3-5 minutes. Remove the barley from the pan and set aside.

Coat the bottom of the same pan with oil and sauté the onion and garlic until softened but not browned, about 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms and cook them for a minute more, then add back the toasted barley and the rest of the barley as well as the bay leaf.

Stir in 1/2 cup of the hot stock, and reduce the heat so the liquid simmers. Stir until the stock is absorbed into the barley, then continue it add the stock 1/2 cup at a time. Stir will between each addition, making sure the stock is absorbed before you add more. Continue cooking until the barley is tender, about 20-30 minutes.

Stir in the herbs and the cheese and season with salt and pepper to taste. Remove the bay leaf, and place on serving plates.

For the steak:

4, 4 ounce fillet Mignon steaks
Olive oil for the pan
Salt and pepper
Tablespoon of mixed herbs, whatever you have on hand, really. A mixture of the same herbs used for the risotto would be fine.

Oven preheated to 400F.

Take the steaks out of the refrigerator and allow to come to room temperature. Head a medium skillet over medium-high heat and add oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Season each side of the steaks well with salt and pepper and with the mixture of herbs. Sear the steaks on one side in the pan for about 2 minutes, then turn the steaks and sear again for 2 more minutes. Finish the steaks by placing them in the oven for about 8 minutes for medium rare (this will depend on the thickness of your steaks and the temperature of your oven).

Serve over a mound of Wild Mushroom Risotto

UPDATE: I should have mentioned this earlier, but I used the kind of quick-cooking rolled barley because that's all my stupid grocery store had. I'm sure you could also use pearl barley, and if you're really patient, the whole kind as well. I found that even the rolled kind worked fine and was able to absorb all of the stock while retaining some texture.

Healthy Apple-Barley Salad

Is barley an official super food? I'm not sure, actually. But it probably should be. It was, after all, beer and bread made from barley that gave Egyptian slaves the strength to build the pyramids. And it's always been known to be inexpensive, the poor person's wheat during the Middle Ages. So inexpensive and energy-giving. It's also easy to find, and easy to make. And really, very easy to make delicious. I love having salads such as this one, made early in the week, just sitting in the fridge for lunching or snacking or sneaking spoonfuls in between. Especially during the winter when I crave fresh food and brighter flavors and bowlfuls of things that haven't been endlessly boiled. It's so healthy with the barley and apple, and even uses apple juice in the dressing in place of much of the oil. If you have a juicer you can just juice your own apples, which is completely worth the effort. Fresh juice makes the dressing so good you'll be tempted to drink it straight.

The recipe is from a book I bought once for about 10 cents on some remainder table called Conscious Cuisine by Cary Neff. I think the price reflects the layout which looks suspiciously like a mid-90s high school text book with colored sidebars for ingredient lists and nutrition information. But you know what they say about books and covers. Because this salad is wonderful and is one of two really great recipes I've made from the book so far (the other is coming up). Neff calls simply for 'barley' in the recipe, but there are several kinds available. The most common, pearl barley, has had the husk, bran and germ milled away, but it cooks quickly and is still quite nutritious. If you can find it, hull-less barley is not as messed-around-with, is chewier and nuttier tasting. These days you can also find rolled barley which looks a lot like rolled oats. You can really use any of these types in this recipe, whatever you can find. You'll have to adjust cooking times and perhaps the amount of liquid you use, but that should all be specified on the package.

Apple-Barley Salad
Adapted from Cary Neff's Conscious Cuisine

1 cup barley, whatever kind you prefer or can find
2 cups vegetable stock
1/2 cup mined fresh parsley
1/2 cup minced fresh mint
1 medium apple, your favorite kind, unpeeled, cored and diced
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about the juice of one lemon)
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/4 cup unsweetened apple juice
1/3 cup white wine vinegar
2 teaspoons honey
Pinch salt and a grinding of pepper to taste

For the salad, toast the barley in a dry pot over medium heat for a few moments until light brown, about 3 minutes. Be sure to stir so it doesn't burn. Add the stock and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat so the liquid simmers, cover the pot and simmer for 25 minutes. The barley should be soft. Remove from the heat and if there is extra liquid that hasn't been absorbed, drain it off.

Transfer the barley to a serving bowl and toss with the parsley, mint and apple.

For the dressing, whisk together the lemon juice, olive oil, apple juice, vinegar and honey. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Pour the dressing over the barley and toss to coat. Refrigerate until cold before serving, at least 30 minutes.

Heirloom Norwegian Apple Cake and a Story in Kamille

This is R's mother's recipe for Norwegian Apple Cake. I made it all the way back in October for what I think is a pretty rad reason. If you've been reading here for any length of time, you've probably noticed that I make quite a bit of Norwegian food, and evidently a journalist in Norway noticed too. So on a trip to New York, she stopped by my little East Harlem apartment with a real photographer and interviewed me for a story about this blog and about my interest in Norwegian food for Kamille, one of Norway's largest woman's magazines. If you're in Norway, you can find the issue in stores now, if my family-in-law hasn't already stock-piled all of them. If you've found me through Kamille, welcome! You already know that I'm married to a Norwegian, but living in New York City where I often attempt to recreate the cuisine of his native country in a tiny apartment kitchen.

The whole interview experience was really wonderful. We sat in my living room, which doubles as the family room, the dining room and the study, ate Norwegian Apple Cake and talked about food, about cooking in New York, and about exploring Scandinavian cuisine. Then we took a little walk around the neighborhood, pausing at some of the beautiful brownstones around the block and popping into what we affectionately call 'the fruit stand.' It's actually a little Turkish shop down the street that overflows with produce, woven and wicker baskets hanging from the ceiling, and baklava and Turkish delight to tempt you at checkout.

And speaking of the Apple Cake. I'll admit I spent several days deciding what to serve, looking through cookbooks and grilling R. But when it came down to it, as much as I love my books, nothing ever really beats a family recipe. R says that every family has their Apple Cake in Norway, and I've been trying a lot of them. But this one was definitely the best. It's the one R grew up eating, his mother's recipe. And like all great classic European cakes, it's not at all difficult to make. Tusen takk Kamille!

My Family's Norwegian Apple Cake
Family Recipe

200 grams unsalted butter, at room temperature
200 grams sugar
3 large eggs
200 grams flour
1/2 teaspoon vanilla sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
Sugar, cinnamon and chopped or slivered almonds for topping.
2 or 3 apples, depending on size, cut into wedges. You want enough wedges to make one layer in an 9 inch pan.

Oven preheated to 175C or 350F

Cream the butter and sugar together until pale in color. Add one egg at a time and mix well between each egg. Add the flour and the vanilla sugar. Put enough of the batter into a 9 inch springform pan so that it about 1 inch deep. You can really use any springform pan, but you might need to adjust the cooking time.

Place a layer of apple wedges on top of the batter, then sprinkle with the chopped almonds, some cinnamon and some sugar. Using a spoon dipped in warm water, place dollops of the remaining batter on top of the apple layer. You don't want the dollops so close together that they seal in the apples, because steam needs to escape as it bakes.

Bake in the center of the oven for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the edges of the cake start to peel away from the pan.

Good For You Date Shake

You know, some blog posts are destined to be long and involved, filled with links, and anecdotes and maybe even some history. Five or six pictures, a long, involved recipe with lots of tips on difficult techniques. This is not one such blog post. Basically, breakfast is hard. Breakfast is hard because mornings are hard, and let's face it, sometimes feeding oneself is also hard. And we all need simple ideas. So although the date shake is classically made with vanilla ice cream, this version, from Bon Appetite's Food Lover's Cleanse uses fat free yogurt and milk. You don't need added sugar because the dates take care of that. One hint, though. Before putting the dates in the blender, make sure all vestiges of the pits are removed, even if they are pitted dates. Nothing worse than broken up chunks of pit bringing down your date shake.

Good for You Date Shake, two of them!
Adopted from Bon Appetite's Food Lover's Cleanse

1 cup nonfat vanilla yogurt
1 cup nonfat milk
1 cup (packed) pitted Medjool dates, about 9 ounces
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups ice cubes, if you want

Wiz the yogurt, milk, dates and vanilla together, then add the ice and wiz it some more. Drink.

Winter Root Salad with English Farmhouse Cheddar

You know the really big mixing bowls that circumvent a group of nesting bowls? The one so big that you never really use it because it will take up the entirety of the top shelf of your dishwasher. Or if you don't have a dishwasher, because there isn't a drying rack large enough to fit it? That's how much salad this recipe makes. At least if you can't find a 'small' head of red cabbage, so instead settle for one 'not quite enormous', and you can't find a 'small' celery root either, so you go for the one that's at least not the largest. And the trend continues with the carrots and by that time, you might as well add in two (rather than the one called for) Granny Smith apples so they'll have a fighting chance. That makes for a lot of winter root salad.

But I did it. I ate pretty much the whole thing before, shockingly, I got tired of it and before the vegetables wilted. I mean, I had some help and all, since R actually really liked it as well. Shocking again because purple cabbage is such a prominent component and I wasn't sure of the reception that would get. But it's quite a pretty salad, really, with all of those colors and with that wonderful farmhouse cheddar. I really, really liked this salad. Which in the dead of winter, is saying something.

Winter Root Salad with English Farmhouse Cheddar
Adopted from Olives & Oranges by Sara Jenkins

1/2 small red cabbage, sliced thinly
1 small celery root, peeled and julienned
2 medium carrots, julienned
6 medium radishes, also julienned
1 1/2 teaspoons good salt, plus more to taste if you end up needing it
5 1/3 ounces English farmhouse cheddar, crumbled
1 (or two!) tart Granny Smith apples, unpeeled but julienned
1 cup loosely packed flat-leaf parsley
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons mild white wine vinegar
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

In a large bowl (in some cases, a very large bowl) toss the cabbage, celery root, carrots, radishes and salt together. Let sit for about 5 minutes, then add the crumbled cheese, the apple, parsley, oil and vinegar. Toss again and taste. Season with more salt if necessary, and with a few turns of fresh ground black pepper. Serve.

Root Vegetable Cassoulet

Let's talk French food, shall we? Have I mentioned that I will most likely be moving to Paris next September for about 9 months to write my dissertation? It's true. That's the game plan as of right now. So I've been investigating French food with a little more focus lately in preparation. To that end, I've been dipping in and out of Waverly Root's The Food of France while riding on the subway and in moments before going to bed. Root was a reporter for the Paris edition of the Chicago Tribune in the 1930's and the Paris correspondent for the Washington Post during the 1960's. The Food of France is a somewhat academic tour of perhaps the world's most famous culinary country, in which, chapter by chapter, Root lays out the history of a given region, its specialties and any other bits and pieces he can dig up.

The books reads like an encyclopedic investigation of regional cuisine, as for instance, Root's meditations on the Scandinavian heritage of Normandy and the importance of apples and calvados, or apple brandy, in their cooking. So when I finally head to France, I'm pretty sure this is the one book on food I'll bring with me, looking up each region as I go.

In the introduction to this recipe from his book The Café Boulud Cookbook, Daniel Boulud admits that he would never serve this vegetarian version of a cassoulet anywhere near Toulouse. I think Root would agree with this decision, as Root describes cassoulet as a concoction made by combining, along with beans, fresh pork, ham, a bit of pork shoulder, sausage and fresh pork cracklings. But it doesn't stop there. In Toulouse, and this is what separates their cassoulet from those of their neighbors, they also add mutton, bacon, Toulouse sausage and preserved goose or duck, or maybe even both. Certainly they would consider Boulud's version of beans and root vegetables a true abomination.

But for the home cook who doesn't have eight or nine different types of meats laying around, and who might not want to invest in such an undertaking anyway, a root vegetable dish simmered with beans and topped with herbed breadcrumbs is a bit more manageable. And honestly, at least for now, I'd rather leave the true cassoulet in the hands of the Toulousain professionals anyway.

And as always, the requisite note on ingredients and techniques. This recipe is a bit fussier than something as humble as a glorified bean and root veg stew might suggest. The reason is because Boulud wants you to drain the simmered stock from the beans/veg and then add it back in in increments, which in the end was not exactly worth the trouble. The idea is also to stir in a mixture of already-cooked tomato and onion into the bean layer, but keep the veg layer on top. This was probably worth it. And he calls for fresh bread crumbs, but they get soggy so darn fast. I really, really like panko because it tends to stay crispier. And since this recipe is already so far from authentic, that's what I'd use. Boulud asks that the pot be covered with a circle of parchment paper while the vegetables boil. This is a technique I've also seen used in Japanese cooking when boiling vegetables, and I imagine it keeps the heat in while still letting steam escape so that the vegetables, which aren't completely submerged, will steam, while the liquid reduces. Also, this makes A. Ton. So either feed a crowd or be ready for leftovers.

Root Vegetable Cassoulet
Adopted from Daniel Boulud's Café Boulud Cookbook

2 cups dried cannellini beans, picked over and soaked in cold water overnight, then drained.
Oil for the pan
1/2 onion peeled and diced
3 large cloves garlic, passed through a press
Salt and fresh white pepper to taste
1 tablespoon tomato paste
2 large tomatoes, one diced and one simply cut in half
7 cups low sodium vegetable stock
6 celery stalks, cut into 3" logs
3 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 3" logs
2 large turnips (but not the monster kind), peeled and cut into 4ths
1 medium fennel bulb, trimmed and quartered
Bouquet garni - 3 parsley sprigs, 2 sage sprigs, 2 thyme sprigs, and 1 large rosemary sprig (because I happened to have some) tied together with kitchen twine.
1 cup panko
2 more large cloves garlic, passed through a press
1/4 cup minced Italian parsley
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Before you start, cut a circle out of parchment paper that will fit inside your Dutch oven. Easiest to do this before you begin cooking so you can trace a line with the Dutch oven is still cold. Set the sheet aside.

Put the soaked and rinsed beans into a Dutch oven and pour the stock over them. Bring the liquid to a boil and add the celery, carrots, turnips, fennel and the halved tomato, as well as the bouquet garni. Press the parchment paper circle gently on the top of the ingredients. Lower the heat a bit so the liquid simmers, and let cook for about 1 hour. You might need to stir a bit, and the mixture is done when the beans are tender. At about :50 minutes, season with the salt and pepper.

As the beans cook, get to work on the tomato/onion mixture. Warm some oil in a medium sauté pan over medium heat and cook the onion and garlic. Season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring, until they are tender but not quite colored. 5-10 minutes. Add the tomato paste and stir until the onions are well coated, then add the diced tomato and immediately remove the pan from the heat. Set aside.

When the beans are done, remove the pot from the heat and remove and discard the boquet garni. If your stew is very soupy at this point, you can drain the liquid as Boulud suggests, adding it back in later, but if the broth is pretty well reduced, it's a step I think you can skip.

Preheat the oven to 400F.

Boulud suggests draining the stock, as I said, then transferring the vegetables to a separate dish. Stir the tomato mixture into the beans and, if you've drained the broth, add enough of it back in to just cover the beans. Layer the vegetables on top of the beans and moisten with a bit more of the broth. I had, by this point, used up all the broth.

Throw together the crust by tossing the panko with the 2 pressed garlic cloves, the parsley and the melted butter. Distribute over the top of the vegetable layer. Bake the cassoulet for 15 minutes until the panko is golden and crusty. Serve with good bread.

Hazelnut-Brown Butter Cake with Sautéed Pears

You know, the truth is, I'm not all that into brand-name restaurants. I haven't been to many of them here in NYC, partly because I can't really afford it, and partly because I prefer my little French bistro where (literally) everyone knows my name. But there are exceptions. The French Laundry in Napa Valley is definitely on my bucket list, as is Per Se in New York and The Zuni Cafe in San Francisco. All fantasies for the foreseeable future. Another one on the in-fantasy-only list is Lucques Restaurant in West Hollywood. Lucky for me, basically all of these restaurants, or the fancy-pants chefs behind them, have cookbooks.

So if I ever do find myself at Lucques, I would be extremely excited to see this cake on their menu. I mean, it's so good that Suzanne Goin, the chef behind Lucques, used it as her wedding cake. Her wedding cake. As someone who took a pretty significant interest in her own wedding cake, I can attest to the fact that choosing the recipe is quite an endorsement.

And this is absolutely the perfect moment to make it. It's winter, which is no fun (at least not at this point. Winter, I'm done with you!), so not much in the way of fresh produce is in season. But you can get delicious pears, and you can make them more delicious by sauteing them in butter and a split vanilla bean. I mean, seriously.

Plus the cake itself is just so good. It looks much denser than it really is. Although it's definitely not the sky-high, light and springy type all-American cake usually the stuff of weddings. It's a rich, chewy, but still somehow light and melty mixture of egg whites, just a touch of flour and ground hazelnuts. So if you have a special occasion coming up, Valentine's day for example, and you've decided to pass on the reservations, you can still give your sweetheart a little Lucques. And if you're sweetheart-less, screw Valentine's day and just eat the thing yourself.

Hazelnut-Brown Butter Cake with Sautéed Pears
Adopted from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques

For the cake:

5 ounces hazelnuts
1/2 pound unsalted butter
1/2 vanilla bean
1 1/3 cups confectioners' sugar
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
5 extra-large egg whites
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 cup heavy cream, whipped for serving

Oven preheated to 350F

Toast the hazelnuts by spreading them on a baking sheet and baking them for 12-15 minutes. Take them out of the oven, and when they're cool enough to handle, rub the skins off. Grind them into a fine powder in a food processor along with the confectioners' sugar. Add the flour and pulse a few times to combine. Transfer to a large bowl and set aside.

Cut out a circle of parchment paper to fit the bottom of a 10" cake pan. Grease the pan, lay the circle inside, grease again, and set aside.

Put the butter in a medium saucepan. Split the vanilla been in half and using the tip of a knife, scoop out the seeds onto the butter. Add the vanilla pod to the pan and turn the heat on to medium. Melt the butter until it begins to brown and smells nutty. Watch it closely, because it goes from brown to black in moments. Set aside to cool and remove the vanilla pod.

In the bowl of a stand mixer with the whisk attachment, put the egg whites and the granulated sugar. Whip on high speed for 4-5 minutes until stiff peaks form. Fold the dry ingredients alternating with the brown butter into the egg whites, in thirds. Fold gently with a plastic spatula.

Pour the batter into the cake pan and bake for 1 hour. Cool on a rack for 20 minutes before removing from the cake pan.

For the sautéed pears:

2 pounds Bartlett pears
1/2 vanilla bean
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons granulated sugar


Cut the pears lengthwise, and then cut each half into 1 inch wedges, but don't remove the core.

Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape out the seeds as you did for the cake, smearing them on the butter.

Heat a large sauté pan over high heat for 2 minutes, then add the vanilla-smeared butter as well as the vanilla pod to the pan. The butter will start to foam, and when it does, place the pear wedges in the pan cut side down. If your pan isn't large enough to accommodate all of the pears (which mine definitely wasn't) you might have to do this in two batches. Sprinkle the sugar and salt over the pears, shaking the pan to distribute the sugar so that it caramelizes in the butter.

Cook the pears about 6 minutes, spooning the juices and butter over them if you can as they cook. They should be caramelized on the first side by this time, so flip them over to the other cut side and continue to cook for another 3-4 minutes. Baste if there is enough liquid in the pan. Spoon the pears over the cake slices and top with whipped cream.

Prebranac, Serbian Baked Beans

I'll admit something to you right now. I sometimes get embarrassed of this little food blog here. Sometimes I get self conscious when I talk about it in the 'real world' and sometimes I'd rather people not bring it up. Not because I'm ashamed or anything, but because it is kind of a weird hobby. I mean, a hobby without much of a lineage, as far as hobbies go. Cooking, knitting, reading, running, all acceptable hobbies in which people have been engaging for ages. No one questions them. But food blogging? What is that even? You mean you make things and then take pictures of your food and them post them to the internet? Weird. I know.

So if someone I already really like, or someone I don't want to think of me as strange, cops to having a food blog first, I'm almost giddy with delight. Me too!! Me too, me too, me too. I have one too. And then I don't have to mumble something only half audible when they ask me how the food blog is going. I don't have to justify it because they already know. And honestly, this little blog has given me a lot. It's helped to teach me how to cook. It's made me more aware of what I eat, made me more adventurous, and it's given me these beans.

Actually, my friend N gave me these beans, because it's her husband who also has a somewhat-defunct-but-I-hope-he'll-resuscitate-it food blog. So I'm not too self-conscious to talk about mine when I'm around them. Sometimes I half-jokingly berate N's husband for not blogging more of her family's Serbian recipes, the kind of recipes passed down through generations. The kind of recipes food blog dreams are made of. So when they mentioned that these beans are their favorite, that they're the baked beans N grew up with and that her parents still make, I demanded the recipe (nicely, of course) and vowed to share it.

Prebranac are Serbian baked beans: lima beans simmered on a bead of onions, spiked with sweet Hungarian paprika, and then baked. N said you could use either sweet or hot paprika, but that sweet is the usual. She also warned that the top layer of beans, once baked in the oven, should be fairly dry, most of the moisture having evaporated, and not at all soupy. The beans themselves become wonderfully creamy and coated with onion. The recipe is just exactly as precise as an heirloom family recipe should be. This is honest, basic food, that is not going to punish you for not measuring things out. It's probably not traditional, but if you're going to substitute Prebanac for a meal, rather then serving it alongside something else, it is quite wonderful over good crusty bread, kind of a kicked up beans and toast.

Prebranac, Serbian Baked Beans
From a Friend

2-3 onions per bag of lima beans
Saute the onions (diced) in oil until translucent
Add the beans and add enough water to just cover the beans (hot water)
Add a few bay leaves and about 3 tbs of Hungarian paprika (you can do hot or sweet but it's usually sweet paprika) + season to taste
Simmer until the beans are soft and the liquid is thickened (about 1 hr)


Transfer to a pan and bake @350 until the top layer of beans dries out


When done the beans should be thick and creamy, not soupy at all - so if you end having too much liquid which does sometimes happen, just pour out some of the liquid and adjust seasoning.


Oh and black pepper on top is a must :)

Gevulde Speculaas with Hazelnut Almond Marzipan

On a cooking forum I sometimes browse, there was a discussion going on about how one name can mean several different things in the food world. One commenter used 'biscotti' as an example, although that's a pretty easy one to explain away since in Italian biscotti simply means cookies. The twice-baked dunkables we're used to seeing referred to by that term are better called cantuccini. Speculaas, however, are a bit harder if you don't know much about Dutch baking. As I don't.

I'd always thought of speculaas as being those iconic spiced windmill cookies which are traditionally made for St. Nicholas' Eve in early December in the low countries. But this recipe from The Cookie and Biscuit Bible uses the same term for what you can see definitely are not windmill shaped cookies. Turns out in my massive cookbook collection, I don't have anything specifically on Dutch baking, and all of my other recipes for speculaas were of the windmill variety. So I searched for 'filled speculaas' on good 'ol google and here's what I discovered.

There is such a thing as filled speculaas, but in most incarnations it seems to be a cake rather than a cookie, and is called Gevulde Speculaas, although I did find examples of it in cookie form. Both versions feature a spiced dough wrapped around a filling of ground almonds which have basically been made into marzipan (if we can table the debate for a moment about the difference between marzipan and almond paste). The recipe I used is a bit unique because it added hazelnuts to the almond mixture, which, in my opinion, is almost always a good idea.

One more note about ingredients with this one. The recipe calls for a teaspoon of 'apple pie' spice to be added to the dough. You could also use 'pumpkin pie' spice or really any spice mixture that is redolent of things like cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and cardamom. I don't really have any spice mixes in my cabinet, but I did have garam masala, which worked out so well when added to a spiced persimmon cake because it usually contains all of the spices I just mentioned. I figured it could work the same miracle here. I have to say, garam masala is becoming more and more my go-to spice for baking like this since I usually have a jar of it on the rack. So the point is, you can use whatever spicy, cinnamony mix you have on hand. A final point is that the dough can get a little sticky and hard to roll around the marzipan filling, but it's fine if you just kind of patch it up as you go. My dough split during baking anyway when the filling spread, but this is really no crisis and doesn't at all affect the taste or even the presentation really.

And now a note on process: To skin hazelnuts, just toast them in a 350F oven for 12-15 minutes and then when they're cool enough to handle, rub the skins off. For almonds I usually boil them and then slip the skins off, but almonds are relatively easy to find already blanched, so you might save yourself the trouble. If you don't have superfine sugar, or what the British call caster sugar, you can make it yourself by wizzing normal white sugar in a food processor for a moment until it's powdery.

Gevulde Speculaas with Hazelnuts
Adopted from Catherine Atkinson's The Cookie and Biscuit Bible

For the hazelnut almond marzipan:
6 oz ground hazelnuts, skins removed
6 oz ground almonds, also with the skins removed before you grind them
6 oz superfine sugar
6 oz confectioners' sugar
1 large egg, beaten
2-3 teaspoons lemon

For the dough:
9 oz self-rising flour. I used self-raising pastry flour because that's what I had. This substitution could be what made my dough a little less resilient and prone to tearing, but it worked out.
1 teaspoon mixed spice like 'apple pie', 'pumpkin pie' or garam masala
3 oz light brown sugar
4 oz (1/2 cup) butter at room temperature, diced
1 large egg, beaten

For the glaze:
1 large egg, beaten
1 tablespoon milk
1 tablespoon superfine sugar

For the marzipan:

Put the ground nuts, both sugars, the beaten egg and 2 teaspoons of lemon juice into a bowl and stir until the mixture holds together. Add the rest of the lemon juice if your marzipan needs the extra liquid. Divide the marzipan in half and roll each half out like a kid does with play-dough to make a snake. Your logs should be about 10" long. Wrap them each separately in plastic wrap and refrigerate while you make the rest of the cookie.

For the dough:

Sift together the flour and the spice mixture into a large bowl and then stir in the brown sugar. Add the cubes of butter and rub them into the flour mixture until it looks a bit like very coarse sand. Add the beaten egg and knead the dough lightly until it holds together. Warp in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 305F and lay a piece of parchment paper over a baking sheet. Set the sheet aside.

On a lightly floured surface, roll the chilled dough out into a square a bit larger than your marzipan logs, about 12". Cut the square evenly in half. Beat the egg for the glaze and brush it on the dough. You should have some egg left over.

Set the first marzipan log on one side of one of the rectangles, and roll the pastry up to encase the marzipan. I started my log on the more raggedy edges of the pastry so that the uneven edge would end up on the inside. Place the wrapped log seam-side down on the baking sheet. Repeat the process with the other marzipan log and pastry rectangle.

To the remaining beaten egg, add the sugar and the milk and whisk together to form a glaze. Brush this glaze on top of each log. Bake for 30-35 minutes until browned. Let cool before you slice. It's best to use a serrated knife for slicing, since the pastry can be a bit crumbly. But just go slow and it will be fine.

Lamb Shanks with Five Heads of Garlic

I read somewhere, probably in a review of some cookbook or other, a criticism of the author for throwing garlic at everything. Risotto? Add some garlic. Vegetable soup? Garlic. Chocolate cake? Just kidding. Anyway, this review was meant as a critique of the book, as I remember, and to that I say: Pfshh. You can throw garlic at me anytime. If I thought there was any way garlic ice cream could possibly be good, I'd try it. I would.

Okay, so you know why this dish is awesome? Because not only is it really easy (aside from the time commitment you have to make to let it roast), but it also comes complete with the most delicious way to serve garlic known to man. Slow roasted in whole cloves which can be opened up and spread on crusty bread like butter. Garlic spread like butter. But a note of warning: I have actually eaten more than an entire head of garlic in this manner, and as a result could not participate in any exercise or yoga classes with other people for several days. Turns out, even cooked garlic can seep out of the skin. And no one likes smelling like garlic bread for days on end.

Lamb Shanks with Five Heads of Garlic
Adopted from Anya von Bremzen's The New Spanish Table

4 large lamb shanks, enough so that each will serve one person, about 1 1/4 pounds each
Salt and pepper to season the shanks
1 large onion, cut into 8 wedges
2 small carrots, cut into coins
5 small heads of garlic, 4 with the outer paper removed, 1 with the cloves separated, peeled and smashed
Olive oil
1 large fresh sprig of rosemary
1 1/2 cups of stock or broth, chicken or vegetable

Oven preheated to 475F. Season each shank well with salt and pepper on both sides. Use something like a dutch oven for this recipe, one large enough to hold all of the vegetables and the shanks snugly together. You should be able to cover the vessel tightly either with a lid or with a double layer of tin foil. Put the onions wedges, carrots and smashed garlic cloves in a layer on the bottom of the dutch oven. Season them with some salt, pepper and oil and toss together.

Brush the shanks with a bit of oil on each side, and them put them in one layer on top of the vegetables. They should be in a snug layer. Place the whole garlic cloves and the rosemary sprig between the lamb shanks, but high enough up so that they won't be covered when you add the stock. Brush the heads of a garlic with a little oil.

Put the dish, uncovered, in the oven. Roast for 25 minutes, then turn the shanks over, being careful to keep the garlic heads and rosemary from falling down to the vegetable layer. If at this point the vegetables are burning, you can add some water. Reduce the oven temperature to 425F and continue to cook uncovered for another 20 minutes.

At this point, add the wine and enough stock so that the liquid level is about halfway up the meet. The meet shouldn't be submerged completely, and the garlic heads should be held out of the liquid. Cover the dish, reduce the oven temperature to 325F and continue to bake for another 2 hours. The shanks should be very tender and easily pull away from the bone. Check a couple of times while it's cooking and add more stock if the liquid level gets too low.

You can serve the shanks the vegetables separately from the flavorful broth, or just plot the entire dutch oven on the table (on a hot pad of course) and let people spoon the juices over the meat on their plates. The heads of garlic will be well-roasted, and can be served up alongside the shanks and spread on slices of good, crusty bread.

Red Onions Cooked in Orange Juice and a Favorite New York Street Artist

Do you ever wish you could just have a blank slate of an apartment, as well as a blank check of a budget, and just decorate like you mean it? From my last couple of posts, you can probably tell I've been coveting well-designed living spaces lately.

Alas, mine is destined not to be one of them for the foreseeable future, but when I do buy (or find!) things with which to decorate, I'm usually thinking about my future home, or my future office. About the fact that one day I probably won't live in New York anymore (sob) and will want plenty of mementos of my time here. So that if people say, 'Wow, where did you get that?' I can smugly say New York City. Yea, I'm one of those.

And in that vein, I've been keeping my eye out for an authentic De La Vega for, oh, about three years now. James De La Vega is a street artist whose studio is only a few blocks from my apartment. Especially up here in East Harlem, you'll notice his works scrawled with a sharpie on the refuse sitting on the curb, waiting to be hauled off.

Ephemera never meant to last, just interjections into your experience of the everyday. Images of fish jumping out of their bowls with the words 'become your dream' scrawled below. Usually drawn on things like old mattresses, refrigerators with their doors torn off, or other objects I wouldn't dream of bringing into my apartment.

The other day R and I were walking the dogs when we saw It. A De La Vega drawn on a blue plastic cooler cover, complete with aphorism and fish, and even dated (!!) as though he knew someone was going to want to save that one.

And that someone was me. I scooped it up, brought it home, and disinfected it before proudly propping it up on top of one of my bookcases, right next to the silk-screened image of Walter Benjamin's face that I acquired my first year of grad school (in fact, it's a silkscreen of that first photo that appears on his wiki page). Both will one day be displayed in my fantasy office, both vestiges from my time in New York.

This blog is also very much a product of my living in New York. I started it here, when I began learning how to cook for myself. Lately I've thought I should include more of the city in my posts, since it's so much a part of my life and since I've been feeling sentimental. Like these things need to be documented for future me.

So. These onions. These onions were made for that dinner party I mentioned last time, given for a couple of friends with whom we (R, myself and the dogs) regularly go on walks in the park at night. One is a film-maker, the other a grad student. One is from Connecticut, the other from Serbia. I feel like they're people we could only have met in New York. One more gift from this incredibly generous city.

So. These onions. They come from what is quickly shaping up to be one of my favorite books: Olives & Oranges, by Sara Jenkins. She calls them her riff on sweet and sour onions, but she uses orange and lemon juice instead of vinegar. Just like my grandmother's Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage, I tend to prefer citrus to vinegar anyway. They're a bit like the Balsamic Roasted Onions I've blogged before, except they're done completely on the stove top, and the mixture of orange and lemon juices give them a different character than the balsamic vinegar. But both preparations turn out meltingly sweet onions that are a side unto themselves. I don't really have a favorite between them. Choose based on what you have around.

Red Onions Cooked in Orange Juice
Adopted from Olives & Oranges by Sara Jenkins

1 1/4 pounds small red onions (Jenkins suggests torpedo, but I couldn't find any and just used the standard supermarket variety)
Oil for the pan
Salt to taste
1 cup fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 bay leaf, fresh if you have it, dried if you don't
Crushed red pepper flakes for sprinkling over the top

Peel the onions and cut them into quarters or thick wedges. Be sure to keep the root end intact so that they don't break apart. Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the onions, cut side down, sprinkle with salt and reduce the heat for medium. Cook the onions on each cut side for about 4 minutes per side. The onions should be golden.

Add the citrus juices and the bay leaf, then reduce the heat to low and simmer the mixture for about 30 minutes. The juices should reduce to a glaze and thicken as they cook.

To serve, sprinkle with a little more salt and the crushed pepper. Serve warm.