Butternut Squash Gnocchi

Lidia's Bastianich's Butternut Squash Gnocchi with Basil Browned Butter

A whole lotta work, but a whole lotta delicious.





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OTOM, Chicago, Illinois

After a few thwarted attempts to visit friends in Chicago, I was finally able to swing a last minute trip this past Thursday. With nothing more on my agenda than to try a new restaurant (to me, anyway) and to spend a day at the Art Institute, I set about to find the latest and greatest addition to the city's ever-burgeoning restaurant scene.

From Urban Belly to Xoco to Purple Pig, I gathered recommendations from friends, magazines, and blogs. Go carnivore? Herbivore? Asian? Latin? It was all too overwhelming. Fortunately, my friend Ronda had just purchased a $30 Groupon worth $60 at OTOM, in Chicago's Fulton Market district. For two on a budget, this sealed the deal. OTOM it was.

In the heart of the city's meatpacking district, OTOM sits one block away from The Publican, the pork-laden menu of which I glowingly reviewed on this site last year. It's also next door to sister restaurant, MOTO, which has gotten great reviews for the "future food" approach led by chef-slash-molecular gastronomist Homaro Cantu. The brainchildren of Chicago restaurateur Joseph DeVito, MOTO features post-modern cuisine in a futuristic "molecular tasting room" setting, while OTOM features modern comfort food in a chic, industrial, brick-walled former gallery interior.

The menu at OTOM shouts "comfort" like the big, fluffy sofa in your parents' rumpus room growing up, only trimmed in orange resin and upholstered with shiny, white vinyl. Macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and fish and chips get a modern makeover by Executive Chef Thomas Elliott Bowman and his team. Feeling carnivorous, I selected the Pork Tenderloin entree, brined and smoked, and served with a creamy white bean puree, sauteed swiss chard, and dressed with a savory piquillo pepper sauce. Ronda took the herbivore route, opting for the daily Forager Plate special, which featured a substantial red rice risotto cake, flowering kale and shiitake mushroom sautee, and a chunk of sweet corn on the cob. Our meals were preceded by a barbecued pork belly appetizer, served atop thinly sliced fresh pineapple and a poblano sauce.

All three of these dishes were spectacular, from the sweet and salty belly with its hint of heat from the poblano, to my smoky tenderloin and its unexpectedly standout white bean accompaniment, to Ronda's red rice cake and its satisfyingly crunchy--yet lightly airy--breadcrumb crust. Our only complaint--which we were both disappointed to admit--was our shared side of macaroni and cheese, served in a preciously miniature cast iron dish. Consisting of twisted, trofie pasta tossed in a creamy white cheddar sauce, the mac and cheese was overwhelmingly salty, almost to the point where I thought, perhaps, the chef had accidentally knocked the contents of an entire cellar of salt into the sauce, yet served it anyway. Its only saving grace was the accompanying corn fritter, chock full of whole corn kernels, lightly battered and deliciously sweet.

Unfortunately, with bellies completely full from our appetizer and entrees, we had no room left for dessert. The menu sounded intriguing, however, featuring a Sazerac baba, soaked in a rye syrup and accompanied by absinthe ice cream, and a lavender-polenta honey cake, with sweet corn ice cream and peach coulis.

Adding a glass of rose' for me and a whiskey cocktail for Ronda, our bill for dinner came out to a reasonable $81 with tax. Subtracting the $30 savings from the Ronda's Groupon, our final tally of $51 was more than satisfying to our pocketbooks. At the end of the evening, however, Ronda and I debated whether we'd return to OTOM. If invited on someone else's dime: definitely, but with all of the new and exciting joints opening left and right in the city, OTOM is not one we would put on regular restaurant rotation. I would, however, fancy a feast at MOTO some day, to satisfy a "future food" fix.

Top 10 Foods I Hate That Other People Love

1. Sushi The ubiquitous sushi. It's not just at sushi bars and Japanese restaurants anymore. You can find it at Cajun seafood joints, at all-you-can-eat buffets, and at breakfast places in the form of "frooshi"--fresh fruit carved and shaped to look like sushi. Like most foods on this list, I don't necessarily hate it--it's just that it's been so overdone and I'm just bored of it. It's the last on my list of things to eat when dining out. Maybe I've just never had good sushi.

2. Goat Cheese Despite my affinity for goat (see #10 in my "Top 10 Foods I Love That Other People Hate" list), it does not extend to goat cheese. It's another ubiquitous ingredient, and has found its way from the cheese platter into too many dishes, from salads to savory tarts to pastas to pizza toppings. I simply just find it so gamey in flavor that it overpowers my palate and diminishes the flavor of everything else it is paired with.

3. Truffles Another ingredient that has become so popular and overused. I'm not talking chocolate truffles--those, I can eat all day long. I'm talking about the hyper-expensive white or black fungi that are the darling of the culinary world. I know they're a luxury and all the food fans love them, but I just think they taste like dirty feet. Or, what I imagine dirty feet to taste like. Even freshly-rooted truffles from Tuscany were totally lost on me, shaved paper-thin atop homemade pasta tossed with olive oil and garlic. I want to like them; I just don't. Same goes for truffle oils and all things truffle-infused. Bummer.

4. Pickles Okay, I don't hate pickles. I just don't like them very much. A couple of bites from an authentic delicatessen dill pickle is enough for me. I can't even eat a whole one. I think seeing a rack of vacuum-packed dill pickles in the candy aisle at Blockbuster Video put me over the edge. I must say, however, that I recently canned some dilly beans with my pal, Brooke, a couple of weeks ago, and I went through an entire jar the first day. They were good. Maybe it's a sign that my palate is maturing.

5. Cauliflower A white, cruciferous vegetable. What's the point? Bland and horribly dry, especially raw. However, I will admit that I quite enjoyed them in a gratin prepared by a friend, all creamy and topped with cheese. But, gratineed anything, all creamy and topped with cheese, is good. Unless it were topped with goat cheese (see #2, above).

6. Jello For some reason, my dad loves Jello. Strawberry Jello, to be specific. Sometimes, I'll look in my folks' refrigerator and find an entire tray of strawberry Jello chilling, just waiting for him to dig in. I can't say it's the fake fruit flavor, because I love fake fruit flavor in popsicles, Jolly Ranchers, and Kool Aid. I can't say it's the gelatinous texture, because I am not bothered by squirty, squishy food. Maybe it's the combination of the two? In any event, whenever I do eat it, it must be topped with whipped cream, in the proportion of 1:1. And it must be real whipped cream, not the junk from a can or Cool Whip from a tub. However, if anyone were ever to make one of those '80s-era poke cakes, made with boxed white cake and a layer of Jello oozed into little holes poked into the top of the cake by the end of a wooden spoon, I'd appreciate a slice. I'm strangely obsessed with the oddity of such a concoction.

7. Oysters Snot in a shell. Mussels, clams, scallops, they don't bother me. But, whenever I see those oyster-eating competitions on TV, I want to vomit. And then I imagine what that vomit would be like if I'd eaten oysters. And then I want to vomit again. It's a vicious circle.

8. Soft-shell Crabs See #7 above, regarding vomit. I've only tried soft-shell crabs once, but it was on the East Coast and I imagined they would be the freshest available. It was just weird eating an entire crab, knowing that there are parts of a normal crab that I would never otherwise eat, and wondering why I would eat them just because they were encased in a freshly-molted soft shell. That just doesn't make sense.

9. Okra I really want to like okra. I mean, she's like a multi-media goddess, what with her talk show, magazine, and Sirius-radio station. Alas, okra's just to slimy for me--while I'm pretty forgiving with texture, there must be an offsetting pleasance of flavor. Okra doesn't cut it.

10. Non-fat Food I once had a co-worker who was always trying to push her latest non-fat food find on me, whether it was salad dressing or cookies or whatever other nonsense. She was constantly trying to lose or maintain weight, but if she ever looked at the ingredients (the first of which was typically SUGAR to mask the chemical taste), she'd realize why it wasn't working. I recently bought a tub of non-fat vanilla yogurt to eat with my homemade granola because I didn't like any of the flavors of the non non-fat yogurts. Unfortunately, sugar was near the top of the ingredients list, presumably to hide the flavor of all the chemicals added to approximate the texture of a full-(or, at least, low-)fat yogurt. All things in moderation, darling. Just don't pour cups full of full-fat dressing on your salad or eat an entire dozen cookies. Enjoy your food, just don't eat so much of it. And if you do, just do what I do when I think of oysters. Just kidding.

Top 10 Foods I Love That Other People Hate

1. Anchovies Mashed into an Arabbiata pasta sauce, strewn atop a pizza, or ground into a Caesar Salad dressing, these tiny, cured fish add umami to any dish that seeks a deeply savory, salty, note. I eat them straight out of the jar. Fish sauce works in a pinch for adding to sauces. As a kid, I used to drizzle fish sauce (patis in Tagalog, nam pla in Thai, or nuoc mam in Vietnamese) on top of rice and eat it straight up. I still would, in fact, if no one were watching.

2. Brussels Sprouts Long gone are the days of boiled brussels sprouts, mushy and wilty and smelling of old shoes. Simply seasoned with salt and pepper and tossed in olive oil, roasting is a terrific way to go for a delicious caramelized crust and crisp-tender texture. I also toss them in a sautee pan with crisped pancetta, garlic, and onion for a similar, but more flavorful effect. Add a tiny bit of liquid--broth, water, wine--at the end to finish them off. These robustly-flavored veggies are a staple on my Thanksgiving menu, right in the heart of brussels sprout season (early fall, all the way through winter).

3. Pork Rinds These are a comfort for me. Not the cheap pork rinds sprinkled with "BBQ" powder and sold in the snack aisle of your local liquor store. I'm talking the crunchy, savory rinds typically sold in ethnic markets--the kind with a little layer of fat that turns just as crispy as the rind when fried. Ground atop Filipino pancit palabok noodles or straight out of the bag and dipped in a sauce of vinegar and garlic, pork rinds put me in a happy place. It's food of the poor, which is typical in cultures of color--making do with the least costly cuts of meat. Top restaurants like Roast in Detroit and The Publican in Chicago are doing their own versions, with great success.

4. Liver Chicken, duck, pork, it's all good to me. I used to have trouble with it as a kid, disliking the texture and thinking about what it is. But, especially when ground into a tasty pate' de campagne or breaded and sauteed like the chicken livers at Polish Village in Hamtramck, Michigan, I've gotten over my textural aversion and learned to appreciate this not-so-awful offal. Foie gras is a rare luxury, but one I will indulge in on occasion. Just don't ask me about the foie gras cupcake I bought at a trendy cupcakery in Chicago last year. That was just taking it a little too far.

5. Sardines Growing up, my mom would sautee tinned Spanish sardines in tomato sauce with garlic and onion, and serve it with garlic rice or toast for breakfast. Such was typical fare in a Filipino household. As was a smoked sardine called tinapa, fried 'til crisp and served with fresh, diced tomatoes dressed with fish sauce. A sardine filet, straight up on crostini, makes a tasty hors d'oeuvre. More recently, I enjoyed whole sardines served slightly charred from the grill, in the courtyard of a tiny Spanish tapas place in Pittsburgh (the name of which I can not recall) and at The Girl and the Fig in Sonoma. It takes a little dexterity to attack it with a knife and fork to remove the skin and bones, but it's well worth the effort.

6. Canned Meat Products I always joke that it's the food of my people resulting from wartime airlifts by the U.S. military, but whatever the reason, the Filipinos love their canned meat. From SPAM, sliced and fried, to tiny Vienna Sausages, fried to a crisp, to Corned Beef sauteed with garlic, onion, and tomato, canned meat holds great memories for many of us who grew up in Filipino households. I absolutely crave it.

7. Beets Michelle Obama hates them, but they are, thankfully, growing in popularity. This is thanks to the increasingly more common method of cooking them by roasting. Trimmed and scrubbed, I wrap whole beets in their skin in foil, then roast at high heat, checking for tenderness after about an hour, with a paring knife. When cooled, I use paper towel to remove the skin by gripping the beet with the towel and pulling the skin easily off. Red beets, yellow beets, they're all sweet and robust in flavor. I slice them and toss them in salads, topped with crumbled feta, pine nuts, and vinaigrette. Say "no," however, to canned beets. They're probably the reason most people hate beets, due to their mealy texture and non-existent flavor.

8. Peas My mom still can't stand them. When we're out for dim sum, I notice a little pile of peas in the corner of her plate from the Yang Chow Fried Rice. Admittedly, I didn't like them as a kid, but that was more because I was a kid and didn't like to eat anything green. But, especially when freshly shucked from the pod in the early spring season, peas are sweet and tasty, and a delicious addition to pastas and rice dishes. For a recent brunch, I made a frittata studded with peas and asparagus. The sweetness of the peas balanced out the verdant flavor of the asparagus and the creaminess of the eggs. Along with corn, peas are the only frozen vegetables I keep on hand. They have the rare ability to stand up to long storage in the freezer, flavor and texture uncompromised.

9. Tofu Again, my affinity for tofu can be attributed to my upbringing. It was not introduced to us by my mother during an experiment in macrobiotic cuisine during the '70s. It was just a typical ingredient in Asian cooking that I simply took to as a matter of fact. Typically diced and fried 'til golden, it was included among other such proteins as pork or shrimp in traditional Filipino stewed or noodle dishes. Once you get over the spongy texture, it's actually quite tasty. As we all now know, tofu absorbs the flavor of all of the other ingredients in the dish in which it is prepared. I use it now primarily as a substitute for meat in my home cooking, mostly in Asian dishes.

10. Goat I'm sure there are many other foods that I love that other people hate, but goat came to mind first as I was trying to finalize my list. My dad first introduced the family to goat meat when he was on a mission to re-create a Filipino stew called Kaldareta. I remember him taking us down to Eastern Market and tracking down the one butcher who carried goat. Kaldareta is a slightly spicy meat stew (typically beef or goat), with a tomato-based sauce, bell peppers, potatoes, and peas, and seasoned with chilis and liver paste (see #4, above). I've enjoyed goat in various Caribbean and African dishes, usually braised or curried. It's a bit gamey and has lots of jagged bones, but it strikes me as something akin to lamb in that it's texturally similar to beef, only stronger and more robust in taste. If you ever happen upon it at an ethnic food festival or restaurant, I recommend you give it a go.

Homemade Blackberry Jam

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WPA-era Food Posters via Huffington Post

For your entertainment, check out these WPA-era food posters that the folks at Huffington Post found in the on-line archives of the Library of Congress.

http://tinyurl.com/23xudnr









Photo courtesy of www.huffingtonpost.com

Mae's, Pleasant Ridge, Michigan

"Reinventing your neighborhood cafe." That's the tagline for Mae's, a new eatery in Pleasant Ridge which opened earlier this year in the space formerly occupied by Anna's Coffee Shop. Owners Sean and Jessica McCarthy leased the old Anna's following the death of the eponymous owner, and have updated the menu while retaining its original '50s charm.

Todd and I finally had a chance to check this place out, after driving past it many times driving northbound on Woodward. Blink, and you'll miss the joint. It's so tiny that, even as we were walking up to it, Todd kept asking where it was. It's located at 24060 Woodward Avenue in Pleasant Ridge, next door to Susan's Special Needs, a retailer of apparel and accessories for people with cancer and other special needs.

A quick review of the menu revealed a wide variety of options, from the usual breakfast items like omelettes, benedicts, and pancakes, to lunchtime favorites like deli sandwiches, burgers, and salads. On the side, Mae's features many local products, including Faygo sodas and Better Made Potato Chips. The rest of the menu features a number of unique items, including Aebelskivers (Scandinavian stuffed pancakes), potato latkes with applesauce, deep-fried Oreos, and the Portland Special sandwich, featuring chicken tenders hand-battered in a--get this--Cap'n Crunch cereal batter.

I immediately ordered a Faygo Redpop, which was served from an old school glass bottle. I'm a stickler for ice cold soda, so I asked for a glass of ice and was quickly obliged. As I perused the menu, I waivered between breakfast or lunch: do I go with my favorite breakfast indulgence, Biscuits & Gravy, or do I throw caution to the wind and order a double Butter Burger with Cheese? I flipped a coin in my mind and opted for the Biscuits & Gravy, and will simply have to return to satisfy my hanker for the butterburger. Todd went the breakfast route without question, ordering the Hippie from the Omelets & Scrambles section of the menu, with sauteed "'shrooms," onions, green peppers, spinach, and tomatoes.

My Biscuits & Gravy were served with eggs on the side, softly scrambled and melt-in-your mouth good. Ladled with a deliciously savory sausage gravy, one of my biscuits was slightly overdone while the other was absolutely perfect. They both tasted delicious, but texture was inconsistent. Taken as a whole, though, a definite thumbs up. Todd's Hippie arrived as an omelet, though he actually preferred it to be prepared as a scramble. Nevertheless, he was pleased with his order, which was chock full of sauteed vegetables and cheese, and served with a side of crispy hash browns, rye toast, and housemade jam.

At just under $18, breakfast for two at Mae's was a decent deal, given the quality of the food and service. I did not notice a single menu item over $8 or $9, so Mae's is definitely an affordable option. We'll return to Mae's for sure, provided we get there at a non-peak time--the place only has table seating for about 26, plus 8 or so stools at the counter. Also, it's open only 'til 4pm, so any visit we make will have to be for breakfast or lunch.

Check it out for yourself. For more information, visit http://www.maesdetroit.com/

Photo courtesy of http://www.maesdetroit.com/

Market Find: Snow Pea Sprouts

Last week, during a brief visit with family in Toronto, I was treated to a delicious dinner at Wah Sang restaurant in Chinatown. Amongst the feast of fried lobster, crispy chicken, squid with minced chiles, snails in black bean sauce, tofu hot pot, Yang Chow fried rice, and stir-fried noodles with assorted seafood was a plate of simple greens, sitting there--quietly, glistening slightly with a touch of oil and sprinkled with garlic. I learned these to be the sprouts of the snow pea plant, and they were delicious. They just tasted so green, which gave a nice balance to all of the meat and fish and starch we were consuming.

As I perused the stalls last Saturday at Eastern Market, I came upon a small display of these very sprouts at the Vang Family Farm stand. I snatched up a bunch and looked forward to trying my hand at them in my own kitchen. With their soft, delicate leaves and curly-queue stems, they were a picture of prettiness.

After rinsing and giving them a gentle tumble in the salad spinner, I sauteed them in some olive oil with minced garlic. With a few turns in the hot, garlicky oil, they turned a bright, bright green, and I hit them with a dash of salt and pepper. These appeared to be a little more mature than those at Wah Sang, so their stems were a bit thicker, resulting in a slightly chewier bite. Although they could've benefited from an extra minute or two in the pan, they were nonetheless delicious, especially with a light drizzle of hoisin sauce.

Not Just for Southern White Trash Anymore

I'd always had a secret crush on Pimiento Cheese, in all its southern white trash glory. Scooped from its skinny little jar and spread on a Ritz cracker, Kraft Pimiento Cheese was barely one step up from the cheesy stuff that squirted out of a can. For years, I denied myself its cheddary delicousness, refusing to give in to its low-brow charms.

And then I read the BA Foodist's column singing its praises in last December's Bon Appetit. And then I discovered that Ann Arbor's own Zingerman's, purveyor of the finest foods, has been making its own version for years. It gave me license to come out of the Pimiento Cheese closet, and repent for renouncing it all these years by converting all of my friends to its side. In my final act of repentance, I am reproducing here the recipe published by Andrew Knowlton, Bon Appetit's Foodist, with a minor tweak (of course). Knowlton's recipe (actually, his grandmother's) uses yellow and white cheddar--I prefer to use all yellow. And, I highly recommend using piquillo peppers over pimientos or red bell peppers, as they tend to be much more flavorful. Jarred, roasted piquillos can be found at Trader Joe's next to the jarred, roasted bell peppers.

Grandma Knowlton's Pimiento Cheese

1-1/2 c. finely shredded extra-sharp yellow cheddar

1-1/2 c. finely shredded extra-sharp white cheddar

1 c. mayonnaise

1/4 c. diced drained pimientos from a jar, roasted red bell peppers, or piquillo peppers

1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

Salt & pepper, to taste

Mix ingredients in a medium bowl, mashing well with a fork. This can also be done in a food processor, pulsing gently until combined. Be careful not to pulse too much, or the peppers will lose their texture. Cover, chill until cold, approximately 2 hours. Serve with Ritz crackers and celery sticks.

Recipe from Bon Appetit, December 2009

Stop and Smell the Blossoms

This story is super pretentious, but bear with me. My love for zucchini blossoms blossomed on the last night of my first trip to Italy. I was in Rome, dining with two women with whom I'd just spent a week at a Tuscan cooking school, and we were celebrating our final night before we were to fly off to our respective homes the next morning--Anne back to the UK, Sandra to Australia, and I to the States. We'd just concluded a weeklong culinary holiday in Tuscany, shopping local farmers' markets and preparing stupendous meals, and in between, touring ancient walled cities and historic churches.

Since all of our flights were out of Rome, we took the train down from Tuscany just in time for one last dinner together. We settled on a little trattoria in an out-of-the-way neighborhood, and that's where I spotted them on the menu: fried, stuffed zucchini blossoms. I'd seen them in cookbooks previously, but never had encountered them at home. When they arrived on a plate in front of me, I was smitten. They were simply beautiful--crisp, lightly battered and fried, and stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs and cheese, with a hint of anchovy. They had the faint taste of zucchini, but were light and airy in texture. What a perfect dinner to end a perfect week in Italy.

Their flavor remained in my taste memory for years, and I sought them out at restaurants at home and on my travels, to little avail. Todd even tried growing zucchini in his garden, just so I could harvest the blossoms as they appeared, but our soil wasn't right for growing them, and they never quite took root.

Then, last month, while wandering through the stalls at Eastern Market, I stumbled upon a gorgeous, golden pile of zucchini blossoms at the Brother Nature stand. Located on Rosa Parks Boulevard near Temple, Brother Nature has two acres of organically-grown produce, from salad greens to flowers to herbs. I quickly snatched up a bag of blossoms and began experimenting in the kitchen. Success! My first attempt at fried stuffed zucchini blossoms tasted almost like those I had at that out-of-the-way trattoria many years ago. My return trip to Brother Nature this past weekend was just as productive, and I repeated them for dinner one night this week. Alas, this will likely be my last dalliance with the beautiful blossoms until next year. I have a tendency to overdo certain dishes to the point of getting sick of them. I don't want that to happen with these. However, should you care to give them a try, here's my recipe:

Stuffed Zucchini Blossoms

12-14 zucchini/squash blossoms

Batter:

2 c. flour

1/4 c. corn starch

1 Tbsp. baking powder

2 c. sparking water or light beer (i.e., not dark beer--I used Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers, 'cause I'm classy that way and that's all we had in the house)

Filling:

2 c. fresh bread crumbs

2 garlic cloves, crushed

1/4 c. chopped fresh basil leaves

4-6 anchovy filets, chopped

1/4 c. grated parmigiano-reggiano

1/2 c. extra virgin olive oil

salt & pepper to taste

Trim the blossoms, removing any long stems or blemished petals. If the blossoms are still closed, gently open them. Rinse thoroughly (dirt and/or bugs can sometimes be trapped inside the blossoms), and dry gently in a salad spinner. Set aside while you prepare the batter.

For the batter, combine the dry ingredients in a medium bowl. Add the sparkling water or beer, to make a batter the consistency of pancake batter. Set aside in the refrigerator while you prepare the filling and stuff the blossoms.

For the filling, combine the bread crumbs, garlic, basil, anchovy, cheese, salt and pepper in a small bowl. Drizzle olive oil slowly over the mixture, until it begins to hold together (you might not use the entire amount of oil)

Gently stuff each blossom with approximately 1 teaspoon of the filling. Depending on the size of your blossoms, you may end up with some extra filling, which is delicious sauteed in a pan and sprinkled over pasta and sauce.

Fill a deep saucepan (I used a 2-quart) with approximately 1-1/2 inches of vegetable oil, and heat to 350 degrees (or, until a small bread cube--use a small piece from the filling if you have some left--browns within a few seconds). Dip a stuffed blossom into the batter, which you've removed from the refrigerator, and place gently into the oil. You should be able to fit about 4 blossoms into the pan at a time. Fry until golden, flipping over, as necessary, about 2-3 minutes per side. Remove from oil and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with additional salt, if desired.

Makes 12-14 blossoms. I recommend two per person as an appetizer, three or four if serving as an entree with side dishes (e.g., pasta, vegetable, etc.).

For more information on Brother Nature Produce, search for them on Facebook.

Toll House Is a Very, Very, Very Fine House

Following is my go-to recipe for the most decadent chocolate chip cookies. I've taken them to parties and picnics, and people have asked whether they're bakery-made. They have the perfect proportion of chewy and crispy (chewy in the middle and crisp along the edge), and are highly addictive to the sweet tooth. The recipe is adapted from the Martha Stewart Cookbook, and is, supposedly, her daughter Alexis' favorite. I increased the chocolate chips to a full 2 cups, versus her original 1-1/2 cups.

I've made them using large (approximately 1/4 cup) and small cookie scoops (approximately 2 tablespoon-size), and have been successful with both. The large size would be fun for parties, or for packaging and selling at a bake sale. Not that I've ever had a bake sale, but I think they'd be just the perfect size.

Lexi's Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies (adapted)

3-1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1-1/2 tsp. salt

2 tsp. baking soda

1 lb. butter, softened

3 c. brown sugar

1 c. sugar

4 large eggs

2 tsp. vanilla

2 c. chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside (I use Silpat silicone liners instead).

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda; set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream the butter until smooth. Add the sugars and beat until fluffy. Beat in eggs and vanilla until well blended.

Add flour mixture and beat on low speed until combined. Add the chocolate chips and blend until incorporated.

Drop 2-3 tablespoons of batter at a time onto baking sheets (or use desired size cookie scoop), about 2 inches apart. Bake until golden brown, approximately 8-12 minutes, rotating halfway through. Remove the cookies from the pan and cool on a cooling rack.

Makes approximately 30 cookies, if using 2-3 tablespoon portions. Makes approximately 20 cookies, if using large cookie scoop.

We Be Jammin'!

Last summer, when I found myself with a bit of extra time on my hands post-layoff, my cousin Toni taught me the art of jamming. This may sound like an exaggeration (and, I assure you, it is not), but it was kind of life-altering! Who knew making and canning jam could be so easy?

When Todd and I came home with 20 pounds of blueberries from a trip to Kalamazoo last July, the prospect of jamming was at the top of my mind. Toni came by and took me to the local ACE Hardware to pick up some essential canning equipment: a big, black boiling-water canning pot, a pair of jar lifters, a wide-mouth canning funnel, and a pile of canning jars with two-piece lids (you know, the kind with a flat lid and a screw top).

We spent a long afternoon, gossipping and noshing, as Toni walked me step-by-step through the process: from sterilizing the jars and lids to processing the jam-filled jars in a hot water bath. She even clued me in on a tip for knowing when the jars are properly sealed: as the jars cool upon removal from the water bath, they will give off a very satisfying "click" sound as the flat top gets sucked in to the jar.

I took an early morning trip to Eastern Market this past Saturday to see what kind of fruit I could muster up for this season's first jam session. Unfortunately, I missed the peak of strawberry and raspberry season, so I went with the familiar blueberry. I picked up a 5-lb. box from a local farmer, and stored them at home in a cool, dry place until I could get to them today. My effort in jamming was a successful one, and I look forward to another year of enjoying delicious blueberry jam. I'll be back to the market this coming weekend to see what else I can find. Perhaps some fresh Michigan cherries.

Blueberry Jam

6-1/2 c. chopped blueberries (approximately 5 pints whole berries pulsed in a food processor)
1/2 c. water
4-1/2 c. sugar
1 box SURE JELL fruit pectin

Special equipment: boiling-water canner with rack; 9 8-oz. jam jars with 2-part lids; wide-mouthed canning funnel; jar lifter

Bring boiling-water canner, half-full with water, to simmer.

Wash jars and screw bands in hot, soapy water; rinse with warm water. Allow to dry on baking sheet lined with kitchen towel. Pour boiling water over flat lids in saucepan or metal bowl. Let stand in hot water until ready to use. Drain well before use.

In a food processor, pulse whole berries until roughly chopped. Do not puree. Jam should have bits of fruit.

Measure exact quantity of chopped blueberries into a 6- or 8-quart saucepot. Stir in water.

Measure exact quantity of sugar into separate bowl. Do not reduce amount of sugar.

In a small bowl, mix 1/4 cup sugar from measured amount and 1 box SURE-JELL fruit pectin. Stir pectin-sugar mixture into fruit in saucepot.

Bring mixture to full rolling boil (continues bubbling when stirred) on high heat, stirring constantly.

Stir in remaining sugar quickly. Return to full roiling boil and boil 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat.

Using canning funnel, ladle jam quickly into prepared jars, filling to within 1/8 inch of tops. Wipe jar rims and threads with damp paper towel. Cover with two-piece lids. Screw bands tightly.

Using jar lifter, place jars on elevated rack in canner. Water must cover jars by 1-2 inches; add boiling water, if needed.

Cover; bring water to gentle boil. Process jam 10 minutes.

Remove jars using lifter and place upright on towel-lined baking sheet to cool completely. After jars cool, check seals by pressing middle of lid with finger. If lid springs back, lid is not sealed and refrigeration and immediate use is necessary. As the jars cool, listen for the lids to "click," indicating they have sealed properly. The flat top of the lid will be slightly concave.

Let stand at room temperature 24 hours. Store unopened jars in cool, dry, dark place up to 1 year. Refrigerate opened jam up to 3 weeks.

Yields 9 8-oz. jars.

This recipe is per the instructions in the box of SURE JELL fruit pectin. Other brands will vary slightly in proportions. I also picked up a box of Ball (as in Ball jar) fruit pectin, and will give that a shot the next time out.

Oh, Fiddle Faddle!

I'm a complete junkie for snack foods that combine a little sweet with a little salty. That's why stuff like Cracker Jack and Fiddle Faddle and the old Morley Candymakers' classic, Almond Pecan-dy Crunch, easily satisfy my occasional craving for something crunchy, sweet, and salty. Years ago, my brother and I experimented with a recipe for caramel corn that felt nothing short of a mad scientist's lab experiment. It seemed to have a thousand ingredients, and took all afternoon to make. Or, so it felt in my pre-teen mind. So, for years, I shied away from making it again, expecting it to be just one big headache.

Then, while thrifting one afternoon, I found an old popcorn air popper similar to the one my family had when I was a kid. It's a tower-shaped popper, the kind that you drop the kernels into, and spits the popped corn out of its spout into a waiting bowl. It even has the little attachment that's supposed to melt butter and drip onto the popcorn but never really works all that well. It inspired me to try my hand again at making my own caramel corn at home.

What I forgot was that this type of popper tends to be inefficient, spitting out dozens of unpopped kernels into the bowl along with the popped corn. I find myself repeatedly scooping up the unpopped kernels and putting them back into the popper until all have been popped. Looking back, I would have been better off buying a round, dome-shaped, popper that keeps everything contained until kernels have popped. When flipped over, the dome can even double as a serving bowl. Ingenious.

In any event, I found a recipe on http://www.epicurious.com/ that seemed like a piece of cake. Indeed, it was. Although this recipe calls for the popcorn to be cooked in a bit of oil on the stove in a large, covered saucepan, I adapted it to use air-popped popcorn, and substituted its suggested addition of peanuts for almonds. It saves a little on fat (but only a little!), and results in a delicious, crunchy, sweet-and-salty confection that rivals any of the packaged brands. And, it makes a TON of the delicious treat, for a fraction of the price.

Caramel Corn Clusters with Almonds

Ingredients:

1/3 c. popcorn kernels

1 stick butter

1-1/2 c. light brown sugar

1/2 c. light corn syrup

3/4 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1 c. salted almonds

Special tool: air popcorn popper

Cook popcorn in air popper according to manufacturer directions. Set aside.

Line bottom of a large baking pan with parchment paper or foil. Melt butter in a 6-quart heavy pot over moderate heat. Add brown sugar and corn syrup and bring to a boil over moderate heat, stirring, then boil without stirring, approximately 8-10 minutes. Remove pot from heat.

Using a wooden spoon or heatproof spatula, stir salt and baking soda into caramel, then quickly stir in popcorn and almonds and stir to combine. Immediately spread mixture onto pan evenly. Cool completely, and break into clusters.

Makes about 12 cups.

Recipe adapted from Gourmet, September 2004, via http://www.epicurious.com/

It's the Cheesiest!

While reorganizing my pantry the other day, I came across a random package of elbow macaroni, the purpose of buying of which I can not recall. However, in these days of wasting not, I decided I'd make a little old-fashioned Macaroni & Cheese for dinner last night.

A few months ago, while listening to an episode of NPR's cooking program, "The Splendid Table," I heard host Lynne Rossetto Kasper's unusual recipe for Macaroni & Cheese, that did not begin with the traditional bechamel sauce. She swore by this recipe as the absolute best version of the classic American favorite. Given I'd never attempted any other recipe for mac-n-cheese than the standard bechamel-based, I figured I'd give this a shot.

The resulting dish featured a rich, creamy sauce, that was fragrant of fresh garlic and onion. It was definitely easy to assemble--the sauce created in the bowl of a food processor instead of a saucepan--and required no fancy ingredients. Texturally, it was different than a traditional macaroni and cheese--the addition of egg gave it a slightly custard-y mouthfeel that Todd likened to his mother's cheesy potatoes. That aside, however, it was delicious and will definitely remain in my repetoire of recipes.

Lynne Rossetto Kasper's Macaroni & Cheese (recipe has been doubled, below)

2 c. raw elbow macaroni, cooked and drained

2 large eggs

1 1/3 c. milk

2 garlic cloves, peeled

1 medium onion, coarsely chopped

1 1/3 c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese

8 oz. cream cheese

1/4 tsp. each of red chili flakes, black pepper, and salt

1/2 tsp. sweet paprika

4 Tbsp. melted butter

12 saltine crackers, crumbled

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a deep 2-quart baking dish and add cooked macaroni.

In a blender or food processor, combine egg, milk, and garlic, and process 3 seconds. Add onion, cheeses, and seasonings, and process 10 seconds. Turn into the baking dish, combining with macaroni.

Combine melted butter and cracker crumbs in a small bowl and spread over top of casserole. Bake 30-35 minutes until thick, yet creamy. Let stand about 5 minutes before serving.

Note: I found the onion to be slightly overpowering and recommend cutting the amount slightly. Also, I recommend making the sauce in a blender instead of a food processor--the amount of liquid called for is too much for a processor bowl. I learned this the hard way, and ended up with a small, milky mess on my countertop...and backsplash...and floor.

For more recipes from The Splendid Table, visit http://splendidtable.publicradio.org/

Granola Girl

Ever since I started picking up bags of granola during my Eastern Market runs--first the locally-made Randy's Original Granola, then the organic granola from Hampshire Farms--I've been preoccupied with the idea of making my own. I've taken, recently, to starting out my day with a bowl of non- or low-fat organic vanilla yogurt topped with a handful of granola. It's an easy post-workout breakfast, and pretty nutritious to boot.

Once again adapting a recipe from Epicurious, I set out to make my own granola. I started with some organic oatmeal from Hampshire Farms, and combined it with local and/or organic products, including local honey from a gentleman running a stand at Eastern Market in Detroit; golden raisins, dried apricots, and slivered almonds from Western Market in Ferndale; and flaxseeds from Bob's Red Mill, known for its full line of natural and certified organic products.

Homemade Granola (adapted from Real Food for Healthy Kids, July 2008, via epicurious.com)

1/2 c. walnut oil

1/3 c. maple syrup or honey

1/4 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. cinnamon

4 c. organic oatmeal

1/4 c. flaxseeds

1 c. chopped dried apricots

1 c. golden raisins

1 c. slivered almonds, toasted

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Combine the walnut oil, maple syrup or honey, salt, vanilla, and cinnamon in a large bowl. If using honey that has crystallized, place bowl over a saucepan of simmering water and stir until honey has melted and loosened.

Stir in oatmeal and flaxseeds until evenly combined. Spread out onto a parchment paper-lined sheet pan and bake 25 minutes until golden, stirring once with a spatula about halfway through. Let cool in the pan--the mixture will crisp as it cools. Add the apricots, raisins, and almonds and toss together. Makes approximately 8 cups of granola.

Flaxseeds contain high amounts of Omega-3 fatty acids, which protect bone health while providing protection against heart disease, cancer, and diabetes. Dried apricots are full of beta carotene and dietary fiber, while raisins are high in fiber, antioxidants, and calcium. Similar to olive oil, almonds contain important monounsaturated fats which are associated with reduced risk of heart disease (Sources: http://www.whfoods.com/, http://healthmad.com/).

For more information on Randy's Granola, visit http://www.randysgranola.com/

Snow Day

On the occasion last week of what I hope was our last snow day of the season, my thoughts turned to the kitchen to bake something yummy to accompany lunch that afternoon. I had just made, the night before, a batch of White Bean & Kale Soup with some home-cooked cannelini beans and kale from my farmers' market run a couple of days earlier. Knowing I still had a small bit of buttermilk left over from the ice cream I made a couple of weeks previously, I thought I'd use the last of it to try my hand at buttermilk biscuits.

I had bought a quart of Calder Dairy buttermilk to make the buttermilk ice cream I mentioned in an earlier post. Calder is a local dairy with its own farm in Carleton, Michigan, and a dairy store in Lincoln Park. It's been getting some good press lately, for its use of milk from its own cows, and its earth-friendly practices such as bottling its milk in recyclable glass bottles and relying on healthy feed instead of artificial hormones to enhance milk production. Its products are available nearby at Western Market in Ferndale, Westborn Market in Berkley, and Holiday Market in Royal Oak, and are featured prominently on the menu of one of my fave dining spots: Mudgie's Deli in Corktown.

Given buttermilk has a quite long shelf-life, I knew it would be safe to finish off the last of it to make a batch of fresh biscuits to go with my soup. I found a basic recipe from Epicurious and doctored it a bit to create something a little more special than just plain buttermilk biscuits. The result:

Parmesan-Black Pepper Buttermilk Biscuits (adapted from Gourmet, June 2005, via epicurious.com)

1 1/2 c. all purpose flour

1 1/2 Tbsp. sugar

1 1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. baking soda

1/2 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

3/4 c. grated Parmigiano Reggiano (divided)

2 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper

3/4 c. well-shaken buttermilk

1 Tbsp. milk or cream for brushing biscuits

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and baking soda into a bowl. Blend in butter with fingertips (or cut in with 2 butter knives) until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add 1/2 cup of Parmigiano and all of the black pepper. Stir in buttermilk with a fork until a dough just forms (will be moist).

Turn dough onto a floured surface and knead gently 6 times. Pat dough out into an 8 x 5.5-inch rectangle and cut evenly into 6 biscuits (8, if smaller biscuits are desired). Transfer to a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. Brush tops with 1 Tbsp. milk or cream, then sprinkle with remaining 1/4 cup Parmigiano.

Bake until pale golden, 12-15 minutes, then transfer to a rack to cool.

I realized when baking these that my baking powder and/or baking soda had lost some of their leavening power. Be sure to use fresh powder and soda to ensure the biscuits get a good rise. Mine were slightly flat, but tasted delicious nonetheless.

I've been wanting to take a field trip to both the Calder store as well as the farm to learn more about their products and their dairy operation. Hopefully, I'll make it to the store soon and the farm this spring. For more information, visit their website:

http://calderdairy.com/

Unapologetically Omnivorous

Herbivores: You may want to pass on this particular blog entry and skip ahead to my next one on biscuits, or jump back to a previous veggie-friendly entry, such as my recent writings on home-cooked beans. That's because this one is dedicated to the omnivores--specifically those who lean toward carnivore, and are not especially squeamish about less "choice" cuts of meat.

During a particularly lonely exile to the hinterlands of the northern suburbs of Metro Detroit (okay, I was dog-sitting for my vacationing brother in Rochester), I took an opportunity to experiment in the kitchen with a dish I'd enjoyed several times in restaurants but never at home: Pork Belly.

Ever since my recent trip to the Philippines, where I encountered pork belly (known locally as liempo) in countless culinary applications, I've been obsessed with the stuff. Roasted, deep fried, and braised, I couldn't get enough of it. I even happened upon a fast food version at a food court vendor called "Liempo Boy." I secretly adopted that as my superhero name.

In recent years, pork belly--which is, basically, a fresh, uncured, unsmoked slab of belly bacon--has become the darling of chefs here in the U.S. I recently enjoyed it roasted and served atop a salad at Lola in Cleveland, glazed and seared at The Publican in Chicago, and sliced and served as a salumi at Boccalone in San Francisco. Cuisines from Asia to Europe to Latin America favor this humble cut, due to its relatively low cost, but richness of flavor.

I was recently able to get my hands on a nice cut of pork belly, with a nice proportion of meat sandwiched between two layers of unctuous fat, and capped with a thick layer of rind. This last part is, usually, what turns people off the most (even those who are typically bacon-eaters), but it's my most favorite. Growing up in an ethnic household, I was exposed to pork rind all my eating life--from the crispy skin of lechon (whole, spit-roasted pig) to the crunchy pork rinds we snacked on, dipping them in a sauce of spicy vinegar and garlic. The Publican restaurant in Chicago offered a pork rind appetizer, which was airy and crispy, and absolutely melt-in-your-mouth delicious.

With this fresh belly, I knew I wanted to make sure I maximized its full crunchy crackling potential. After consulting several on-line recipes, I finally settled on a treatment offered by Jamie Oliver, the "Naked Chef." His recipe was simple, and his technique, effortless. After a brief high-temperature roasting to sear the meat and crisp the skin, he lowers the heat and finishes roasting the pork belly atop aromatic vegetables, which ultimately he uses to flavor his gravy. I borrowed his recipe for technique rather than ingredients, instead devising my own soy sauce-based glaze which, when combined with the pan juices, made for a delicious sauce on its own.

Roasted Soy-Lacquered Pork Belly

1 1-lb. slab fresh pork belly

salt & pepper, to taste

1 c. low-sodium soy sauce

1/2 c. honey

4 cloves garlic, crushed

1 tsp. ginger, grated

Juice of 1 orange

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Using a sharp knife, score the skin of the pork belly, being careful not to cut too far into the fat. Sprinkle salt into the surface of the skin and into the scores. Brush off any excess salt. Turn pork over and salt and pepper the underside. Place pork belly in a non-stick or foil-lined roasting pan, skin side up, and roast in the oven until the skin has begun to crisp and turn golden brown, approximately 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a saucepan, combine the remaining ingredients and simmer over medium heat, until reduced into a thick glaze. Set aside.

Remove pork from the oven and baste with pan juices. If there is an excessive amount of fat in the pan, pour some off or remove with a turkey baster. Lower temperature to 350 degrees and return the pork to the oven to roast for an additional 45 minutes.

Remove pork from the oven again, and pour off any excessive fat. Brush the top of the skin and the sides with the glaze. Return to the oven for a final 15 minutes, brushing with more glaze about half-way through.

Remove pork from the pan and allow to rest, approximately 10 minutes. Slice into 3/4-inch strips or into 2x2-inch chunks, spooning pan juices over, upon plating. If there is any reserved soy glaze, you may wish to spoon that over, as well. Serves 4 as an entree or 6 as a first course.

For the record, here's Jamie's original recipe for Pork Belly Roast:

http://www.channel4.com/food/recipes/chefs/jamie-oliver/pork-belly-roast-recipe_p_1.html

Sweetwater's Donut Mill, Kalamazoo, MI

As featured in Saveur Magazine's Top 100.

Clockwise from upper left: Black Forest, Mounds, Orange Juice, Peanut Butter Cup, New York Cheesecake, Caramello, Chocolate Cloud, Snickers




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Just Desserts

Just desserts. That seems to be all that came out of my kitchen this past weekend. With two potluck invitations in store for Saturday and Sunday evenings, I opted to take the sweet route for each.

Saturday night was a farewell party for a friend heading off to start a new life in Chicago. As I combed through my cupboards, I was happy to find the exact ingredients to make Baklava: honey, walnuts, phyllo dough, butter, and spices were all I needed to throw together the simple, yet flavorfully complex, Mediterranean dessert.

I found a recipe on epicurious.com, which came from the July 2009 issue of Gourmet magazine, and adapted it slightly. Rather than use the lemon rind as called for in the recipe, I went with what I had handy in the produce drawer: clementines. The clementine rind gave the baklava a seasonal slant and a subtle orange-y fragrance. Also, I halved the amount of syrup called for in the original recipe, and found it to be more than sufficient. Finally, for a more attractive presentation, I reserved some walnuts and ground them finely, for sprinkling on top of the baked baklava after the syrup has been poured over.

BAKLAVA (adapted from Gourmet magazine, July 2009)

• Filling:
• 3 1/4 cups walnuts, chopped + 1/4 cup walnuts, finely ground, for topping
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1 pound package phyllo sheets, thawed
• 1 1/2 cups butter, melted

Syrup (quantities have been halved from the original recipe):

• 1 cup sugar
• 3/4 cups water
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/8 lemon, peel only (I used an equivalent quantity of grated clementine rind)
• 1/2 clove

Preheat the oven to 375°F.

Mix together the chopped walnuts (reserving ground walnuts for topping), sugar, and spices and set aside.

As you work, keep the sheets of phyllo covered with plastic wrap to keep them from drying out. Place 1 sheet of phyllo on the bottom of a jelly roll pan (12-inch x16-inch). (Alternately, I used a glass baking dish, 9.5" x 15". A standard 9" x 13" glass dish will also work). Brush the dough lightly with melted butter. Repeat this process until there are 8 sheets of phyllo in the pan.

Sprinkle two-thirds of the nut mixture onto the phyllo sheets.

Place 4 more sheets of phyllo on top of the nuts, brushing melted butter between each sheet.

Place the remaining one-third of the nut mixture on the dough.

Layer the remaining sheets of phyllo on top of the nuts, brushing melted butter in between each sheet. Brush the top sheet with butter as well.

Trim the edges so that they do not stand above the level of the dough.

Cut the pastry into 2-inch squares (I cut them into diamonds), making sure not to slice through the bottom layer of phyllo dough. Leaving the bottom layer uncut will allow the syrup to soak in more efficiently.

Bake at 375°F for 25–30 minutes or until the top layer of the phyllo takes on a light golden brown color.

While the dough bakes prepare the syrup. Combine all of the ingredients and bring to a boil. Remove the clove and lemon peel.

Remove the pan from the oven and immediately pour hot syrup over the baklava. Sprinkle with reserved, finely ground walnuts.

Before serving allow the baklava to stand at room temperature until cooled. Slice through the bottom layer of phyllo dough and serve.

On Sunday night, we launched a monthly cooking club with a handful of foodie friends. The theme for our inaugural dinner was comfort food, and I volunteered to take on dessert. Todd had spied a recipe in the May 2009 issue of Bon Appetit, and decided he wanted to tackle it: Mile High Chocolate Cake with Vanilla Buttercream. It was included in an article featuring updated versions of favorite diner desserts, along with Peanut Butter Banana Cream Pie and S'mores Dark Chocolate Pudding among others. I decided I would take my underused, but much appreciated, ice cream maker for a spin and make an accompanying ice cream to go alongside. Knowing the chocolate cake would likely be terrifically sweet, I remembered a recipe I'd seen in the March 2008 issue of Bon Appetit for a Buttermilk Ice Cream. I figured its promise of a tangy, yet sweet and creamy, flavor would provide a perfect foil for the cake.

With a few tweaks to the recipe--not to mention a change in who'd be doing the baking (namely, me)--the cake had only a fair outcome. It was not nearly chocolaty enough, and the texture was not as moist and tender as I wished. However, my decision to use a less complicated buttercream recipe other than the one given did save time without compromising flavor. I'm going to continue to seek out a better recipe for the cake; however, the "mile-high" concept, layered with buttercream and dripping with gooey chocolate ganache, is one that I'll definitely follow in future efforts.

Meanwhile, the ice cream was creamy and unctious and, with the tang of the buttermilk and addition of clementine rind, indeed balanced the sweetness of the cake. It was a fairly pricey effort, however, as the recipe called for the use of notoriously costly creme fraiche in addition to buttermilk and heavy cream. I'm certain there's a less expensive version out there--perhaps I'll give it another shot in the future. Rather than post recipes at this point, I'll only post photos of the cake and ice cream for now. As I devise an alternate combination of recipes, I'll be sure to provide them here.

Smoky Greens & Beans

I had a quite the marvelous market haul this past Saturday from my brief, early morning jaunt to Eastern Market. For just over $10, I scored some great local, late-season produce, including kale, spinach, brussels sprouts, broccoli, potatoes, and onions the size of a small child's head. On top of that, I picked up a dozen organic, pastured eggs from the Hampshire Farms stand, where I'd purchased the split peas mentioned my previous post.

We were pretty booked all weekend long, so I was really looking forward to getting into the kitchen this week and cooking up some hearty, wintry dishes with my haul. While flipping through a recent issue of Bon Appetit, I found the exact recipe to kick off my week. It would make use not only of some of the aforementioned produce, but also the gorgeous speckled and striated dried Roman beans I picked up at Ventimiglia's Italian Market in Sterling Heights. Also known--among other names--as cranberry beans and Borlotti beans, these are white with deep red striations, and similar in size to cannellini (white kidney) beans. They're firm yet creamy in texture and nutty in flavor, and are typically used in soups and stews. As such, when paired with the beautifully curly kale from the market, they made for a delicious winter stew for tonight's dinner. The smokiness of the Spanish paprika contrasted nicely with the vegetal taste of the kale and the nuttiness of the beans.

Smoky Greens and Beans (Bon Appetit, November 2009)

While this recipe calls for canned cannellini beans, I substituted them with an equal quantity of home-cooked Roman beans, prepared via the method in my January 5 entry, "Mangiafagioli")

2 Tbsp. olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 14.5-oz. can diced tomatoes in juice

1-1/2 tsp. smoked Spanish paprika (Pimenton Picante or Pimonton de La Vera Picante)

1 14.5-oz. can vegetable broth (I substituted with water)

8 c. coarsely chopped greens (e.g., kale, mustard greens, collard greens)

1 15-oz. can cannellini beans, drained

Grated Manchego or Parmigiano cheese (optional)

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium heat. Add onion and saute until soft and beggining to brown, about 6 minutes. Add garlic; stir 1 minute. Add tomatoes with juice and paprika; stir 1 minute. Add broth and greens; bring to boil, stirring often. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer until greens are wilted and tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Stir in beans and simmer 1 minute to heat through. Divide among bowls; sprinkle with cheese, if desired. Serves 4.

"This is poor people food!" Todd exclaimed when he peered into the pot of simmering beans. Yes, beans are known to be traditionally peasant food--they're economical, healthful, and belly-filling. They're a delicious source of protein and fiber, which is perfect, as I search for ways to cut down on my consumption of animal proteins and carbohydrates.

Coping Mechanism

Ten more weeks of winter, so Todd keeps reminding me. This is the time of year when you just have to suck it up and deal with the fact that it's going to be cold and snowy for another couple of months, and there's nothing you or I can do about it.

So, we cope. And, as you may have figured, my way of coping with practically everything is with food. When I'm sad, I drown my sorrows by eating. When I'm happy, I reward myself by eating. And when I'm cold, I warm myself by eating...soup.

For years, whenever my mom bought a Honeybaked Ham for the holidays, she always picked up a bag of split peas to make soup with the leftover ham bone. It was salty and smoky and full of rich flavor from the bits of ham still clinging to the bone. It's been quite a few years since she's bought a ham and, hence, a few years since she's made her soup. And I missed it something awful.

So, with temperatures hovering in the mid-20s over the weekend, it was a perfect time for me to replicate her soup. During my early morning trip to Eastern Market last Saturday, I made a stop at the Hampshire Farms stand, where they were selling a wide variety of organic dried beans and grains from their farm in Kingston, Michigan. In addition to a 2.5-lb. bag of organic oatmeal ($3.50), I picked up a 2-lb. bag of organic split peas ($3) for my soup. Rather than buying a chunk of ham or a smoked pork hock at the market's outdoor meat stand, I opted instead for a slab of freshly-smoked bacon. It was meaty with a nice streak of fat running through and, with a little bit of rind still attached, would be just perfect for flavoring my soup.

Split Pea Soup with Bacon

1/2 lb. thick-sliced bacon, chopped

1 large onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, chopped

olive oil, as needed

1 large carrot, chopped

2 lbs. dried split peas, rinsed and picked over

1 quart vegetable or chicken stock

1 quart water (plus additional, as needed)

1-2 tsp. liquid smoke, to taste

salt and pepper, to taste

In a large stockpot over medium heat, cook bacon until crispy and browned, and fat is rendered. Remove from pan and transfer to a paper towel-lined plate. Set aside.

In the bacon fat, sautee onions and garlic until softened and lightly golden, adding olive oil, if needed. Add carrot and sautee until softened.

Add split peas, stock, and water. Add additional water to cover, if needed. Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer, covered, until peas are softened, approximately 25 minutes.

When peas are softened, puree to desired consistency using an immersion blender. This may also be done in a food processor, then returned to the pot. If soup is too thick, add fresh water to your desired consistency. Return reserved bacon to the pot, along with liquid smoke, to taste.

Allow to return to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper. Serve.

If you'd like to make this vegetarian, omit the bacon, sautee the vegetables in olive oil, and use vegetable stock. I like my split pea soup extra smoky, so even with the bacon, I still have a heavy pour with the liquid smoke. Generally, it's pretty strong, so add it sparingly until the soup reaches your desired level of smokiness.

Hampshire Farms has stands at Eastern Market, Royal Oak Market, and Oakland County Market in Waterford. In addition to all of the organic grains and beans, Hampshire Farms also sells pastured organic eggs, grown with no hormones, antibiotics, or pesticides. Their hens and roosters are heritage breeds, fed with certified organic grains. For more information, visit www.hampshirefarmsorganic.com

Marinara: The Little Black Dress of Sauces

After a multitude of efforts--including a few missteps--I think I've finally arrived at a Marinara sauce recipe that fits nearly all of my tomato-based sauce needs. Like that little black dress in every woman's closet, it works for nearly every occasion. It's great over pasta and polenta, on homemade pizza, in lasagna and other layered and stuffed pastas, in soups, and has even been known to don a sombrero in a Mexican dish or two.

I began my quest with a basic foundation of garlic, onion, and canned tomatoes. Unfortunately, it always ended up being shallow in flavor a little too acidic. I experimented with adding sugar, but that only made it cloying. I threw in a carrot once, but it didn't do much good. I even borrowed a technique from a friend who learned it from his Italian grandmother: add a pinch of baking soda to your simmering sauce to reduce acidity. Only, it resulted in giving the sauce a slightly tinny taste.

Then, after following a few TV chefs and reading countless other recipes for Marinara, Bolognese, and other similar sauces, I thought I'd try starting with a mirepoix: a French culinary technique using aromatics (usually onion, celery, carrot) as the basis for many traditional sauces, soups, and stews.

I found that caramelizing the mirepoix as the base for my Marinara gave it just the right level of sweetness to counterbalance the acidity of the tomatoes. It also added another layer of flavor that just the garlic and onion weren't accomplishing.

The sauce has served me well in countless dishes, both vegetarian and not. It freezes well, but I cook with it so frequently it almost never makes its way to the freezer drawer. Perhaps one day, I'll find some time to set aside for making multiple batches of sauce and canning it for future use. As it is, though, I make a new batch just about every two weeks, and use it up in slightly less time than that. For your reference, then, here is my recipe:

Marinara Sauce

1/4 c. olive oil

1 large onion, diced

6 garlic cloves, minced

1 large celery stalk (or 2 small stalks), chopped fine

1 medium carrot, chopped fine

1 heaping Tbsp. tomato paste

4 28-oz. cans whole tomatoes (see Note)

1/4 c. chopped, fresh basil (or 2 Tbsp. dried basil)

salt and pepper, to taste

In a large stock pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, celery, and carrot and sautee, stirring frequently, until caramelized. Move vegetables to the outer edges of the pot, and add tomato paste to the center. Allow tomato paste to caramelize slightly before stirring in to the vegetables.

Meanwhile, empty the canned tomatoes with their juice into a large bowl and crush with your hands. Once the vegetables and tomato paste are caramelized in the pot, add the crushed tomatoes with their juice.

Cover partially with lid and allow to simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally, approximately 30 minutes. Adjust heat to medium-low. Using an immersion blender, puree the sauce to your desired consistency (sauce can also be pureed in batches in a food processor or blender, then returned to the pot). Add basil, and salt and pepper, to taste. Cover partially with lid and continue simmering until thickened, stirring occasionally, approximately 25 minutes.

Use marinara as desired. Makes just over 2 quarts, or about 10 cups.

Note: My canned tomatoes of choice are Muir Glen Organic Whole Peeled Tomatoes in Juice. I have also used diced or crushed tomatoes, but I find that whole tomatoes tend to be more flavorful, as the diced and crushed varieties can get more watered down in the canning liquid.

For a change of pace, I have occasionally used Muir Glen's Organic Wood-fire Smoked Tomatoes, whether whole, diced, or crushed. This gives a smokiness to the sauce, and adds another dimension of flavor, especially in vegetarian applications.

Mangiafagioli

"Bean eaters." That's apparently the nickname given to the people of Tuscany, who are well-known for their voluminous consumption of beans. In soups, pastas, and salads, the humble legume finds itself starring in countless traditional Tuscan recipes. In fact, it's the staff of life in many cultural cuisines, from Latin America to Africa to Asia.

Despite my affinity for all things porcine--and my very recently posted recipe for pasta in sausage ragu--I try as frequently as possible to cook vegetarian at home. Beans figure into much of my cooking, which relies more frequently on sources of protein other than meat and fish. There are usually a few cans of beans in the pantry--black, white, garbanzo, etc.--that manage to land in one or two of my weekly dinners. Not only are they economical, but high in nutritional value. Their high soluble fiber content helps trap and remove cholesterol before being absorbed by the body.

While I typically stock up on canned beans with every trip to the market, I tried a few weeks ago to cook dried white cannelini beans from scratch. While the canned variety are great in a pinch, it's hard to beat home-cooked beans when you have the time. Not only does their texture tend to be more firm versus canned (which have been sitting in liquid for who-knows-how-long), but they are usually less salty and more flavorful.

I consulted Cooks' Illustrated for their technique for cooking dried beans, and was happy to learn that a traditional overnight soak is no longer necessary. This step was always a deal-breaker for me, as it generally took much more planning ahead than I was willing to do. When you do have a couple of spare hours, their technique is a fairly effortless affair, and results in a bean that is firm on the outside and creamy within, and is tremendously superior in flavor.

The following is adapted from a recipe published by Cooks' Illustrated for a Tuscan White Bean Soup. It's the first step to making the soup, and results in perfectly cooked beans that can be applied in any other recipe that calls for beans.

Home-cooked White Beans

6 oz. pancetta, diced (to make vegetarian, substitute with a 2-inch piece of Parmigiano-Reggiano rind)

12 c. water

1 lb. dried cannelini beans, rinsed and picked over

1 large onion, unpeeled and halved

4 garlic cloves, unpeeled

1 bay leaf

1 tsp. salt

In a large stock pot or Dutch oven, cook pancetta over medium heat until golden (omit this step if using Parmigiano rind). Add water, beans, onion, garlic, bay leaf, and salt (and Parmigiano rind, if using). Bring to boil over medium heat. Cover pot partially, reduce heat to low, and simmer--stirring occasionally--until beans are almost tender, approximately 1-1.25 hours. Remove from heat, cover completely, and allow to stand until beans are tender, approximately 30 minutes. Drain beans, reserving liquid and discarding flavoring ingredients. Spread beans in an even layer on a baking sheet and let cool. The beans are now ready for use, however you like.

I've followed this technique twice now and used the beans in three different applications. On my first go round, I used them in a hearty bean and vegetable soup, with carrots, celery, and Swiss chard. When draining the beans, I discarded the flavoring ingredients but reserved the cooking liquid. This, I added to the vegetables after they had been sauteed, and allowed it to simmer for a few minutes, along with a sprig of fresh rosemary and a little fresh water. Lastly, in went the beans for a final simmer, along with a little salt and freshly-cracked black pepper. Drizzle each bowl of the finished soup with a little balsamic vinegar when serving.

On my next, I stewed them with sauteed, sliced fennel in my homemade marinara. It was delicious as is, but could have been made heartier and non-vegetarian with the addition of a little sauteed Italian sausage.

Finally, I used the leftover beans in marinara and combined them with drained and rinsed canned black beans to make a black-and-white bean stew. I sauteed some garlic, onion, and red bell pepper in olive oil, added the beans, and allowed it to simmer in some vegetable stock balanced 50/50 with fresh water. Seasoned with salt and pepper, along with a little chili powder and cumin, it changed what began as an Italian-style bean dish into something south-of-the-border(ish).

Photo: Harvard School of Public Health

Cantoro's Italian Market, Livonia, Michigan

After two weeks of seemingly non-stop holiday revelry, we found ourselves with a Saturday morning completely void of any obligations. Thankfully, it was a beautifully sunny, but nearly sub-zero, day--perfect for running random errands that had been neglected over the holidays.

Following a long, sunny drive from the far west- to near east-ends of Grand River Avenue (the reason for which is unimportant here), we made a brief stop at Cantoro's Italian Market on Middlebelt Road in Livonia, just south of 8 Mile Road. It's quite a paradise for all ingredients Italian: fresh breads, cured meats, canned Italian tomatoes, jarred anchovies and tonno in olive oil, traditional Italian desserts, and various and sundry olives, pickles, and cheeses. I wandered its long aisles over and over again, in search of items to re-stock our barren pantry.

For a while, I'd been wanting to create my own version of a favorite dish from the Italian menu of El Barzon restaurant in Mexicantown:Strozzapreti Norcina. It's a dish of twisted, housemade pasta, tossed in a ragu of Italian sausage. With a fresh batch of homemade marinara waiting for me in the refrigerator, I picked up some fancy, imported pasta and sweet Italian sausage. While some recipes for Pasta Norcina call for the addition of cream or milk, I thought I'd skip that step, allowing instead the starch from the pasta to add creaminess and body to the dish.

Twisted Pasta with Sausage Ragu'

2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1 lb. sweet Italian sausage, casing removed

3 c. homemade marinara

Pinch of red chile flakes

1 lb. twisted pasta (e.g., Cavatappi, Trofie, Strozzapreti)

Parmigiano Reggiano, for serving

In a large saucepan over a medium flame, add the olive oil and heat until shimmering. Add the sausage and cook until no longer pink and only slightly browned, crumbling into small and medium pieces. Do not overbrown, as this will cause the sausage to toughen as it cooks in the sauce. Add the marinara and chile flakes, and allow the sauce to simmer while you cook the pasta.

In a large stockpot, cook pasta in boiling, salted water, until just short of al dente (approximately 2 minutes short of suggested cooking time). Drain pasta in a colander, reserving about one cup of the pasta cooking water. Add the drained pasta to the simmering sauce and allow to finish

cooking until al dente, stirring and adding the pasta cooking water little by little to prevent the sauce from becoming too dry. The starch in the pasta cooking water will add body and

creaminess to the finished dish.

Turn the pasta into a serving dish, and grate fresh Parmigiano over. Serve additional Parmigiano on the side.