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




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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.