This recipe might sound like the utter opposite of anything you'd care to eat on a lazy Saturday morning. If I didn't have such an affinity for cilantro, I'd probably agree. But since I do, and because I once again found myself with a huge bunch of leftover sprigs taking up space on a shelf in the fridge, just aching to be torn, chopped, infused with, tied up into a bouquet and stuffed into a mason jar, anything but wasted, I decided I was going to incorporate the sweet leaves into my breakfast come hell or high water. Cilantro pancakes are a bit weird even for me, and I wasn't digging the idea of cilantro infused oatmeal. But then I found this lovely thing. An Indian version of scrambled eggs with butter, onion, cilantro, and jalapeño. Sold.
Ekuri
from Complete Indian Cooking
You'll need:
4 T butter
1 onion (chopped finely)
2 fresh green chiles (chopped finely)
8 eggs, lightly beaten with 2 T water (my instinct is to substitute water with heavy cream. Don't do it with this recipe. Water works just fine)
1 T finely chopped cilantro leaves
salt to taste
Melt the butter in a pan over medium-low heat. Add the onion and fry until deeply golden. Add the chili pepper to the pan and fry for another 30 seconds. Then add eggs, cilantro, and salt. Cook over low heat, stirring the eggs until scrambled and set. Garnish with a few additional chopped cilantro leaves.
A New Blog! This one's for serious, and I plan to dedicate a predetermined number of hours per week to the thing. You see, Peppadew is copyrighted, and even adding an "e" to the end doesn't change the fact that the name is synonomous with the branded pickled jar of peppers, the kind I've come to love so dearly and learned to pine for in the most awfully inconvenient of times.
New look, new name, new concept. And a ton of new recipes. And more cheese, because there wasn't nearly enough of it before. I can't wait.
I went to Flushing today and had the best Sichuanese I've ever had. I can't believe it has taken me no less than three and a half years to make the trek. Madness!
Moving along. I sent a list of goals to myself from my computer at work the other day. Rather than keep them to myself, I'm going to publish them here. It'll be fun to look back to see which I achieved and when. Some are pretty lofty, some are attainable tonight, and some are in between. The plan is to come back to this every so often, add to it, and (hopefully) cross off what I've done. Here goes.
Write a cookbook
Volunteer for the UN
Host a fondue dinner party for 8
Cook a Russian Peruvian meal for Dima (It was Russian, but I made golubtsy and cabbage soup on Saturday - one down!)
Learn to make and master perogies from scratch
Spend one week with my grandmother and bake her a chocolate cake and a lemon meringue pie, or whatever she fancies these days.
Listen to live Spanish guitar and take a flamenco class in Spain
Learn to knit and finish John's afghan that our grandmother started
You know, when I was a kid I didn't necessarily love to glance at a sky full of puffy clouds and pick out the shapes that I saw among them. Sure I've got vivid memories of this specific activity but I do not recall having a ball while doing so. But today, I thoroughly enjoyed cooling down a cup of piping hot chocolate, blowing into the froth, and watching the shapes form within the white suds that skimmed the surface. It requires a special type of mouth contortion, if you really want to get into it, and it will no doubt draw stares from whoever is around. Your eyes may bulge, a whistle could escape your lips. Be gentle with your breath, though, in order to make it last as long as possible.
Mid afternoon boredom pleasure, my friends. Take my word for it.
hot wassail and scalloped oysters-cheddar pimento dip and cranberry ginger salsa-creamed brussel sprouts and devils on horseback-egg nog panna cotta and wild rice with rosemary and cashews-candied yams tucked under a gooey marshmallow blanket-sage and sausage stuffing and yes I love to add the gizzards-garlic mashed potatoes and green bean casserole covered in a heap of fried onions-spiced corn pudding and who cares about the turkey when you have all of this-puzzling and wiggly gelatinous lime-green casserole with olives, of all things, that my uncle insists we have every year because it is "just not a holiday without it"-pumpkin chiffon pie with cinnamon and clove cream-this is what I daydream about while I should be working-recipes to come.
My new favorite color is the fiery orange of butternut squash, sliced open, the pulpy part. Crazy in love, as in I might paint my bedroom this exact hue if the infatuation continues. I almost forgot how brilliant it is, so clandestine and completely disguised by the milky pale and passive color of its skin, something spectacular that I tend to take for granted when I don't split the gourd myself to see the before and after. But no, then I'll wake up every Sunday morning and any other day, I suppose, and just as soon as my eyes open, thoughts of squash will fill my mind before anything else has a chance. Even breakfast. I think I prefer the empty canvas of my white walls. Makes for a wider array of possibilities.
Last Sunday I woke up bound and determined to bake a pan of pumpkin bread pudding. I strayed a bit, but not regrettably so. My friend Susan declared this the best dish we've ever made together. She shares my love of eating (and cooking) and over the past four + years that I've been lucky enough to know her, we have eaten (and cooked) some food.
The result of our latest undertaking was autumnal perfection on a plate. Or in a bowl, or coffee cup, or whatever dish you choose to use. Pino Luongo suggests a three pound butternut squash is all you need for four servings. You are a master, Pino, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this recipe, but if I may say so, you do not give your roasted squash enough credit. I'd suggest that you, whoever may be reading this, get a heavier squash. If you follow in our footsteps, you will eat a third of it right out of the oven before it even stands a chance of cozying up to the rest of the ingredients. It is caramalized, tender, nutty and slightly salty just like it ought to be with a subtle hint of sage. When combined with sausage, fresh pasta, and cheese, it's magic. Make this, my friend, the whole dish. And feed it to your cherished.
(please excuse the photography. it's not the strong point of this effort, but it promises to improve)
Pappardelle with roasted butternut squash, crumbled sweet sausage, and sage
adapted from La Mia Cucina Toscana by Pino Luongo
2 lbs butternut squash pulp cut into a 3/4 inch dice (from a 3 lb squash)
2 bay leaves
3 garlic cloves
10 sage leaves
1 T brown sugar
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and black pepper to taste
1 cup crumbled sweet sausage
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup rinsed and finely sliced leek, white and green parts
3/4 cup vegetable stock *I needed about 1/2 cup more than this 1 lb fresh pappardelle
1/3 cup grated parmigiano-reggiano
Preheat oven to 250 degrees.
Place 3 quarters of the butternut squash in a bowl. Add bay leaves, garlic, 4 of the sage leaves, brown sugar, and 4 tablespoons of the olive oi. Add salt and pepper to taste. Toss until well mixed.
Spread the mixture onto a rimmed cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake for about 40 minutes, until golden and caramelized.
Warm a nonstick pan over medium heat. Add the sausage and cook until fat is rendered. Drain off the fat, then add wine and let it evaporate, about2 minutes. Set aside.
Warm 2 T of remaining olive oil in a saute pan over medium heat. Add half the leek and saute until wilted, about 2 minutes. Add the rest of the butternut squash and season with salt and pepper. Add the stock and cook until the squash is soft, about 25 minutes. (If the sauce is too thick once the squash is tender, add more stock and warm through). Remove from heat. When this mixture has cooled to just warm, process in blender or food processor to make a thin sauce.
Warm the remaining olive oil in a saute pan large enough to hold the pasta. Add the remaining leek and saute until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the sausage, remaining sage leaves, and roasted butternut squash (assuming you haven't consumed it all by this point) and cook for 5 minutes. Add the sauce, stirring well, and simmer for 5 more minutes. As the sauce is simmering, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
Add the pappardelle to the boiling water and cook until al dente. Drain the pasta and add to the large saute pan, mixing thoroughly. Sprinkle with Parmigiano.
Divide the pasta and sauce among individual plates and serve at once.
My brother John celebrated a birthday last week. One week and 2 days ago, if we're being precise here. What I really wanted to do for him was to fill a table with all of his homemade favorites. When you live 3 hours away by plane from your closest relative, any day can be a bit lonely, especially a birthday. He is on the West coast, and I'm on the East. I needed a better idea.
I wanted the gift to be edible (as I want all gifts to be) so I turned to my mom's old cookbook to find something that would sustain a cross country trip. Cherry Dream Pie was out, as were Salmon Patties and Chicken Divan (yes these are actual recipes! amazing, no?)
The book is so fantastically retro, covered in a floral pattern of oranges and browns and all of the recipes were hand-picked by her, most passed down from relatives and friends. I love flipping through the yellowed pages decorated with grease-spotted fingerprints, the quotes taped to the pages by authors she admired, her handwritten recipes, the separate section for casseroles. Our cousin Jody kept it and gave it to me last year. Thank you, Jody. It is perfectly and authentically her.
Back to decision making. Cookies? I asked John to name his favorite. He responded with a very unobtrusive nilla wafer? Now, I didn't try very hard to find one, but I'm pretty sure no public recipe exists. It's like the Oreo. Why try when Nabisco's got it perfected?
Anyway. I found this photo a few months ago of the 3 or us. John looks about 4 years old. I love that the cookie is almost the size of his head. It looks like it could be a gingersnap......maybe......oversized........with a bit of imagination? And I just so happened to find a recipe in the binder with my great grandmother's name typed right next to it. Just in case he isn't thrilled (although I simply can't imagine this) there is a yellow box of wafers tucked inside the package, too.
In her recipe, Nana calls for shortening. I used butter and it worked just fine (I'm sorry, Nana). If you do substitute butter, you will want to set your oven at a lower temperature, about 300 degrees. I like a strong essence of ginger, so I used 2 teaspoons instead of 1. The cookies turned out deliciously spicy. There is nothing like the combination of ginger, cinnamon, and cloves. Make these and your kitchen will smell like heaven for hours after they come out of the oven.
Ginger Snaps from Nana
3/4 cup shortening 1 cup sugar 1 egg beaten 4 T molasses 2 cups flour 2 t baking soda 1/2 t salt 1 t ginger 1 t cinnamon 1/2 t ground cloves
Cream shortening/butter and sugar. Add well beaten egg and molasses. Mix dry ingredients well and combine with the first mixture. Form into small balls and dip into cinnamon/sugar mix. Bake on greased pan at 350 degrees for about 12 minutes.
So let me start off by saying that I meant to post this on Saturday. I blame the delay on the red wine I decided to let keep me company as I settled comfortably on the couch, cross legged, with high hopes that as a result of a slight buzz, creativity would flourish, and do so effortlessly, knowing no bounds, and leave me giggling in the afterglow of finally finishing a follow-up to the first entry I've been talking about posting so many months before I actually did. But, instead I wrote half of it, took a few photos with terrible lighting, ate the entire pot of the subject I would mention, and ended the experience dancing around my living room barefoot to king floyd's Choice Cuts album, half empty bottle of wine in hand. Buzz or no buzz, I hear the first bar of 'groove me' and I'm a goner. Ah well, I'm here now, and so is this. The soup, however, is not and to me, that's always a good sign.
The opening statement of my new favorite cook book is something I believe in wholeheartedly which is "if you cook nothing else, you could live exceptionally well on soups." This is truth. The list of options are endless, whether you decide to be imaginative or stick with the tried and true. I guess this goes for cooking in general and is a huge part of why I adore it so much. Comfort means different things to everyone, especially in food form. For me, the ultimate = soup. On a cold, wet, dreary day like this past Saturday, what I wanted above everything was something rich and steamy that would warm me from the inside out, something I could fill an oversized mug with and dip a perfectly rounded spoon into, all while wearing my pajamas no matter the time of day. As I leafed through all 200 and some pages of this book, I realized choosing just one was going to be more difficult than I originally thought. There wasn't a recipe that didn't get me going. But then again, this hardly comes as a surprise. The accompanying photos, so inviting, did not exactly help to narrow the list. As my mouth watered, I took yet another sip of wine and kept turning the pages...
As it so happened, I had mushrooms on my mind after a deliciously successful portobello risotto was made earlier that week (yes, this is cause for excitement). Thus, among all of the earmarked pages, the simple combination of creamy mushroom and tarragon seemed to rise above the rest. And it was pretty perfect, actually. I must tell you that as a kid, I loathed mushrooms with every fiber of my being. They were one of the many vegetables that I would eat as I practiced holding my breath while holding back tears. You know.......that bad. My dad did not take well to picky eaters and so we ate everything the adults ate. It was probably due to his determination to rid us of our pickiness that I got over this specific aversion and now I'm, well, a devoted fan. If you're smitten like me, I'm pretty confident that you'll fall in love all over again. Ideally at first slurp.
Creamy Mushroom & Tarragon Soup adapted from soup bowl
3 T butter 1 onion, chopped 1 lb 9 oz button mushrooms, chopped roughly 3 1/2 cups stock (vegetable or as in my case, mushroom) 3 T chopped fresh tarragon, plus a bit extra for garnish 2/3 cup sour cream salt and pepper
Melt half of the butter in a large saucepan. Add the onion and gently cook for 10 minutes, until soft and translucent. Add the remaining butter and all of the mushrooms. Cook for 5 minutes, or until the mushrooms are browned.
Stir in the stock and tarragon. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer gently for 20 minutes. Transfer the soup to a food processor or blender and process until smooth. Return the soup to the pan.
Add the sour cream, stirring in to combine, and add salt and pepper. Reheat the soup gently until steaming. Ladle into warmed serving bowls, garnish with chopped tarragon and a bit more sour cream, if desired.
Autumn is quite the tease this year, isn't it? Just about the time I'm ready to be fully enveloped by it all - nippy air, crispy leaves, dewy grass, even shorter days, the bait is snapped back and a streak of heat smacks us from behind like a taunting younger sibling, then scampers away just as quickly as it came, snickering all the while.
Maybe summer is the true tease. I don't know.
I love all seasons but I have a special affection for fall. For the last few weeks of every August my body starts to crave heartier, spicier, warmer foods. I really should try to be more patient.
I made a quick trip to the farmers' market a few Tuesdays ago with every intention to leave with a sack of assorted root vegetables. On my walk I saw visions of swirling potatoes in all colors and sizes, beets ready for roasting, and dusty carrots and onions just begging to accompany a few chopped ribs of celery at the bottom of a soup pot. Until a quick shock to the nose from a huge bucket of basil shattered my daydreams like a jagged rock to a windshield. I kid you not when I tell you that I could detect the wonderfully unmistakable scent of basil from a block and a half away.
And the roots can wait!
This happened to be one of those warmer weeks, and because of this, I decided to go with it and buy only what wouldn't be locally available once the Season truly settles in and makes herself cozy. I left with 2 gorgeous Jersey tomatoes, red as rubies, a couple of ears of bicolor sweet corn, and an enormous bunch of that sweet, sweet basil.
Thus my basil cooking week, a kind of ode to the versatile herb, was born. I silently vowed to use every last leaf as I brainstormed ideas on the walk home. If you'd have seen this bunch you'd have agreed that this was a pretty lofty goal.
Anyway, let me get to the point of this post and tell you what I made.
There was garlicky basil pesto with gnocchi one night. Baked tilapia fillets were smeared with pesto and dusted with panko bread crumbs another night (so easy, and so so tasty). I cut the corn from the cob, sauteed in olive oil with garlic and shallot, then tossed with shredded basil and sea salt for a super quick side dish. I usually go for heftier pastas with some (forgive me) girth and bite to them. I think that, however, I'll forever make an exception for spaghettini with lemon, basil, and pecorino. I varied the original recipe found on recipezaar.com slightly by substituting pecorino for parmesan and grating it coarsely instead of finely. It also calls for 1/2 cup of olives, which I omitted. I'll share the recipe I made with you here:
Spaghettini with lemon, basil, and pecorino adapted from recipezaar.com
1 lb dried spaghettini 1/3 cup fresh lemon juice 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 1 handful fresh basil leaves, torn into rough pieces, stems removed 1 1/4 cups coarsely grated pecorino romano sea salt and cracked pepper to taste
Cook pasta in boiling salted water until just al dente. As pasta cooks, whisk together olive oil with lemon juice in a bowl, then stir in cheese, salt, and pepper. Reserve a ladleful of water separately from the pasta pot before draining. (I forget to do this almost every time). Return pasta to the pot. Mix in sauce immediately and toss with basil. Add reserved pasta water one tablespoon full at a time, if needed, to thin out the sauce and to better coat the pasta. Serve immediately.
I also made a basil cheesecake, but I think I'll wait to share that recipe until I try making it again. The result was pretty good, but I actually preferred the raw batter to the baked cake. (In fact, I think it would make an amazing ice cream flavor: lemon basil cheesecake batter. Doesn't that just sound incredible?) I could (and did) eat it with a spoon.
