tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21579942313445122692024-03-20T20:58:40.020-04:00for now, i cookjenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-17561656142822925722010-11-08T10:30:00.003-05:002010-11-08T11:11:29.126-05:00Chocolate Chunk Cookies (with help from David Lebovitz)I've mentioned before that chocolate has never really been my thing. For most of my life I've favored Twizzlers over Hershey's, reached for shortbread before brownies. Chocolate chip cookies are rarely in my diet or repertoire. But that doesn't mean that I don't know a good thing when I see it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAl_FYQpw6E5ovKY5c4a-rfje-ueo1LggsLe0QXUbC5rgzbsWkbR5dH7V43Y8YeYI-HohD9CPTL_kxyEJPVdF9KvUSvUxoKm5k4LYZ0KxASfD1L7q7YZtQmGmG_b8_XuDTZ-2xl2dW9zY/s1600/IMG_0223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAl_FYQpw6E5ovKY5c4a-rfje-ueo1LggsLe0QXUbC5rgzbsWkbR5dH7V43Y8YeYI-HohD9CPTL_kxyEJPVdF9KvUSvUxoKm5k4LYZ0KxASfD1L7q7YZtQmGmG_b8_XuDTZ-2xl2dW9zY/s400/IMG_0223.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a><br />
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I've got a hunch that every baker and cookie-lover out there has their own renowned recipe for the cookie equivalent of your favorite pair of jeans. I'm not trying to impose. I've just got to let you know that I've found a good one, one that turned someone who was very much skeptical of the chocolate chip cookie into one of those people who raves about it all over the Internet.<br />
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What I like about this recipe is that it yields a terrific and rare balance between the comforts of homemade and the also rare deliciousness of somewhere like City Bakery. It's neither cakey nor brittle, and equally exhibits its chocolate and its cookie. It's a type that would leave a paper bag laced invitingly in butter stains.<br />
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<b>Chocolate Chunk Cookies, thanks to David Lebovitz</b><br />
<i>Makes about 18 cookies</i><br />
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Chocolate chips are a perfectly viable option, but I found the chunks to be, well, ideal - dense and satisfying to bite, more fun to snack on as you bake. If you can't eat 18 cookies in a day or two, freeze the pre-formed dough balls in a ziploc bag. When your next craving hits, just preheat, line a baking sheet and pop the dough in - no need to defrost. Also, I accidentally took my first sheet out of the oven a minute too soon. It was a wonderful mistake - crisp edges, fudgy center.<br />
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1/2 cup granulated sugar<br />
1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar<br />
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1/2-inch cubes<br />
1 egg<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />
1/2 teaspoon baking soda<br />
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour<br />
1/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1 - 1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chunks<br />
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Adjust the oven rack to the middle of the oven and preheat to 300F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. <br />
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In a large bowl beat the sugars and butters together with a hand mixer until smooth. Beat in the egg, vanilla, and baking soda until just combined. In a separate bowl stir together the flour and salt, then add them to the batter and combine. Mix in the chocolate chunks, being careful to not over-handle.<br />
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Scoop the cookie dough into 2-tablespoon balls and place 8 balls, spaced 4 inches apart, on each of the baking sheets. Bake for 14-16 minutes, or until the cookie edges are pale golden brown. Remove from the oven and let cool. Definitely eat at least one while warm and store the rest at room temperature in an airtight container for about 3 days.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-22129204808365718752010-10-31T21:03:00.002-04:002010-11-08T11:02:49.822-05:00The best cheese I ever madeThough I have long been a pro at eating cheese, since the start of my mongership, I've been finessing the joys of actually tasting it, getting to know my cheese - all of its likes, dislikes, stories, and deep-dark secrets. <br />
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For example: the gloriously gooey, fabulously orange Meadow Creek Grayson, a beefy, buttery masterpiece that smells enticingly like a boys' high school locker room, is coincidentally crafted by the Feete (!) family in Virginia. I love that. <br />
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Tasting and tidbits aside, I had been craving some truer intimacy, that along the lines of the magic I experienced as Cynthia revealed to me the power of rennet and cutting curds. With no cow (or sheep, or goat, or water buffalo) of my own, I've turned to Murray's, which doesn't have cows either, but is very well connected to those who do. Enter: Mozzarella making. <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">The scene is Murray's classroom, a room perched above the store on Bleecker Street. The setting is multiple plate bordered with mozzarella-type cheeses - pasta filata; several New Yorkers gingerly eyeing the presentation. Bowls of mozzarella curd dot the background. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQ6fSPCppFZq1gBQ770tqSfdu98dE3EIE_-UCJ4QuaKDt_p1cvz4AXejI7drrvdNAkaGTkncLNfvy6UL9JeLhclW8a53pxqw2uI4Z8KNZ-mIGMJXixtYWP9AtRNUatEMlsjEXJdBjMZk/s1600/photo(3).JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy86hfc_38I2zTUqojkILOMspEp7d1PsgVzp33QE7hQsUY3lg8Dn3cDQVuOF1-ga3MfUfnPiHcw4lwjuQZyE2kOy1rZv-VXDhBrhupzk2dgKMMtsF1SMUdxFZX4q4YEWtzfjVgqPa4RXU/s1600/photo(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy86hfc_38I2zTUqojkILOMspEp7d1PsgVzp33QE7hQsUY3lg8Dn3cDQVuOF1-ga3MfUfnPiHcw4lwjuQZyE2kOy1rZv-VXDhBrhupzk2dgKMMtsF1SMUdxFZX4q4YEWtzfjVgqPa4RXU/s400/photo(3).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Before making mozzarella, we must taste mozzarella. And tasting includes learning. Mozzarella is a fresh, young cheese, best consumed within days of its making. We know that it's Italian in origin, that it melts well, and partners well with tomato, basil, prosciutto; we like it fried, fresh, and atop pizza. As with many cheeses, mozzarella begins with a curd, a rubbery, tofu-like concentration of milk proteins. The mozzarella curd is heated, and then pulled, literally pulled - stretched into one long, rubbery strand - before it is rolled into the springy ball we know and love. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYZlVUYcCU4G8feo-OV9gzjVhsyxJ3E9nwxEHlSx66PS-2p3Qnj1qqPYTM4T6RZZE82RxAFIZoUyvgGE5pC1uqLQA8jbIX9aSSs0MmQcMu-cpn8-_kTv5Q7JOmgCSJySug-KterVNbkU/s1600/photo(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYZlVUYcCU4G8feo-OV9gzjVhsyxJ3E9nwxEHlSx66PS-2p3Qnj1qqPYTM4T6RZZE82RxAFIZoUyvgGE5pC1uqLQA8jbIX9aSSs0MmQcMu-cpn8-_kTv5Q7JOmgCSJySug-KterVNbkU/s400/photo(2).JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
"Pasta filata," the Italian name for this family of cheese, means "spun paste," (paste referring to the body of the cheese) a term I find oh-so appropriate for conjuring the image of rolling yarn into a ball. That's pretty much what you do with that rubbery strand of curd. <br />
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It's a simple process, really. One that can be done entirely at home,* and will yield delectable results, even with the most novice of skill. Several of my mozzarella balls were a bit more dense than what we're accustomed to. My knife got a little stuck at the center, instead of gliding effortlessly, as I sliced through. They were nevertheless delightful - milky, rich, sweet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrUKK4kWFxJMuLsWNh-tPBVVUH0S5D7Jufu3VQgLwWSdHrf-spTVFInkRER1AiiSqo3mAB-XisPSRvpgZSdx0_xfLF1Y03aiNfj79NqVa6ZIjD8Uhz-2IxiADrjzWSn4Ocz2k0KyOnh8/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrUKK4kWFxJMuLsWNh-tPBVVUH0S5D7Jufu3VQgLwWSdHrf-spTVFInkRER1AiiSqo3mAB-XisPSRvpgZSdx0_xfLF1Y03aiNfj79NqVa6ZIjD8Uhz-2IxiADrjzWSn4Ocz2k0KyOnh8/s400/photo.JPG" width="298" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmYZlVUYcCU4G8feo-OV9gzjVhsyxJ3E9nwxEHlSx66PS-2p3Qnj1qqPYTM4T6RZZE82RxAFIZoUyvgGE5pC1uqLQA8jbIX9aSSs0MmQcMu-cpn8-_kTv5Q7JOmgCSJySug-KterVNbkU/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I consumed much of my bounty straight from its salty brine, reserving the best of the bunch for a late-season lunch of mozzarella, tomato, and basil - generously sprinkled with olive oil. That's also delightful in sandwich form - on something crusty - or pizza form. Need more ideas?<br />
<ul><li>Feature your mozzarella in a baked Italian dish - ziti, lasagna, eggplant, manicotti</li>
<li>Or just toss it with pasta and tomato sauce, basil, or sundried tomatoes... </li>
<li> Marinate bocconcini (small mozz balls) or just diced mozzarella in olive oil and Italian spices, with a dash of red pepper flakes. It makes a fine lunch. </li>
<li>Mozzarella sticks, anyone?</li>
</ul>Mozzarella can be made entirely from scratch, but it much easier to leave the hard part to the pros and begin with the curds, which you can likely purchase from any location that makes their own mozzarella. Some of the best directions, supplies, and advice for making your own are found <a href="http://www.cheesemaking.com/store/pg/21.html">here</a>, at the New England Cheesemaking Supply Company.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-30403988961702712302010-10-23T09:39:00.001-04:002010-10-24T21:47:44.273-04:00Where I've beenI'm not brave enough to calculate the days that I have so guiltfully been neglecting this space. And I won't dribble off the excuses I've crafted for the few dear friends who have still bothered to check day after day for excuses. Instead I will tell you all about where I have been, and hopefully win back your love and following. Because, few but loving readers, I am...back! <br />
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The time that I have managed to keep track of is that spent at new job number one, one that I had fuzzy ideas of announcing to you via the creation of a chronicling of my education and discoveries while there. While that may one day happen I won't keep the secret any longer: several weeks ago I began my adventure as a cheesemonger at New York's esteemed Murray's Cheese. At this point announcing that actually feels like a feat, something it doesn't often enough. I'm remembering when we made cheese on the farm. As Cynthia cut the milky mixture that had magically transformed to a tofu-like consistency, releasing whey as her knife crisscrossed left and right, my mouth dropped a little in wonder. My adoration of cheese became a fascination. Curled up in the casita I began to daydream of apprenticing at the cheese farm in her village.<br />
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It's maybe from there that my Murray's idea sprouted - a chance to learn and sample to my belly's desire. Still new to me, my cheesemongership (!) has been just fun, and full of cheese and wonderful, fascinating information about that cheese that I am now vowing to share in this space at some undetermined interval. I hope there's a little bit of cheese dork in you. And that you'll still stop by even if there's not.<br />
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More to come!jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-89141134441249318992010-09-05T22:57:00.001-04:002010-11-08T11:05:01.778-05:00There's no knead<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">In my enduring quest (months, on and off) for the ideal bread recipe - the one most suited to my tastes, lifestyle, and capabilities - I read <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/nyregion/22routine.html?_r=1&ref=ruth_reichl">this</a> article in the New York Times a few weekends ago. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ruth makes Jim Lahey's bread every day. Though I've made his breads before (well, one, <a href="http://fornowicook.blogspot.com/2009/11/olive-bread.html">once</a>), her approval was an appealing invitation to get back to it, a decision I have been enjoying with <a href="http://fornowicook.blogspot.com/2010/08/lure-of-lore.html">apricot jam</a> and butter for the past two weeks. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fkZfnhndqMqwoWbW9AyakKXL-xNE9L8eyLWTo5gkKO2Ol-r9-UNgBSorYcH7lq-FS2RJgOIYLZivPBSlSccZOO7nDxr1FzpJvw1VD6sJIisgFtYIzIxjxhcdSZQCVhyphenhyphenXEe4e3z-G5cA/s1600/IMG_0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fkZfnhndqMqwoWbW9AyakKXL-xNE9L8eyLWTo5gkKO2Ol-r9-UNgBSorYcH7lq-FS2RJgOIYLZivPBSlSccZOO7nDxr1FzpJvw1VD6sJIisgFtYIzIxjxhcdSZQCVhyphenhyphenXEe4e3z-G5cA/s400/IMG_0190.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The hardest thing about this recipe is mastering the timing. Taking a total of about 23 hours from start to finish, it requires a little more planning than<i> oooh bread for dinner sounds lovely, let's get on that. </i>The good thing about this recipe is that while bread for dinner may sound lovely, eating this bread any time of the day or night is indeed a lovely experience. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Though baking bread at the farm became nearly a daily experience I always required Cynthia's intervention in the kneading department. We believed she had magic hands, capable of rescuing my overworked, shaggy heaps of dough, and with a forceful knead-and-turn, transforming them into smooth bread-to-bes. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">So the easiest thing about this recipe is that there's no need for me to call for Cynthia, simply because there's no kneading at all. I'm not yet sure exactly how it works, but I assure you that it does. Upon waiting, as the dough develops and your kitchen adopts the faint scent of yeast, you reveal a rustic, crusty, moist bread, rich with the scent of freshness and covered with a dusting of flour or cornmeal, your choice. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span></div>For my first Jim Lahey experience (with olives!) see <a href="http://fornowicook.blogspot.com/2009/11/olive-bread.html">here</a>.<br />
For more Jim Lahey breads, buy <a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Bread-Revolutionary-No-Work-No-Knead/dp/0393066304/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1283697461&sr=8-1">this</a>. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread</span><br />
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3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting<br />
¼ teaspoon instant yeast<br />
1¼ teaspoons salt<br />
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed<br />
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<span class="bold"></span>In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.<br />
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<span class="bold"></span>Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.<br />
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Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.<br />
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<span class="bold"></span>At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.<br />
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</span>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-66790149298197084182010-08-20T08:00:00.004-04:002010-11-08T11:48:38.021-05:00Sesame + peanut butter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Growing up, this dish was known at home as "Chinese Chicken Salad" (sometimes it was a lot more salady than this). And though it was not a frequent guest at our dinner table, it was a loved one, possibly made even more special due to its sporadic visits. Honestly, though, there is nothing not to love, and I don't doubt that even if I were forced to eat these chewy, creamy, oh-so-satisfying noodles every day of my life that I would not love them any less.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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The name - Chinese Chicken Salad - ceased to be an accurate description for this heap of noodles and peanut sauce when I began to make it in my own kitchen - sans chicken. Instead it became "you know, those peanuty noodles, the ones that taste like takeout but better." So much better. Everyone always said yes! oh yes! upon its mention as a dinner prospect. <br />
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I'm still not sold on a name, but I'll settle on Peanut Sesame Noodles, made acceptable by the addition of sesame seeds this time around. If you like peanut butter and noodles I promise you'll love this dish as I do. But if you need more reasons:<br />
<ol><li>The combination of peanut butter and noodles rivals that of peanut butter and jelly. </li>
<li>If you manage to not gobble the whole thing up immediately, your Peanut Sesame Noodles will keep refrigerated for probably ever. </li>
<li>I swear this is a legitimate meal for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. </li>
<li>Really quick and easy!</li>
<li>Finally, after your first making, just about every ingredient lives on in your pantry. I told you it was easy. </li>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Peanut Sesame Noodles</span></b><i> </i><br />
serves 4<br />
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<i>for peanut dressing:</i><br />
1/2 cup peanut butter, smooth or crunchy, but not natural or fresh-pressed<br />
1 1/2 tablespoon fresh ginger, peeled and chopped<br />
1/4 c soy sauce<br />
2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar<br />
1 tablespoon chili paste<br />
1 tablespoon honey <br />
1 1/2 tablespoons sesame oil <br />
3 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted<br />
a bit less than 1/4 cup very hot water<br />
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<i>f</i><i>or the rest:</i><br />
1 lb fettuccine pasta<br />
1 yellow, red, or orange bell pepper, sliced into thin strips<br />
1 cucumber, thinly sliced into quarters<br />
3/4 cup frozen peas, defrosted<br />
4 scallions, chopped<br />
2 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted <br />
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Puree dressing ingredients in a food processor or blender until smooth and transfer to a large bowl.<br />
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Cook pasta. Drain in a colander, and with the pepper, cucumber, peas, and scallions, add the pasta to the dressing bowl. Toss to combine until the pasta and vegetables are well coated. Garnish with the remaining toasted sesame seeds. Serve immediately or wait until cool.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*the dressing will keep refrigerated if you want to make in advance</span>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-19122447448287055292010-08-17T15:27:00.003-04:002010-11-08T11:51:19.163-05:00Flowing with milk and honey<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Israel, I was always taught, was known as the land flowing with milk and honey. Nothing against Israel, but for me, the land where milk and honey run freely was Argentina. </span></span><br />
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It was there, at Cynthia's, amidst daily jugs of Margarita's milk and cans of home-harvested honey, that I was first introduced to honey vanilla ice cream. I have remembered this ice cream often, but it is only now that I look back and realize how central ice cream was to experience in Argentina.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKpl0Gnp4BFg6KL9w4Z3CyT0H7v4NNPM8MPIljzn6bsDArIL7oj4kJ3KAYHxZb2VVbIh2dS9t2pJns8xrZ9GAbs0mh0R04UUaWVkyZ9BBaIBtF6rEiDZE0Qo8wGGJCmKz4TtJBn5eG8I/s1600/IMG_0153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKpl0Gnp4BFg6KL9w4Z3CyT0H7v4NNPM8MPIljzn6bsDArIL7oj4kJ3KAYHxZb2VVbIh2dS9t2pJns8xrZ9GAbs0mh0R04UUaWVkyZ9BBaIBtF6rEiDZE0Qo8wGGJCmKz4TtJBn5eG8I/s400/IMG_0153.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>You see, ice cream is a <i>thing</i> down there. It was what I had for lunch on my first day, and what I looked forward to every weekend during my excursions into El Bolson. I've mentioned the <a href="http://fornowicook.blogspot.com/2010/01/treat-from-argentina.html">weekend routine</a> before, but left out the ritual of <a href="http://www.heladosjauja.com/">Jauja</a>, pretty much a gem of an heladeria in Argentina. Jack Johnson songs were always playing inside, while outside messy lines decorated Jauja's patio where fifty flavors crowded the menu board. After my first visit and several samplings I began to plan my choices days in advance.<br />
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Jauja's flavors all sounded poetic. Their taste was robust and real. Take <i>chocolate profundo</i>, named not dark chocolate, but chocolate that is profound, deep. Every flavor at Jauja was rich and a bit atypical, but like all other ice cream in the country, they were served in traditional Argentine <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44731252@N07/4201705718/">style</a> - slapped together with a long spatula in towering peaks atop tiny cones with a teeny, plastic, shovel-shaped spoon tacked in its side.<br />
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Though a product of Argentina through and through, the honey vanilla was nothing like this. No lines, no tiny spoons, no decisions. It was eaten straight from its styrofoam container - the volunteers taking turns - on the walk from Cynthia's kitchen to our <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44731252@N07/4901589087/">casita</a>. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Honey Vanilla Ice Cream </span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">yields about 2 cups</span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">My batch definitely tastes like vanilla, less so like honey. I encourage you to use fragrant honeys. Ones with floral tones would be nice, I imagine. I assure you, though, regardless of the honey type, this recipe yields a rich, very real ice cream, one in which the flavor and texture of the cream assault you and then make you feel so, so good.</span></span><br />
<br />
1 vanilla bean<br />
1 cup heavy cream<br />
1 cup milk (whole is best, others will do just fine)<br />
1/2 cup good quality honey<br />
1 teaspoon rum white rum<br />
<br />
Flatten the vanilla bean and cut a seam along it lengthwise to open it. With a small spoon, scrape out the seeds, placing them in a small saucepan. Add the pod, cream, milk, honey, and rum as well. Stir to dissolve the honey. Heat the mixture over moderate heat, stirring from time to time, just until tiny bubbles form around the edges of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes.<br />
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Remove from the heat and let steep, covered, for 1 hour.<br />
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Cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled. Remove the vanilla pod, and stir the mixture again to blend. Transfer it to an ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacturer's instructions.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-60629365449515465752010-08-12T12:38:00.001-04:002010-11-08T11:52:24.216-05:00Soup made for summerI'm not sure what it was that tempted me so. I had never made or even tasted corn soup before. But there was something about it and I knew that I really wanted to do both. <br />
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And so, in between sending off a monster load of applications, make corn soup is exactly what I did. Perspiring over the pot, as the air outside raged at a muggy 90-something, I questioned why any sane person would dare attempt this in the summertime, but as the local potatoes began to blend with the local tomatoes and the corn brightened to a fragrant and brilliant yellow, it became clear that summer is the only time to make this. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPgpqpFm4xQA6J9hDTA8sP9ku-s-LTpaGlGHshOBCbhyphenhyphenN_Aid_q-od_DtIjXijx6IXpBhqSDFsqG1HGs5_085SX1VDSpWEeprrBSMEHubTW0XQhs3pDOxOGS6LoWd8y4snXPZGRkkZes/s1600/cornchowder.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPgpqpFm4xQA6J9hDTA8sP9ku-s-LTpaGlGHshOBCbhyphenhyphenN_Aid_q-od_DtIjXijx6IXpBhqSDFsqG1HGs5_085SX1VDSpWEeprrBSMEHubTW0XQhs3pDOxOGS6LoWd8y4snXPZGRkkZes/s400/cornchowder.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Often potatoes flounder in soup; tomatoes are dull. Even corn, frozen in the dead of winter, loses its crunch. But this August, it seems soup - kernely corn soup - is precisely what these veggies were harvested for.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Corn Soup with Tomatoes, Potatoes, and Basil </span><br />
serves 4-6, and with crusty bread it's hearty enough for dinner <br />
<br />
6 ears corn, shucked<br />
2 tablespoons unsalted butter<br />
1 large onion, chopped<br />
1 shallot, finely chopped<br />
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped<br />
4 cups chicken broth<br />
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt<br />
1 pound waxy potatoes (red or Yukon Gold are good), cut into <br />
1/2-inch cubes <br />
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved <br />
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper<br />
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil<br />
juice of 1/2 lime<br />
<br />
<span class="bold"> </span><span class="bold"></span>Slice corn kernels off cob and place in a bowl. Run the back of a knife along each cob to remove additional corn pulp. Add pulp to bowl and reserve cobs.<br />
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<span class="bold"></span>In a medium soup pot butter over medium heat. Stir in onion, shallot and garlic. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. <br />
<br />
<span class="bold"></span>Add broth, reserved cobs, 1 cup water and 1 teaspoon salt to pot. Bring to a boil over high heat. Immediately reduce heat to medium and simmer for 10 minutes. Add potatoes and simmer until tender, about 15 minutes longer. Remove and discard cobs. <br />
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<span class="bold"></span>Stir in corn kernels and pulp, tomatoes, remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt, and pepper. Simmer for 20 minutes more. Stir in the basil and lime juice. Turn off heat and let soup cool for at least 15 minutes before serving.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-67555891554523511652010-08-08T18:29:00.002-04:002010-08-08T23:19:19.465-04:00The lure of loreWhen we made jam with Cynthia at the farm she sterilized her jars by slowly heating them in the oven at 100º C. Her oven didn't have any gauge of temperature. <i>Sé mi horno, chicas</i>, she told us, grinning, an invitation to share her secrets. Just as Cynthia knew her oven, and when it was going to rain, she knew how to make jam, bread, ice cream, beer, and champagne. All without a recipe. Without anything but her plastic kitchen scale and her contented smile. She just knew.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAbU41Unzus0L00tNwiktdXE7GXllkvaEM-H6we6rEmY61iVzkGURGs22ovULs8wGjcVZsisQzL0uUMgL3xJ2kE43e67GwneRKCeYg1ey58S6NaAGpNlpRWMfOUNebaKrijZAuqX7Dfo/s1600/IMG_0107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdAbU41Unzus0L00tNwiktdXE7GXllkvaEM-H6we6rEmY61iVzkGURGs22ovULs8wGjcVZsisQzL0uUMgL3xJ2kE43e67GwneRKCeYg1ey58S6NaAGpNlpRWMfOUNebaKrijZAuqX7Dfo/s400/IMG_0107.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Cynthia started with recipes. Every so often she'd pull out her penned catalogs - pages of loose leaf with happy notes from former apprenticeships and classes. She brought them out to share with us. She no longer needs them; her work in the kitchen has become her friendly routine.<br />
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With Cynthia as our guide the volunteers and I voraciously jotted down partially translated scripts from our days spent learning in her kitchen. I flip through mine and find the menu for Christmas dinner, stick figure-like sketches reminding me how to shape bread into braids and pretzels, recipes for butter and empanadas, but the dulce recipe, the one for jam, is missing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2rTl4moz2kaaVEhwOkf064b-s7cmN9kZXomzrvKpd_VPeYKRNpeBDfbgo0EPWUW8k3pkZ1Jy517fW8j6voWSMQPiyxVYaBDAHPzr9TWj6xb3j4IE8F_z2SD4ruaxhbA2J40b6_60I2w/s1600/IMG_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2rTl4moz2kaaVEhwOkf064b-s7cmN9kZXomzrvKpd_VPeYKRNpeBDfbgo0EPWUW8k3pkZ1Jy517fW8j6voWSMQPiyxVYaBDAHPzr9TWj6xb3j4IE8F_z2SD4ruaxhbA2J40b6_60I2w/s400/IMG_0110.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Finding dozens of recipes for apricot jam - each a variation of the one that came before - I turned to another guide, Harold McGee's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Food-Cooking-Science-Lore-Kitchen/dp/0684800012">On Food and Cooking-the Science and Lore of the Kitchen</a>. I recall Cynthia as I read his explanation. With every recipe she served a story, an elaboration, an explanation. McGee knows the true science of the kitchen, but Cynthia, with her magic kneading hands and dulce de leche <a href="http://fornowicook.blogspot.com/2010/01/treat-from-argentina.html">marbles</a>, knows the lore.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Apricot Jam </span></b><br />
<br />
about 5 cups of apricots, halved and pitted<br />
about 1/4 cup of water<br />
3 3/4 cups sugar<br />
2 tablespoons lemon juice<br />
<br />
<i>A little bit about jam making </i>(learned from Mr. McGee):<br />
<ul><li>Jam making is a process that involves cooking fruit to extract its pectin. The combination of heat and acid will eventually break down the fruit. </li>
<li>Once the fruit has broken down, sugar is added and the mixture should be rapidly brought to a boil to remove the water and cause the other ingredients to concentrate, forming the jam. Boiling is continued until the temperature of the mix reaches 217-221º F or 103-105º C. </li>
<li>McGee explains that a fresher flavor is produced when this cooking is done at a gentle simmer in a wide pot with a large surface area to allow for greater and quicker evaporation. </li>
<li>At last, an acid is added, and the readiness of the mix is tested by placing a drop on a cold spoon to see if it gels. </li>
</ul>So. Stick a spoon or dish in the freezer.<br />
<br />
Place the apricots and water in a large, wide pot. Cook at a medium heat, stirring frequently, until the fruit has mostly broken down. Then add the sugar and raise the heat to bring the mixture to a boil quickly, still stirring frequently. Once boiling for several minutes, reduce the heat until the mixture is at a gentle simmer. When the mixture has condensed and most of the liquid appears gone (if you have a thermometer, the temperature of the mix will be 217-221º F or 103-105º C) add the lemon juice and mix to incorporate. Test the readiness of the jam by placing a drop on the chilled spoon or dish. If when you push the mixture gently with your finger it wrinkles instead of sliding back to its original position, the jam is ready.<br />
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Can or store accordingly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtjUIRadJeRqY38N42k6OQZb-G59oz8mL_Z1cgfXSooB5l5Y7NUoJpAhgUL6rE26SnF3BPMXUxomUCXDO-MtkjUPXjWvpzOQGmKhz3u9O3UKCjb93MnYYA1yrEORJZZGvVXOtzAq2bSQ/s1600/IMG_0113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtjUIRadJeRqY38N42k6OQZb-G59oz8mL_Z1cgfXSooB5l5Y7NUoJpAhgUL6rE26SnF3BPMXUxomUCXDO-MtkjUPXjWvpzOQGmKhz3u9O3UKCjb93MnYYA1yrEORJZZGvVXOtzAq2bSQ/s400/IMG_0113.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-18029243301151179352010-08-02T18:20:00.003-04:002010-08-02T18:34:00.712-04:00A Canadian dressingThough I lived in Montreal for four plus years, very few particularities of Canadian cuisine managed to seep into my repertoire. That's why I keep my Toronto-born friend Aviva around - to give me a little taste of what I've been missing.<br />
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The day after I returned from my trip this summer I met a visiting Aviva in Brooklyn and hauled her back here for a home-cooked feast. We celebrated my return home and her stateside visit by stocking the fridge and soiling the counter with a mess intended to be tortellini. While I hunched over oozing and tearing pockets of dough my dear friend located a little bottle of one of Canada's finest offerings - pure maple syrup - and converted our salad into one delicious bowl of expat. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUx0ZblMuDw95tcszKR12iL9FCaOvkxqs79ZMrl9EohKbAv-RFAoToTonXJ4Q2dSWt4PpyVPhjKHfbV4oZl2kOg2Px2wVR_IlCsgagsOaFQsODoM_KulzpPKUb-TFF6IKkiKvER9vRac/s1600/IMG_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUx0ZblMuDw95tcszKR12iL9FCaOvkxqs79ZMrl9EohKbAv-RFAoToTonXJ4Q2dSWt4PpyVPhjKHfbV4oZl2kOg2Px2wVR_IlCsgagsOaFQsODoM_KulzpPKUb-TFF6IKkiKvER9vRac/s400/IMG_0073.JPG" width="400" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Aviva's Maple Dijon Vinaigrette </span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Drizzle over greens or any basic salad. The dressing is sweet, not mapley. Cover and refrigerate surplus.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 tablespoons Dijon mustard</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 tablespoon pure maple syrup</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">salt and pepper, to taste</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In a small glass or mug combine mustard, syrup, olive oil, and vinegar. With a small whisk or fork whisk or stir quickly until the ingredients have blended into a thicker, cohesive mixture. Taste, and if desired, add salt or pepper.<i><br />
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</div>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-23534012935654749062010-07-31T10:17:00.002-04:002010-08-02T18:21:44.705-04:00Tales from the road: cobble, cobble, cobbler<i>This is a story from my road trip, about some pie that I had, and the cobblers it inspired. </i><br />
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Just a few hours from home, fueled by a hankering for pie, Joe steered us from the highway to the Arrowhead Drive-In Restaurant in Milton, Pennsylvania. This was our last taste of the road.<br />
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I had been saving myself dinner at home, but sitting at the counter surrounded by octogenarian regulars I caved. We split an order of chicken and biscuits - Special Number Two. <br />
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Though the menu was for some reason irresistible, pie had been the draw and it was pie that proved to be the most redeeming of the joint's offerings.<br />
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The owner made each pie from scratch, and liked to go out back, behind the restaurant, where she planted a messy tangle of rhubarb, to give her baking a local flare.<br />
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I came home wanting desserts made with summer fruit I wished I had growing in my backyard. All summer I had been yearning for berries and peaches and plums and cherries. Quite by chance I found myself faced with two bundles of blueberries and an eagerness to not only throw them atop my morning yogurt, but also to let them star in the wonderful concoction known as cobbler. <br />
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With the opportunity to make two cobblers in the span of a week I got to try to recipes that I had my eye one. Below is a combination of the two, the recipe for a darn good cobbler. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Mostly blueberry cobbler with cornmeal biscuit </span></b><br />
adapted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rustic-Fruit-Desserts-Crumbles-Pandowdies/dp/1580089763">Rustic Fruit Desserts</a> and <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/">Smitten Kitchen </a><br />
<br />
1 tablespoon butter, at room temperature, for dish<br />
<br />
<i>For fruit filling: </i><br />
4 cups peaches<br />
2 cups blueberries, fresh or frozen<br />
2/3 cups brown sugar <br />
2 tablespoons flour<br />
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, about 1/2 lemon <br />
1/2 fine sea salt <br />
<br />
<i>For biscuit topping: </i><br />
3/4 cup all-purpose flour <br />
1/3 cup cornmeal <br />
3 tablespoons dark brown sugar <br />
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder <br />
1/4 teaspoon salt <br />
3 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes <br />
1/2 cup buttermilk<br />
<br />
<i>To skin the peaches: </i>Bring a large pot of water to boil. Slit an X in the bottom of each peach. Slide into boiling water and let sit for about 30 seconds, just enough to blanch, but not enough to cook at all. Remove them, and once cool, being peeling off the skin from the X. It should slide off easily. Pit the peaches and slice.<br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 425°. In a medium-sized bowl, toss peaches with blueberries, sugar, flour, lemon juice, and salt. Butter the bottom of a 2-quart baking dish and gently pour the fruit mixture in.<br />
<br />
In a large bowl, stir together the flour, cornmeal, brown sugar, baking powder and salt. Cut the butter into the dry mixture using your fingertips to blend until it has formed pea-sized balls. Stir in buttermilk with a rubber spatula until a wet, tacky dough comes together.<br />
<br />
Plop spoonfuls of the biscuit dough over the filling; don’t worry about covering entire surface. Bake until the cobbler’s syrup is bubbly and the biscuit tops are browned, about 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool slightly before serving. <br />
<br />
Best enjoyed almost immediately, but keeps for a few days in the fridge.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-67294871834402730762010-07-27T11:52:00.001-04:002010-07-27T11:53:58.038-04:00A cooperative eggplantThe first time I tried to make this was a disaster. It was during my second year away at school. I was living in my first apartment, cooking for myself for the first time. Vowing to steer clear of ramen, I relied on basic takes of my mom's classic recipes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX9w_1Uw8WF8xl42cBU-esHRP3i2waJr6glVsNKSyEbS16TmyOLv8MeQyMlwbA_5H3DoEuxPrbQiXw7dtAQAdg_YfcfYdXnICSUwtwiP53Ooa5hHl8NTVSZxa0BLm822WVN0cM4MK-lg/s1600/summer+eggplant+salad+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinX9w_1Uw8WF8xl42cBU-esHRP3i2waJr6glVsNKSyEbS16TmyOLv8MeQyMlwbA_5H3DoEuxPrbQiXw7dtAQAdg_YfcfYdXnICSUwtwiP53Ooa5hHl8NTVSZxa0BLm822WVN0cM4MK-lg/s400/summer+eggplant+salad+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
She called me one afternoon, as she often does, to rave about a recent find - an eggplant salad, calling for feta, one bowl, and only a half hour of oven-time. An eggplant enthusiast, I planned to make the dish for my next meal. With no copy of the recipe in front of her, she advised I search the New York Times website. It has to be the only eggplant salad you find, she said. Indeed I did only find one. It just wasn't the right one. And what ensued wasn't bad, but it sure wasn't good (due to no fault but my own). <br />
<br />
Though my mom mailed me a color photocopy of the real recipe shortly thereafter, I was never again inclined to make the dish. I've had it several times since then, when upon eying the jungle of mint leaves crowding her pots my mom whips it up each summer. I've loved it every time, for, as the newspaper <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/15/dining/15appe.html">article</a> accompanying the recipe proclaims, it's a cool, clean take on eggplant. It wasn't until I made the dish, though, and became enchanted by its simplicity that I truly understood what all of the original fuss was about.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMH-Ewg9ICeGzMtP9rOZpMqFtx2Fpy-NTkO3qa5FVRdInyO3mDo25Xcdbg4t9mFKDWApt8iKZfkh_p3NsPCvDt3EuJxDqC3Ms3BxLZjVuFCrYyePtnJBsC_mo2aczJCrKZlPXtGLLBIdg/s1600/summer+eggplant+salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMH-Ewg9ICeGzMtP9rOZpMqFtx2Fpy-NTkO3qa5FVRdInyO3mDo25Xcdbg4t9mFKDWApt8iKZfkh_p3NsPCvDt3EuJxDqC3Ms3BxLZjVuFCrYyePtnJBsC_mo2aczJCrKZlPXtGLLBIdg/s400/summer+eggplant+salad.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Summer Eggplant Salad with Feta and Mint</b></span><br />
found <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/15/dining/151arex.html?_r=1">here</a>, from the <i>New York Times </i><br />
<br />
I followed the recipe almost exactly. The dressing becomes clouded and muddy in the most delicious of ways. I used about half of what the recipe calls for. It keeps well refrigerated.<br />
<br />
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil<br />
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice<br />
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt<br />
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper<br />
1 3/4 pounds eggplant (any kind, or a mixture), trimmed and cut into 1-inch chunks<br />
1 clove garlic, minced<br />
1 tablespoon capers, chopped<br />
1 pound mixed bell peppers, seeded and cut into 1-inch pieces<br />
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved<br />
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves<br />
3 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 2/3 cup) <br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Whisk together the oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper.<br />
<br />
Toss eggplant with 1/3 cup vinaigrette, reserving the rest. Arrange on a baking sheet. Bake, tossing occasionally, until tender and golden around edges, about 30 minutes. Let eggplant cool somewhat. (It can be warm but not hot enough to melt feta or wilt mint.)<br />
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Whisk garlic and capers into reserved vinaigrette. In a large bowl, combine eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, and mint leaves. Toss with vinaigrette, sprinkle with feta. Serve immediately or within several hours.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-52684315091922258752010-07-20T12:16:00.012-04:002010-07-22T13:45:36.980-04:00Tales from the road: of goat cheese and farmsThis is a story from this summer's road trip.<br />
<br />
From San Francisco Joe and I continued our route northward to Applegate, Oregon, a spot not too far past the state border decorated with farms and two-lane roads. It was to one farm in particular where we were headed, a family farm where some of Joe's friends work for the summer.<br />
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It was Sunday. We packed the car early and bid adieu to chilly San Fran and our bed - adorned with not one, not two, but three duvets - that we borrowed for our stay. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-slgovRtbkArzEtmaq1kYcf-hmM_4DUeiiGTwwROdjejjjxtWl7ZJBvx0WHbdyDBi1Ey2pnMDnMChvPY3DY_h4tah15CmRclDmFZKKL-NNtxoksK_p-I1UqMiDvEtm-sfxNvJUJkGt8/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU-slgovRtbkArzEtmaq1kYcf-hmM_4DUeiiGTwwROdjejjjxtWl7ZJBvx0WHbdyDBi1Ey2pnMDnMChvPY3DY_h4tah15CmRclDmFZKKL-NNtxoksK_p-I1UqMiDvEtm-sfxNvJUJkGt8/s400/IMG_0088.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The day steered us along terribly windy roads miniatured by Redwoods, to a teeny overpriced gas station, and a lone general store that offered the makings of an ideal lunch: a well-stocked deli counter and thick homemade brownies.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwicronKLtAkDD2uH0fRv6v1csrXln4tyXa8zqDCEuNq4lRt1PcrrCHUzN0GU9fAVfJtHIcXoys5V8dxgC-4_otxhHIAOnQdZ5dfqH1cVcFOE7wr3_E709jbQ5xmHFHg5I2A5QK1NzsEs/s1600/IMG_3361.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br />
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<a name='more'></a>This was at the end of June. My three-week mark of life on the road. Cravings had kicked in. I yearned for banana bread, macaroni and cheese - home-cooked meals and a kitchen table where I could enjoy them. I eyed the stack of brownies, wishing I had been the one to make them. Though rich and moist, the brownie failed to satiate. I had an urge to bake, and then devour, a banana bread, still hot in the pan.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j3CYDLO8d9HIAoz1S-5D9-P7PxL3jngHt3U5lWR4maBvnEoxoPA_GpOWao4180M28Pl9SG01WdNWI6oYUJ9DvH2aTswCseu3sql4YhWu3OARGQlpIheHDlTwppKcJPBcjlkmZb3WwzA/s1600/IMG_3361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j3CYDLO8d9HIAoz1S-5D9-P7PxL3jngHt3U5lWR4maBvnEoxoPA_GpOWao4180M28Pl9SG01WdNWI6oYUJ9DvH2aTswCseu3sql4YhWu3OARGQlpIheHDlTwppKcJPBcjlkmZb3WwzA/s400/IMG_3361.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
I knew immediately that I liked the farm (and this was before I found three ripe bananas tucked into the freezer). We arrived late, and after a tour our hosts presented us with a feast of leftovers - spicy greens, juicy beets, and tiny falafel. Before going to bed they instructed us to help ourselves to anything we found in the refrigerator. It was rare on our journey that a day offered a stocked pantry and refrigerator with all of their contents at our disposal, so I awoke the next morning much as I imagine one does on Christmas: giddy and enthralled with what I would find. It was a day ripe with possibility. And goat cheese.<br />
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At the weekly farmers market our farmer friends traded their farmer friends for goods they did not produce on their farm. For our farmer friends this meant goat cheese. Three containers of fresh, local, simply delectable goat cheese. Left in the fridge, relatively untouched, waiting for me. Having gone without cheese for days, I was thrilled, but having never ever before seen lavender goat cheese I was positively beside myself. This was something special and I had to refrain myself from tucking it into my suitcase.<br />
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Instead I timidly poked at it with a spoon, cautious to reserve it for its owners, and vowed to incorporate this into my diet once back east again.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-zmLaB7ZxBKQPv_ezdYnOFNPcE6yE01qt6pEH8DaBh3yTaHULzgjQAZIa6IH0mjGsASonF5gr_sQ9dtUhSc1Ls5d1QdTdnnFgOJn6x5qKtH8BKziQj-WM9cIG-jDPhUymP4IMDQ5txc/s1600/IMG_3389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-zmLaB7ZxBKQPv_ezdYnOFNPcE6yE01qt6pEH8DaBh3yTaHULzgjQAZIa6IH0mjGsASonF5gr_sQ9dtUhSc1Ls5d1QdTdnnFgOJn6x5qKtH8BKziQj-WM9cIG-jDPhUymP4IMDQ5txc/s400/IMG_3389.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>Life at that little farm in Applegate reminded me so much of mine at <a href="http://www.rincondelsurr.blogspot.com/">Rincon del Sur</a>, where I stayed in Argentina. It's really no wonder, then that inspiration for a goat cheese meal is derived from my experiences at both places. An easy summer lunch came together one day in Argentina - much as I saw the meals in Oregon coming together - a salad and French omelette seasoned with chive flowers. Light, summery, beautiful, and basic, this seemed an appropriate venue for some lavender goat cheese; I hadn't a clue what to do with it otherwise. To my delight it was spot-on. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhizZ2G0ZwiY1ic_I8Dd8zLbpXf-29VfCu7U5hCyFLOfWXteq9hT1xW-KNYh2y9pVYoWMtSQCqZpPcOLTGkZb1FgTFc_7NOJsakegDISIiOd074kOMqSkdqjAiE1cQPCQjBErV5oKRZiE/s1600/IMG_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhizZ2G0ZwiY1ic_I8Dd8zLbpXf-29VfCu7U5hCyFLOfWXteq9hT1xW-KNYh2y9pVYoWMtSQCqZpPcOLTGkZb1FgTFc_7NOJsakegDISIiOd074kOMqSkdqjAiE1cQPCQjBErV5oKRZiE/s400/IMG_0080.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Goat cheese with lavender French Omele<b>t</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>te</b></span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">serves 1 </span><br />
The combination of goat cheese and lavender makes for an earthy yet subtle flavor, one that some say tastes just like soap. I find it so unique and refreshing. It tastes at once pretty and just like being outside, a pairing that I find works delightfully with eggs, which envelope the flavor. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><br />
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Before making your French omelette, be sure to check out <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWmvfUKwBrg">Julia Child's</a> demonstration. Also see my instructions below.<br />
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2 tablespoons goat cheese, or more if you like<br />
1/2 tablespoon dried lavender petals<br />
2 or 3 eggs<br />
salt and pepper<br />
1/2 tablespoon of butter<br />
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In a small bowl sprinkle the lavender over the goat cheese, using a spoon to combine, patting and pushing until the lavender is well incorporated.<br />
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Crack the eggs into a new bowl, adding salt and pepper to taste, and most of the goat cheese, reserving a little to sprinkle along the top of the omelette. With a whisk, beat the eggs lightly until the yolks are just incorporated.<br />
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Heat a small omelette pan, one about 8 inches in diameter, and with a high edge, over high heat. When add the butter and turn the pan to coat the entire surface. Just before the butter begins to brown pour the beaten eggs into the pan and almost immediately begin to forcefully jiggle the pan, moving it towards you and away as the eggs begin to lift and fold over themselves. The eggs are cooked when they are dry and bright yellow, but still soft.<br />
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Serve while hot, sprinkling remaining cheese along the top.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-70693083718175648822010-06-19T15:01:00.021-04:002010-07-21T13:37:57.537-04:00Tales from the road: San Fran one bite at a time<span style="font-style: italic;">I know I shared my fantasy of daily updates, but, friends, Internet access has been an unkind stranger. So bear with me as I search for wireless and in the meantime plan stories and recipes to share in the future. For now I do not cook, but I present you with a peak at people in San Francisco who do. </span><br />
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Kelley, I owe you big-time, girl. Were it not for your love affair with the city of San Francisco and your current unemployment allowing you unbridled time to indulge your friends, I would neverever<span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> have discovered the food wonders you suggested I try.<br />
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Kelley is a brand-new friend who spent all of her twenty-some-odd years in California, but now resides in Brooklyn. She has only seen snow once, has - I've come to learn - artfully well-tuned taste buds, and knows all the hippest, most tasty places to tantalize them.<br />
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San Francisco is the one stop on my California road adventure where it seemed possible to avoid breaking out the bills every time hunger roars its mighty call. You see, Joe and I are staying in a friend's apartment, and that apartment so conveniently features a lovely yellow kitchen and the necessary appliances for creating a home-cooked meal. The ventures we've made outside of the kitchen, as per Kelley's wise word, have been positively phenomenal and very well worth the (usually small) fare we've doled out. The excerpts that follow are not intended as reviews, but are merely an opportunity to relay my delight of the few eateries I've sampled<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Zeitgeist</span><br />
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This bar, supposedly a hot spot for bikers and their brethren, is featured in Lonely Planet. But I didn't know that before my visit. All I knew is that Zeitgeist's Bloody Mary's are apparently out of this world, and the bar was only blocks away from where I was when drinking one sounded really, really good.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.zeitgeistsf.com/">Zeitgeist</a> was my first blind visit to a Kelley Recommendation. Walking into the bar - dank and heavy with the fumes of darkness and stale beer - I feared I'd been talking the girl up. There was a light, though! And a door! And through that door was a beer garden of a patio, lined with picnic tables, bathed in sun, and packed with tattoo-covered beer drinkers. So this is where the cool kids go.<br />
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An impressive beer selection was all the rage, but that Bloody Mary, oh man. A peppery punch seemed to saturate the drink's thickness. Each sip delivered like a multi-course meal. The flavor lingered, and invited more. Words may only come close to describing; the olive and string bean garnish do a better job.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDn8Td6n4IFLfbpAYZmjFD_Y0UOKz51sI0aPpz24Hdxu4qQiN6sEIlUJTxp7W0jbgX95x9uT5DIu17m07D52GzoHDtKcx7MWbnYrzw4ApjDz2BXgTWxstnS6wRuKsTlHzX-kv9GGnlAlc/s1600/7037.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484572075733780498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDn8Td6n4IFLfbpAYZmjFD_Y0UOKz51sI0aPpz24Hdxu4qQiN6sEIlUJTxp7W0jbgX95x9uT5DIu17m07D52GzoHDtKcx7MWbnYrzw4ApjDz2BXgTWxstnS6wRuKsTlHzX-kv9GGnlAlc/s320/7037.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 213px;" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Humphry Slocombe</span><br />
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I spotted <a href="http://www.humphryslocombe.com/%7C_Home_%7C.html">Humphry</a> from a mile away (fine, it was the sign boasting an ice cream cone that ticked me off), and delayed my entrance only to check if this was indeed the many-flavored ice cream shop on my go-to list. Peanut Butter Curry was the hit. I'm only bummed that I missed Hibiscus Beet.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Weird Fish</span><br />
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The restaurant that made me famous. Pursuing <a href="http://weirdfishsf.com/">Weird Fish</a>'s taco bike, which debuted my second day in town, it was really difficult not to notice the sea of camera men doing the same. Either the notion of a tacos cooked on two wheels was really so outrageous, or this place was a big deal. When I could finally squeeze my way to the front of line one journalist was kind enough not only to document my ordering, but also to capture my very first awkward taco bite. <span style="font-style: italic;">Mmm-mmm-good</span>. Did anyone catch my close up on Channel 7?<br />
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Without ever having eaten a proper meal here I've fallen head over heals. Passing the tiny restaurant positively packed on Wednesday eve had me at hello, but ogling the menu and chasing after its cycling proprietor sealed the deal. Ingredients are fresh, the menu seasonal and flexible. But it's the innovation (grilled yams! cycling chefs!) that truly took my breath away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPEuzPLaf-x5bHQOSjCiJcP3ChnW_-Q9I9dugeuO9EZCCmOSVMXGg6krwQVOYu3GNLq45RaOOrMJAHXyIc7DgGPHNmTeaVLhPGJWpr1l5Ku8WNxuuEC6uoIZVKZ1b1S4ETd2BNYPQ3_E/s1600/fishtacos.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484661513739349394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPEuzPLaf-x5bHQOSjCiJcP3ChnW_-Q9I9dugeuO9EZCCmOSVMXGg6krwQVOYu3GNLq45RaOOrMJAHXyIc7DgGPHNmTeaVLhPGJWpr1l5Ku8WNxuuEC6uoIZVKZ1b1S4ETd2BNYPQ3_E/s320/fishtacos.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 162px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 217px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5ZUBrwuuhyphenhyphenwZx34PXOAt1DKNu7BBzXxvsiOG_C3cOaA29XqC2p3sZkOTq27LnADZ0uaMUADviCjB_3tQmcsZS5Xf8wM3_8VepnqI_T6nnRuLYFAU44kcj51ixd2U0euxYP30Rn3POng/s1600/tacobike.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484661501407911538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5ZUBrwuuhyphenhyphenwZx34PXOAt1DKNu7BBzXxvsiOG_C3cOaA29XqC2p3sZkOTq27LnADZ0uaMUADviCjB_3tQmcsZS5Xf8wM3_8VepnqI_T6nnRuLYFAU44kcj51ixd2U0euxYP30Rn3POng/s320/tacobike.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 242px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 181px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Yamo </span><br />
<br />
In a sentence: eight stools, three ladies scampering behind a counter, one long, long line out the door. What I was told was a "Burmese hole in the wall" was, size-wise, precisely that, in addition to everything else a place dubbed a hole in the wall should be and more.<br />
<br />
Peeking through steamy windows I watched the whole operation go down. One woman penned orders, then shouted them to the appropriate partner; one manned the fryer, the other, the stove. Yamo's menu boasts the basics - curry, noodles, and the like - which the stove master cooked, almost one at a time amidst flames and spitting oil.<br />
<br />
Though our wait time was equal to our eating time, delivery of the dishes was jerky, the counter cramped, and my dining partners and I watched our mountain of potstickers steam enticingly from beside the stove for minutes before landing on the counter before us, with each bite we licked our lips in silent contentment. The icing on our greasy, noodley cake? Four of us ate, with appetizers no less, for a whopping 33 buckaroos.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_K7rLH5CPFUe8xqTQVM8NW1m9Qj3ee7GKBS8bze0ecxDFx77TJXhsrXzAJBoW29sDTrBYnl_orKTvxy6XwXR86xSVcHJ_BVNBMjzPMZoljZyOk7rTQYmk_XabNjkJfogHVQ5aTjdLQs/s1600/yamocooks.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484579630388631746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_K7rLH5CPFUe8xqTQVM8NW1m9Qj3ee7GKBS8bze0ecxDFx77TJXhsrXzAJBoW29sDTrBYnl_orKTvxy6XwXR86xSVcHJ_BVNBMjzPMZoljZyOk7rTQYmk_XabNjkJfogHVQ5aTjdLQs/s320/yamocooks.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 217px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 289px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-46952707399778857202010-06-02T17:59:00.009-04:002010-07-20T18:06:28.256-04:00run, forrest, runSince March I have been waking extra-early before work, regularly visiting a well-shaded trail in a neighboring town, and repeatedly tracing a selection of streets in my own. I've been training, you see - not for a "Who Love Bergen County Roads Best Bee, but for a race, one that I will run this Sunday in sunny, never-been-seen-by-me San Diego.<br />
<br />
The race is San Diego's take on the Rock n Roll Marathon. Take back your gasp. I'm only running half. Still that's a whopping 13.1 miles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnDMRqGeqm3fSp06VUtO-MzHRt1Yb9M3mfiWyuuN37BoOvgdeQCQcsFWe64d1u2uExIXWZaUkPdOxz8frhkbV0mmTm7FKpp3-iBI3iEetv6XGT6lJoKJZOSAkzYuU1OeBP7deMqlslFo/s1600/marathoncookies.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478756706504463490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnDMRqGeqm3fSp06VUtO-MzHRt1Yb9M3mfiWyuuN37BoOvgdeQCQcsFWe64d1u2uExIXWZaUkPdOxz8frhkbV0mmTm7FKpp3-iBI3iEetv6XGT6lJoKJZOSAkzYuU1OeBP7deMqlslFo/s640/marathoncookies.jpg" style="display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" width="640" /></a><br />
Completing a marathon has been on the "things I really want to do" list that I sometimes compose in my head for a number of years. I keep this list in mind, yet don't consider achieving the goals until I know that I can actually make them happen. At that point I write down the task, and in the case of the marathon, I <span style="font-style: italic;">runrunrun</span>. That's not exactly how this went down.<br />
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When I was introduced to <a href="http://www.teamintraining.org/">Team in Training</a> in March, an organization that would not only help me, but benefit others as well, I was struck by the urgent impetus to commit on the spot. With three months to go and a handful of reservations nagging sporadically in my head, I signed up to run farther than I have ever before and to raise a sizable sum that would make its way to people living with blood cancer.<br />
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Without getting into it too much, I'd like to let you know that TNT is a truly impressive organization - supportive, legitimate, organized, and kind. Training and fundraising have given me direction in the past three months.<br />
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Friday marks the beginning of the culmination of all of that. It also marks the beginning of what I'm hoping will be a wonderful summer - one that involves me, my dear friend Joe, and his trusty car. We'll be tracing the coast from California up north before making our way back east. With this trip I hope to bring you a daily chronicle (or almost-daily, depending on Internet availability) of our days on the road. The form that this will take has yet to come to me. But I have a lengthy flight tomorrow to figure it out.<br />
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I baked a variation of <a href="http://www.101cookbooks.com/index.html">101 Cookbook's</a> Marathon Cookies to celebrate, commemorate, and fuel me for the occasion. They're delightful lumps of protein, power, and spicy goodness. I highly recommend them if you're inclined to carry snacks on summer activities, or like to eat cookies for breakfast.<br />
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Finally, if you would like to donate to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, first thank you! and second, you can do so <a href="http://pages.teamintraining.org/nj/rnr10/jennifermarkowitz">here</a>, at my fundraising page.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">(Half-) Marathon Cookies </span><br />
adapted (only a little) from Heidi Swanson at 101 Cookbooks<br />
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2 c rolled oats (not instant oats)<br />
1 c whole wheat flour<br />
1/2 tbsp ground nutmeg<br />
1/2 tbsp ground ginger<br />
1 tsp baking powder<br />
1 tsp baking soda<br />
zest of one lemon<br />
1/2 tsp fine grain sea salt<br />
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one 15-ounce can white kidney, great northern, or navy beans, rinsed & drained<br />
1/4 c olive oil<br />
1 c natural cane sugar (or brown sugar)<br />
1 large egg<br />
1 tsp vanilla extract<br />
1/3 c chopped dates<br />
1 c sesame seeds<br />
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Preheat your oven to 350F degrees and place a rack in the top third. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and set aside.<br />
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Pulse the oats in a food processor (or blender) until they resemble a raggy flour. Transfer the oats to a large mixing bowl and whisk in the flour, spices, baking powder, baking soda, lemon zest and salt.<br />
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Pulse the beans and olive oil in the food processor until they are creamy. Add the sugar, egg, dates, 1/3 c sesame seeds, and vanilla extract and pulse until smooth. Scrap down the sides of the bowl once or twice along the way.<br />
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Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and stir until the ingredients start to come together.<br />
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Place the remaining sesames seeds in a bowl. Form each cookie with a scant 1/4 cup scoop of dough. Roll each scoop of dough into a ball then coat it with sesame seeds. Set each ball on the prepared baking sheet and with the palm of your hand flatten the dough just a bit. Repeat with the remaining dough, leaving at least an inch or so between each cookie.Bake for about 15 minutes or until the sesame seeds around the bottom start to get golden.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-55435025937818547952010-05-06T17:49:00.003-04:002010-05-06T17:51:34.484-04:00And I'm Off!Hello, dear friends. A quick goodbye. In ten minutes I am off to Israel for ten days. Exciting, no? I had meant to leave you with a recipe for mango sorbet that I made yesterday, but, as you may have gathered, this will have to wait until my return when I will post it along with tales of falafel and hummus...jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-33366028865870609282010-05-03T20:31:00.006-04:002010-07-15T17:01:47.433-04:00Exponents and EmpanadasThe only time Cynthia mentioned any form of math was when she taught us to make empanadas. Though we used packaged dough - much quicker and foolproof for the unfamiliar American clan she was hosting - she bestowed on us the secret precisions of the homemade equivalent. Cynthia is a woman who acts most often by feel and intuition. She's this way when kneading bread, and when sensing the spoonful of honey she adds. She knows it's right by feel. Yet certain things, I observed, seeking for rhyme or reason, she believes have a way certain way of being done. One such thing is the process for making her barres de cereal. There is an order in which she toasts the ingredients in a large pot on the stove, a set amount of this and that which are permanent additions.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OZkSahsC2Wg3vJphRvis8k7OTNtzf81TARTwoBAR049IMjkwSsQuvfnScSjV5O9Mc8gBn6M2qaQ3vlYtylnAGvYUwP1bB9Lu1G_OVzwo371ntWkXpEyvX9vYFDLuVXuQrsaXqfYvIUY/s1600/IMG_3817.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OZkSahsC2Wg3vJphRvis8k7OTNtzf81TARTwoBAR049IMjkwSsQuvfnScSjV5O9Mc8gBn6M2qaQ3vlYtylnAGvYUwP1bB9Lu1G_OVzwo371ntWkXpEyvX9vYFDLuVXuQrsaXqfYvIUY/s320/IMG_3817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467218110008617618" border="0" /></a><a name='more'></a><br />The other certain thing, it seems, is rolling empanada dough. Four to the fourth - quatro a quarto - she told us. We squinted our eyes, wondering if we understood correctly. An exponent? In the kitchen? In Spanish? Si. We devoted quite some time that day to deciphering exactly what she must have meant, and several conversations there after to the same subject. I thought I understood it at the time - the process of rolling the dough through a pasta machine, folding it over itself, rolling, and then folding again. Now, though, nearly five months later, I can't remember why one would want to repeatedly fold the dough.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZL8mA2Y4DIC36aTyiNcYj2t5JiVXaAEQCLCiSvErGnJ0S8R2vhtcLgg3pS4aul5Df43ki8B7FAz1ch-xweVaxi091Y3WlaG18KzACCIFmBdRTO3VlCIA9fqee6DCxNsQ6vmT_kZuhcI8/s1600/IMG_3815.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZL8mA2Y4DIC36aTyiNcYj2t5JiVXaAEQCLCiSvErGnJ0S8R2vhtcLgg3pS4aul5Df43ki8B7FAz1ch-xweVaxi091Y3WlaG18KzACCIFmBdRTO3VlCIA9fqee6DCxNsQ6vmT_kZuhcI8/s320/IMG_3815.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467217306670633026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkXC5zp5RpbdAyRWzgsW7RPwiwREVJrNxJ0DyY-QPw44Jtrwh-LMUAeAH5RCl-dVr1M0avnD_d7bHMO93dwFL1bXF8MhonsGHsbbq1mOu2cGOnDbWYxu1S5ZOQVJs9HoUy17qPomxrLU/s1600/IMG_3823.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYkXC5zp5RpbdAyRWzgsW7RPwiwREVJrNxJ0DyY-QPw44Jtrwh-LMUAeAH5RCl-dVr1M0avnD_d7bHMO93dwFL1bXF8MhonsGHsbbq1mOu2cGOnDbWYxu1S5ZOQVJs9HoUy17qPomxrLU/s320/IMG_3823.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467218112254201170" border="0" /></a><br />I do remember imaging, though, how delicate the dough must become. This was the image that came to mind making a batch of pasta on Sunday. I notched up the settings. The dough became thinner and thinner, quadrupling in size.<br /><br />With each pass through the roller the dough thinned, remarkably so. I envisioned empanadas.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Handmade Homemade Egg Pasta</span><br /><br />1 1/2 c flour, plus more for dusting<br />1 tsp kosher salt<br />2 eggs<br />3 egg yolks<br /><br />On a large board or clean counter space, measure out the 1 1/2 c flour and salt. Form a large well in the middle and add the eggs and yolks. Beat the eggs with a fork, slowly and gradually incorporating the flour a little at a time. When the fork ceases to be effective, use your hands to combine. When all of the flour has been mixed in, knead the dough, pushing it with the heel of your hand and rotating at 90 degrees until the dough has formed a smooth ball. The dough should not be sticky at all and when you pull off a piece it should stretch before breaking off. If it breaks off immediately, continue kneading.<br /><br />When the dough is ready, sprinkle it with a little of the reserved flour and cover with plastic or a cloth. Let rest for about 30 minutes. You can also store it in the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic, until you are ready to roll it out, for up to 24 hours.<br /><br />Set up your pasta machine and sprinkle the surface lightly with flour. Cut off about one third of the dough. Wrap the rest in plastic or a cloth while you work. Roll the dough lightly in flour and use your hands to flatten it into a rectangle about the width of the machine. Set the machine to the highest (thickest) setting and roll the dough through. Repeat. If it sticks, dust with more flour. Set the machine to its next-thickest setting and repeat.<br /><br />Continue to work your way through the settings. If at any point the dough tears badly, patch it together and start again. Use as much flour as you need, but in small amounts each time.<br /><br />After passing the dough through the thinnest setting, flour it lightly, cover, and set aside. Repeat with the remaining two-thirds of the dough.<br /><br />Roll the dough through the cutting section of the machine or cut by hand into broad strips. Cook right away or hang the strands to dry for several hours.<br /><br />To cook the noodles, drop them into salted boiling water. They'll be done in less than 3 minutes, likely less than two, when they are tender. Sauce immediately and serve.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlW9uDNChxEZ1awZDyUF4omlu6E3y7ji-siQKbO6FahjmgPbMhnI231dutmYRb-seDa7f1WY-0WZ0EPuxne5PzRlTFypH_YndeU5bJBJb9U8-8L-mYpuC8HXgXVficaPG-lrJA-wepaLI/s1600/IMG_3828.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlW9uDNChxEZ1awZDyUF4omlu6E3y7ji-siQKbO6FahjmgPbMhnI231dutmYRb-seDa7f1WY-0WZ0EPuxne5PzRlTFypH_YndeU5bJBJb9U8-8L-mYpuC8HXgXVficaPG-lrJA-wepaLI/s320/IMG_3828.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5467217313449821474" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pasta in Oil and Garlic </span><br /><br />salt<br />2 tbs minced garlic<br />1 or 2 dried chiles, or to taste<br />1/3 c extra virgin olive oil (good quality!)<br />1 lb long thin pasta (like Handmade Homemade Egg Pasta)<br />1/2 c fresh parsley leaves, chopped<br /><br />While the water is boiling, put the garlic, chiles, oil, and salt in a small skillet and turn the heat to medium-low. Let the garlic sizzle a little, shaking the pan occassionally, just until it puffs and turns golden.Turn off the heat.<br /><br />When the pasta is ready, drain it, reserving some of the cooking water. Reheat the garlic and oil if necessary. Dress the pasta with the sauce, adding a little more oil and some of the cooking oil if it seems dry. Toss with parsley if using it. Serve hot.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-35037105164903972962010-05-02T21:54:00.007-04:002010-05-02T22:58:28.281-04:00Juicy BeautifulWearing an orange tee shirt, Shradha met me as I was stepping out of the car. Leading me to the dining area he said my name and very little else. The room was small and painted salmon. Orange sheets were draped in tents across the ceiling and six wooden tables lined the room’s perimeter. I slid into the booth. Shradha snuck into the kitchen. He reappeared seconds later balancing a metal cup and a shallow dish brimming with colors. He slid these to me and left me alone to consume my first impressions of Eco Yoga Park.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGogWlFoeY41GEzRbgdTbmnlMBO4F0f8GjNEKKD_FcDC9Mh8MEWQzsWLrbbhKPsELGqZNrr9MaOWGnYOewdxcJgwPMcKtGHvL2hBUPCZdk1aOlCOjDaoEnzD1RmZ6_aG0VYpcuuEuNKI/s1600/IMG_3024.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGogWlFoeY41GEzRbgdTbmnlMBO4F0f8GjNEKKD_FcDC9Mh8MEWQzsWLrbbhKPsELGqZNrr9MaOWGnYOewdxcJgwPMcKtGHvL2hBUPCZdk1aOlCOjDaoEnzD1RmZ6_aG0VYpcuuEuNKI/s320/IMG_3024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466858853743821234" border="0" /></a><br />A twenty-something-hour bus ride, followed by another shorter one that was a pleasure in comparison, a quick pickup from a stranger, and a taxi brought me there, a small Hare Krishna farm community located a few hours outside of Buenos Aires in Argentina. This is where I would spend my next two weeks.<br /><a name='more'></a><br />My lunch that day was one of the best I’d had during my stay. A tart of zucchini and salsa blanca nestled alongside a dollop of salmon-colored mayonnaise and luscious sliced cucumbers and tomatoes. The metal cup was sweating. It held a pulpy puree of mandarins.<br /><br />The food was satisfying, generally healthy, simple, and often plain. Hare Krishnas do not eat meat, and from my stints in the kitchen with devotees, I gathered that spices and seasonings were rare.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oCe5hVhOAbnZIcBtveJ5mQuqbbx7pzGMZHhwI_JOpLZoUBPGXDHFIiwgEnUuCAex1RXhqo3vhaakIJqBX1XOfCVIOlUdlZR33zBWOGuNQwr8xrQpgH2Z6yA_FKwafXkuHblnZoNCXH4/s1600/IMG_3009.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oCe5hVhOAbnZIcBtveJ5mQuqbbx7pzGMZHhwI_JOpLZoUBPGXDHFIiwgEnUuCAex1RXhqo3vhaakIJqBX1XOfCVIOlUdlZR33zBWOGuNQwr8xrQpgH2Z6yA_FKwafXkuHblnZoNCXH4/s320/IMG_3009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466867041460262338" border="0" /></a><br />Days were structured around four meals. Breakfast came early - some combination of chapatis and fruit, one day sweet, toasted oats. Lunch and dinner were basic marriages of rice, potatoes, and vegetables. Through I was treated to a portion of flan on my first day, sweets appeared only in the daily meriendas, or snacks - a simple orange cake, chapatis glazed with dulce de leche.<br /><br />I passed long mornings in the vegetable garden among corn stalk, cherry tomatoes warm from the sun, and tiny ants who nibbled ceaselessly at my feet. Meal preparation was not my terrain, though I wished it was and I thought of it constantly. I was often the first to arrive for meals, waiting alone in the orange room and often eating alone at first as others' plates sat awaiting their arrival. I was nearly always pleasantly surprised with what came from the kitchen. I loved the chewy chapatis and mixing the meals' components which came separated on the plate.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oCe5hVhOAbnZIcBtveJ5mQuqbbx7pzGMZHhwI_JOpLZoUBPGXDHFIiwgEnUuCAex1RXhqo3vhaakIJqBX1XOfCVIOlUdlZR33zBWOGuNQwr8xrQpgH2Z6yA_FKwafXkuHblnZoNCXH4/s1600/IMG_3009.JPG"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-WzjYMdpGOIw1gqbyqnWmH1bDQ8OaHm5Nnif-51dzwg4EvQaiCOi5BwAAgjxtfAl6dRTKcTbloz43D64R7jFMFx9cF0h8vvh75wuSQF2NCBReKGKnwZm8rGPGXxX0xnbzHaWNyldJSg/s1600/IMG_3043.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-WzjYMdpGOIw1gqbyqnWmH1bDQ8OaHm5Nnif-51dzwg4EvQaiCOi5BwAAgjxtfAl6dRTKcTbloz43D64R7jFMFx9cF0h8vvh75wuSQF2NCBReKGKnwZm8rGPGXxX0xnbzHaWNyldJSg/s320/IMG_3043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466872326821091538" border="0" /></a><br />Though details of the meals have now escaped my memory I find my mind often recalling the metal cups and the juices that filled them. On days when I'm hot, fatigued, and thirsty I find myself imaging my first day - sitting on a bench, exhausted, hungry, hot, and so, so thirsty. The simple juice revived me. I consumed it in two smooth gulps.<br /><br />Devotees made each juice with fresh fruit and a blender, nothing more. I discovered on an evening spent helping with dinner preparation the facility of making them. It's with the juices' purity that I remember the food at Eco Yoga.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Orange-Banana Juice</span><br /><br />Today was hot. Too hot for May. I came home completely deflated and ravenous from a long run. I needed food, but I was craving this juice. The Orange-Banana was the only one I received a "recipe" for, but it is the mandarin I had on my first day, and an icy ginger juice that stand out to me even now. Experiment, blend to your liking. It's hard to go wrong.<br /><br />1 banana<br />2 oranges<br />about 5 ice cubes<br /><br />Peel the banana and oranges. Cut each into smaller pieces. In a blender, puree the fruit and ice until liquefied but still pulpy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Juice Inspired Smoothie</span><br /><br />1 c watermelon, chopped and seeded<br />1 c strawberries, green removed<br />1/2 banana<br />1/2 c ice<br />1 c plain yogurt (optional)<br /><br />Combine all ingredients in a blender. Puree until smooth.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-55795003799798708852010-04-28T20:31:00.005-04:002010-04-28T20:44:35.026-04:00Overnight OatmealYou may recall that I'm beginning to think that breakfast is great. It's especially great on mornings when needing to be out of the door at 7 in the morning, ready to start the day, smile, tell you're coworkers you're great, thanks, how are you when really you're ashamed about yawning too much and wondering when it's no longer to soon for coffee. On these types of mornings, which are increasingly becoming my types of mornings, it is particularly great not only to eat breakfast, but to have it be prepared well before you are.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyhIc6t6bxeMZwhJHopHqe5wyoL8VZ0uTdxmDbqPumMtQpbaEugv8_rKWnxTQYPXdX7HsaoX3EWLSuZ2WcVT2m6dE87v2av61txKXnQfqzT02B-3b7m1GLiwL9B35KnXYtEgbtyhf1tE/s1600/IMG_3804.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyhIc6t6bxeMZwhJHopHqe5wyoL8VZ0uTdxmDbqPumMtQpbaEugv8_rKWnxTQYPXdX7HsaoX3EWLSuZ2WcVT2m6dE87v2av61txKXnQfqzT02B-3b7m1GLiwL9B35KnXYtEgbtyhf1tE/s320/IMG_3804.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465352645198659938" border="0" /></a><br /><a name='more'></a><br />No matter how early I set my alarm, if I prepare my lunch, or lay out my clothes as I did when I was ten, I always seem to be rushing to the car, half-full coffee mug in hand. On good days a banana also makes it along for the journey.<br /><br />This is all new to me - not my inability to be ready pre-eight-am, but the routine. It comes with the new gig I've picked up, working part-time at a food co-op located a convenient nine minutes from my home.<br /><br />Enter overnight oatmeal, easier to make than boxed brownies and much better tasting.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Overnight Oatmeal</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">inspired by Alton Brown</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">serves 2</span><br /><br />Though I find great comfort in preparing meals, on rushed groggy pre-co-op mornings it is a greater comfort to wake up knowing that breakfast is set, and that all I have to is remember my wallet and leave five minutes to eat.<br /><br />1/2 c steel cut oats<br />2 c water<br />1/2 c whole milk<br /><br />Combine all ingredients in a crock pot. Set on low heat and cook for 8-9 hours. Turn it on before bed and with a stir or two in the morning, you're good to go.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-12129178176071069472010-04-18T13:56:00.004-04:002010-04-18T19:33:25.559-04:00One potato, two potato...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO3IuXWgX8-K5BVwWV2Ns_oDoNr-ZpVL8cILy0zezFLB0GPedPpAi7u6yKcUQ8HPsWeNzIcsQAp_bV8czlLFCHDtWnjkU6IVK2ScskCHarmTMdpuE2x3VdQYh_rkTYcIx2rBeHmAluaY/s1600/IMG_3796.JPG"></a>A woman of habit, one who finds comfort in routine and is only slightly prone to biases, I like to eat what I've known. For example, matzoh balls. I won't stand for anything fluffy, anything large and airy that allows a spoon to glide effortlessly through. I love them dense. Heavy and hard, like golf balls, my mom says. They're what I was raised on.<br /><br />I just envision certain foods a certain way, and most often, that way is the way that my mom prepares them, the way that her mom prepared them, the way that I've always had them.<br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-k8pk01OBA366PWTMeJ15SHfK5vo5Pj-EquA7LOoWaZxzcsp3PkZEQBXGxkrQkd_T9RcZwcEp-NYf7JCNpV53ph1OWLskqeIe-IYEuP8Lkibic7CaM15LcrxnoxvixbIthW8_fkwEp4/s1600/IMG_3793.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-k8pk01OBA366PWTMeJ15SHfK5vo5Pj-EquA7LOoWaZxzcsp3PkZEQBXGxkrQkd_T9RcZwcEp-NYf7JCNpV53ph1OWLskqeIe-IYEuP8Lkibic7CaM15LcrxnoxvixbIthW8_fkwEp4/s320/IMG_3793.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461538247168580066" border="0" /></a><br />It is no surprise that I'm partial to my mother's potato salad. I'm no stranger to variations and find no fault in these different types, but I strongly believe that of the many makes, one is superior, fool-proof, and decidedly remarkable. I have backing. And it's not from my siblings.<a name='more'></a><br /><br />Joe and I went out for dinner sometime a few weeks ago. Though delighted to be out, my mind was focused on the meal I was missing at home - burgers and potato salad. So simple, arguably nothing special. No rational young adult would secretly wish to be eating home with their parents. But I'm a creature of habit and a huge fan of my mother's cooking. Plus, this meal, however basic, was special - the first potato salad of the season, a true harbinger of summer.<br /><br />I ate quite liberally that night - a meal of fried fish and appropriate southern accoutrements - but that didn't stop my returning home, Joe in tow, and bee-lining to the fridge. Scrounging for leftovers is always my first move when coming home, but that night I was on a mission: potato salad here I come.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO3IuXWgX8-K5BVwWV2Ns_oDoNr-ZpVL8cILy0zezFLB0GPedPpAi7u6yKcUQ8HPsWeNzIcsQAp_bV8czlLFCHDtWnjkU6IVK2ScskCHarmTMdpuE2x3VdQYh_rkTYcIx2rBeHmAluaY/s1600/IMG_3796.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO3IuXWgX8-K5BVwWV2Ns_oDoNr-ZpVL8cILy0zezFLB0GPedPpAi7u6yKcUQ8HPsWeNzIcsQAp_bV8czlLFCHDtWnjkU6IVK2ScskCHarmTMdpuE2x3VdQYh_rkTYcIx2rBeHmAluaY/s320/IMG_3796.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461538256751437362" border="0" /></a><br />A simple delicacy, really - an appropriate combination of crunch and mush, oniony bite playing against creamy tang. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, huddled around the tupperware suspended in our hands we ate in greedily, unable to keep our forks away, quiet save for sighs of approval. Joe, an experienced eater with his own stubborn set of preconceptions and customs, was utterly impressed. He set out on a long car ride the next day. Can I take some of that potato salad, he asked?<br /><br />I enjoyed leftovers for a week, stealing a bite every time I passed through the kitchen, but was not yet sick of it when I was elected to make it the following week. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO3IuXWgX8-K5BVwWV2Ns_oDoNr-ZpVL8cILy0zezFLB0GPedPpAi7u6yKcUQ8HPsWeNzIcsQAp_bV8czlLFCHDtWnjkU6IVK2ScskCHarmTMdpuE2x3VdQYh_rkTYcIx2rBeHmAluaY/s1600/IMG_3796.JPG"></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Creamy Potato Salad</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">serves four</span><br /><br />According to my mom this recipe is particularly wonderful for two reasons: 1. Steaming the potatoes to finish their cooking ensures a potato salad with body. There is much less chance of over-cooking and ending up with a mashed-potato salad. 2. Combining the potatoes and dressing when the potatoes are still piping hot allows the two to really meld. The potatoes soak up some of the dressing's flavor and also add some starch to the overall texture, making the salad creamy and thick, but not in a too-much-mayo kind of way.<br /><br />1/4 c sour cream<br />1/4 c mayonnaise<br />1/3 c plain yogurt<br />1 tbs Dijon mustard<br />8 medium red potatoes unpeeled<br />fresh lemon juice, approximately 3 tbsp<br />salt and pepper to taste<br />9 tbs of fresh herbs, a variety (mint, basil, and dill work well), chopped<br />8 green onions, white and light green portions, thinly sliced<br /><br />Chop the potatoes into slightly larger than bite-size pieces. Bring a large pot three-fourths full of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the potatoes and boil until almost tender - still with a bite to them - when pierced with a fork, 10 - 15 minutes. Drain into a colander and then cover the colander with a tea towel so that they potatoes can steam for several minutes until fully tender.<br /><br />While the potatoes are cooking, in a large bowl, stir together the yogurt, mayonnaise, sour cream, mustard, lemon juice, and green onions. Add the potatoes once they are tender but still very hot. Season with salt and pepper and toss gently to mix several times. Let sit and toss again. The hot potatoes will absorb some of the dressing, taking in its flavor. Add the herbs and toss to mix.<br /><br />Serve cold or room temperature.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-55351000765601336562010-04-10T21:56:00.005-04:002010-04-18T22:33:39.700-04:00I heart your tartThe Internet connection at work died for several hours today. That was when I realized that absolutely every single one of my tasks requires the use of the World Wide Web. At first the break was comical. The hallways erupted with alarm, a domino chain of irritation, as neighbors of the shared office space scampered through the hallway: "Is it on for you?" "What about your phones?" "Howaboutnow?"<br /><p>It's hard to look busy when there's really nothing to do. Like the others, I too became frustrated, refreshing my homepage every three seconds, or so, sighing often, growing sleepy. Everyone would be happier, I thought, if the owners mollified us with ice cream. Others seemed to think a rent deduction would be a better fix.<br /><p>Ice cream never came, and it was over three hours before the Internet did.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5M7cllMYVxaFtcLEI7O_4h6Lj0hM1Xy7zSH7vxNKmIDu1dGmSRvzjz1Eyb3U9S_thKSYhU-LfzZ05uyO67es2lVtEhW0rTbTzbP743ObinznCE0TXiPwkh6wzaGprxon5TKSJzY_SZ8/s1600/IMG_3787.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif5M7cllMYVxaFtcLEI7O_4h6Lj0hM1Xy7zSH7vxNKmIDu1dGmSRvzjz1Eyb3U9S_thKSYhU-LfzZ05uyO67es2lVtEhW0rTbTzbP743ObinznCE0TXiPwkh6wzaGprxon5TKSJzY_SZ8/s320/IMG_3787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460404683972045666" border="0" /></a></p> <a name='more'></a><br />A good employee would have jumped right into her duties, scurrying to make up for lost time. I know that my priority upon the Internet's return should have been straight to the website I was in the midst of updating when the big crash occurred, but I couldn't lure myself from the temptation of my regular distract-me visits. I'm glad I couldn't. I found something I liked, something that assuaged me, and was (in my book) much better than ice cream.<br /></p><p>This part-polenta, part-delectable jam tart is, I am convinced, what I have unknowingly been needing. You see, I've had a crush on cornmeal for, well, more than several years now. But our relationship only blossomed into the lovely inspiring partnership that is now in December.<br /></p><p>December was our reintroduction. Polenta and rice were the go-to grains on the farm, and, after mornings of polenta oatmeal, a night of polenta gnocchi, and a surprise polenta cake, I was undeniably smitten.<br /></p><p>I met the polenta cake one weekend at the arts fair in the town by the farm. A British woman was selling crumbly lemony squares from a basket. A friend bravely asked for the recipe. I've been dreaming of it ever since.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHojDT7SKr5JbB9lZEQX28QfOnpVmAnxmJseyjTqxqGsmku-lbNlXLqfPYWTHciSwLLetAOOPOo9q119CSleQQ3JQUmS__CSjzp8NMRXY8RIl-mbUw3DA7f-PO-C2wPXJF2pKa-vFVu8/s1600/IMG_3772.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHojDT7SKr5JbB9lZEQX28QfOnpVmAnxmJseyjTqxqGsmku-lbNlXLqfPYWTHciSwLLetAOOPOo9q119CSleQQ3JQUmS__CSjzp8NMRXY8RIl-mbUw3DA7f-PO-C2wPXJF2pKa-vFVu8/s320/IMG_3772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460404690590334546" border="0" /></a></p><p>I spent Sunday sifting through other recipes I've collected since, none sounding as appealing as they did when I first collected them. Deb, over at Smitten Kitchen, must have read my mind. This rustic, perfect-in-its-imperfection tart offers just what I was looking for, and combines everything that I love. Easy and satisfying, perfect for winter, or now, when fresh berry fillings aren't an option. I've fallen in love again, or, as my brother said so appreciatively, I heart your tart.<br /></p><p><b>Easy Jam Tart with Cornmeal</b><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Adapted from </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/158008138X?ie=UTF8&tag=smitten-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=158008138X">Ready for Dessert</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> and inspired by <a href="http://smittenkitchen.com/">Smitten Kitchen</a></span> </p> <p>Reminiscent of a linzer tart cookie, this only improves with age. My dough was a bit dry and crumbly at first. I added a bit of lemon juice to make it workable. My photographs don't do it's deliciousness justice.<br /></p><p>1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour<br />1/2 cup stone-ground cornmeal or polenta<br />2 tsp baking powder<br />1 tbsp lemon zest<br />1/2 tsp salt<br />9 tbsp unsalted butter, at room temperature<br />1/2 cup granulated sugar<br />1 egg, whole<br />1 egg, separated<br />1/8 tsp almond extract<br />1 1/3 to 1 3/4 cups jam or marmalade<br />2 tablespoons coarse-crystal or granulated sugar</p> <p>In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, lemon zest baking powder and salt. In a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, a food processor, or even just a hand mixer, mix together the butter and 1/2 cup sugar until smooth. Add the egg, egg yolk (keep the egg white from the second egg on hand for later) and almond extract and beat until combined. Gradually add the flour mixture and mix until the dough just comes together.</p> <p>Transfer about one-third of the dough to a lightly floured counter and shape it into a log about 2 inches in diameter. Wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate (or freeze if you're in a rush) until needed.<br /></p> <p>Transfer the remaining dough to a buttered 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom of a 9-inch springform pan. Using your hands, press the dough evenly into the bottom. If using a tart pan, press the dough up the sides to the rim of the pan and set the tart pan on a baking sheet. If using a springform pan, press the dough about 3/4-inch up the sides of the pan. Refrigerate the dough-lined pan until firm, at least one hour. (In the freezer, the dough was firm in 30 minutes.)</p> <p>Preheat the oven to 375°F. Spread the jam or marmalade evenly over the dough in the pan. Cut the chilled dough into very thin discs with a sharp paring knife. Arrange them slightly overlapped in concentric circles over the jam to form a top crust. Whisk the remaining egg white with a teaspoon of water until frothy; brush evenly over tart lid and then sprinkle with 2 tablespoons coarse sugar. Bake until the top crust is golden brown, about 25 minutes. Let cool completely.</p>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-73205610664430056782010-04-01T16:02:00.009-04:002010-04-18T22:17:07.504-04:00Cooking for one<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Two years ago following a Saturday night Halloween celebration, I developed a very wonderful secret habit. It stemmed from another not-so-secret habit of mine: whenever I enter my home I head straight to the kitchen, usually to the spot where I am wedged comfortably between the fridge door and its shelves - easy access to leftovers, whipped cream, and the like.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The problem with habit number one two years ago, way back when I was living in my beautiful pink-walled Montreal apartment, was that save for eggs, plain yogurt, and a head of cauliflower, my refrigerator shelves were routinely bare.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">True to habit when I returned home in boozy splendor that Saturday I marched straight toward to the kitchen, but I couldn't face the sadness that was my empty refrigerator. Cauliflower wasn't really going satiate my late-night hankering for something carby and delicious. My pantry was better equipped than my fridge. I had pasta, and a plan - simple as could be, and outrageously satisfying.<br /><br /></span><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBi1ZYuCh43AXtTkixC3jA8K2cp1XbIGg3p3o8NUE5uEomXz5LaYom48ZZv1Lwa9kgFcBNqYTwjY2KPi0f_cjMbK5wJcbN1CqvYIV7K7q8chanczhI3OACLDKBbXSo7dIvXKt-v8kkZY/s1600/IMG_3686.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBi1ZYuCh43AXtTkixC3jA8K2cp1XbIGg3p3o8NUE5uEomXz5LaYom48ZZv1Lwa9kgFcBNqYTwjY2KPi0f_cjMbK5wJcbN1CqvYIV7K7q8chanczhI3OACLDKBbXSo7dIvXKt-v8kkZY/s320/IMG_3686.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455262050704531394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a name='more'></a><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Prancing around the stove in my skivvies I waited for heavily salted water to boil in the smallest pot, the one usually reserved for boiling a single egg. My supplies lay ready in waiting: penne, grated Parmesan, and olive oil. A little too soon, I drained the water, returned the pasta to its pot, sprinkled it with olive oil, and then buried it lovingly with cheese. A meal fit for a four-year-old, it was messy, uncouth, and utterly basic, but it had the makings of a wonderful dish.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">After that night I made late-night-undercooked-pasta-dredged-with-an-unhealthy-amount-of-cheese several times, all in similar situations. Never had I thought to jazz it up and serve it as something legitimate. The pasta dishes I was used to were much more adorned. This was a guilty pleasure, not a meal. You can only imagine my thrill, then, when I read an article on "Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe," or Cheese and Pepper Spaghetti and was inspired to think otherwise.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It's pretty much as it sounds - no frills, lots of thrills, and lots of cheese. As the type of person who dips a sampling of plain pasta into parmesan before proceeding with the recipe, cacio e pepe is one of the most decadent dishes around. Each ingredient shines and works in lovely cooperation to create something special. I smile as I eat this.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Alone for dinner the other night for the first time in a long time, I toyed with ideas of takeout and leftovers, but the simple satisfaction of cacio e pepe called to me and there was no resisting. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Though alone, I made it properly. The days of undercooked pasta and shameless cheesing are in the past (though I encourage you to add your cheese generously).</span><br /><br /><b style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe</b><br /><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></p><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">A perfect meal for one. Easily doubled or quadrupled for more. A definite pleaser.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1 tbsp olive oil</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1/4 lb dried spaghetti</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1/4 tbsp butter</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1 oz Pecorino Romano cheese, grated</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">ground black pepper</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">salt </span><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Cook spaghetti in well-salted water to your <i>al dente</i> tastes in a large, wide-bottomed pot. When cooked, drain the pasta, reserving its cooking water.<br /></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Dry out your pot, and heat the olive oil in it over high heat until it is almost smoking. <span style="font-style: italic;">Carefully, </span>add drained spaghetti and 1/4 cup of reserved pasta water. This will splatter everywhere. </p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Add butter, 3/4 of the cheese, and a generous amount of pepper. Toss with tongs or mix with a fork. Taste, adding more cheese, pepper, pasta water, or salt if desired.<br /></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Serve immediately, sprinkling with the remaining cheese and an extra grind or two of black pepper.</p><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;">serves one</span><br /></p>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-8605163896323890292010-03-28T18:02:00.007-04:002010-04-18T19:22:37.615-04:00The type of cookie you'll make twiceThough these are a Passover dessert, I can't imagine anyone who would not like them. Unlike the packaged Manischewitz macaroons of my youth, these are decadently sweet, full of texture and color.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzKSzwQwXMTjA4Mz71tUxhSOoxggru5w7ptN2ONdIxbXsLkNB-3vQ98hnWkKhK-06uplCHX3WpNbdFueWS_VyPDPhQbdKgz_9cCm6xJePD-f05dX467fSFG7lk655LaB74IffWC4b7Zc/s1600/IMG_3695.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzKSzwQwXMTjA4Mz71tUxhSOoxggru5w7ptN2ONdIxbXsLkNB-3vQ98hnWkKhK-06uplCHX3WpNbdFueWS_VyPDPhQbdKgz_9cCm6xJePD-f05dX467fSFG7lk655LaB74IffWC4b7Zc/s320/IMG_3695.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455250150068147474" border="0" /></a><br />I first made them last year, when I was living in Montreal. The first batch was devoured so avidly - by Passover-observers and coconut lovers alike - that I was compelled to whip out another for my family before heading back to New Jersey for the holiday.<br /><br />These may be perfect for Passover, but I'd gladly eat them year-round.<br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Macaroons </span><br /><br />1/4 c white sugar<br />3/4 c egg whites (5 - 6 eggs)<br />1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract<br />1 pinch salt<br />4 c tightly packed coconut, a mixture of unsweetened and sweetened, and of flakes and shreds (this year I went with more flakes and more unsweetened)<br />1/2 tsp ground cinnamon<br />1/2 tsp orange zest<br />1/2 c dried cranberries, chopped<br />1/2 c dried apricots, chopped<br />1/2 c finely chopped walnuts<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.<br /><br />Combine the sugar and egg whites in a large saucepan. Whisk to combine. Over very low heat constantly whisk the mixture until the sugar has dissolved, about 4 minutes. Test by rubbing the mixture between your fingers.<br /><br />When the sugar is resolved, remove the pot from the stove. Add the vanilla, zest, salt, coconut, dried fruits, and nuts, mixing well until they are well-coated with the sugar-egg mixture has coated the stove and add the vanilla, salt, coconut, dried fruit and nuts. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper and scoop the mixture on. An ice cream scoop would probably work well, but I use a 1 1/2 tbs. Tightly pack the mixture and plop it onto the baking sheet, scooping out extra with your fingers. Once on the sheet you can pack it together with your fingers if necessary.<br /><br />Bake for 18 - 20 minutes on a middle rack until the cookie edges are golden. Let cool completely before removing. Layer between wax paper for storage. These keep for a long time in an air-tight container.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">makes about 30</span>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-61416520479909234912010-03-26T10:10:00.011-04:002010-04-18T22:13:52.918-04:00When you make chicken soup...'Twas the weekend before Passover and my mom was in menu mode. Cookbooks, magazines, and newspaper clippings cluttered the counter, the messy piles burgeoning as the week went on.<br /><br />Though guests were limited to immediate family this year, my mother was still plagued by the usual planning predicaments: which of of the three flourless chocolate cake recipes she should make - with almonds or not? - and should the charoset have dried fruit or just nuts. Clasping recipes she cornered me in the laundry room for consultation. Almonds sound good, as does some fruit in the charoset, and let's have fruit for dessert as well, while we're at it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy336mBH3Ym8CzR2Eoos3l8qgX62-s5EC4b1yoMWze_ko7XELWJLcqWmE3_Jw8SCKRyfyyv3e7TxUZ6ds-WiNP_h6Pfv_0l2fY6pg2QWubO45IMoAgSJc5T1WICqoSAotEcOf2yc_E1d4/s1600/IMG_3692.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy336mBH3Ym8CzR2Eoos3l8qgX62-s5EC4b1yoMWze_ko7XELWJLcqWmE3_Jw8SCKRyfyyv3e7TxUZ6ds-WiNP_h6Pfv_0l2fY6pg2QWubO45IMoAgSJc5T1WICqoSAotEcOf2yc_E1d4/s320/IMG_3692.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453010691620242770" border="0" /></a><br /><a name='more'></a><br />It's a wonder that the simplest part of the meal to plan is also everyone's favorite. Chicken soup necessitates no questions, just a day at home to monitor its simmering. I learned a trick this year: rescue the chicken breast from the pot early on, after it's cooked and donated its flavor, before it falls apart, rendering itself unusable. You're left with a gorgeously poached breast, and one logical conclusion: when your mother makes chicken soup, you make chicken salad.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy336mBH3Ym8CzR2Eoos3l8qgX62-s5EC4b1yoMWze_ko7XELWJLcqWmE3_Jw8SCKRyfyyv3e7TxUZ6ds-WiNP_h6Pfv_0l2fY6pg2QWubO45IMoAgSJc5T1WICqoSAotEcOf2yc_E1d4/s1600/IMG_3692.JPG"><br /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chicken Salad</span><br /><br />I'm a momma's girl, I guess. Her chicken salad is the only chicken salad that I eat. When my mom proposed that I be the one to transform the leftovers from her soup into something a little more interesting I was only a little taken aback. I had jumped when she suggested chicken salad, of course, but I had a hankering for hers and hers alone. With her version in mind I embarked on a successful journey this morning.<br /><br />This recipe should be more suggestion than strict direction. The measurements are all approximations and catered to accommodate my love-hate relationship with both chicken and mayonnaise. The salad is therefore chock-full of sweet and crunchy additions and, some would say, light on mayo. Put in what you like, take out what you don't, and enjoy!<br /><br />2 boiled chicken breasts (chicken prepared any way would do, use what you have)<br />1 -1 1/2 apples, whatever kind you have on hand, chopped into small cubes<br />1 c dried cranberries<br />2 celery ribs, thinly sliced<br />1/3 red onion, diced<br />2 tsp honey mustard<br />3 tbs mayonnaise<br />generous amounts of salt and pepper, especially pepper<br /><br />Shred apart or coarsely chop chicken. If the chicken is unsalted and bland, you can salt it a bit here. If not, add the seasonings after all of the ingredients are combined. In a bowl, combine chicken pieces with the chopped apple, celery, and onion, and the cranberries. Mix to distribute. Add in the mayonnaise and honey mustard. Mix to coat the chicken well. Taste and season, adding more of anything if needed.jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-14652288143602431142010-03-15T22:19:00.005-04:002010-03-16T21:56:00.989-04:00Working womanGosh! It's been a week already since I've been here last. Don't think I haven't been counting the days. While this may look like a legitimate post, I must assure you it is nothing more than saving face, a quick hello, and a lame excuse.<br /><br />The truth is I'm pooped. Today marks the end of my first week on the new job. It's really gone swimmingly so far; I'm settled, productive, and almost accustomed to waking at seven to make the potholed trek from New Jersey to Brooklyn. At the end of the day I am thoroughly exhausted, feeble as a floppy doll, incapable of writing so much as an email.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPewNbOWnf3VNxAZBhTKFQIiDQ7609Id9NkluuYzVsr0ODaibWLXXnese7gPSmCIw-1qWlq8fU5NBHDlhvnGj5x4kq9ifmADgDYJxSp8odUnyKFcjSjQBcIDu3U71bjdeY9GIk0H8G6NA/s1600-h/IMG_2127.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPewNbOWnf3VNxAZBhTKFQIiDQ7609Id9NkluuYzVsr0ODaibWLXXnese7gPSmCIw-1qWlq8fU5NBHDlhvnGj5x4kq9ifmADgDYJxSp8odUnyKFcjSjQBcIDu3U71bjdeY9GIk0H8G6NA/s320/IMG_2127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449059931365534258" border="0" /></a>That means while I have spent a great deal of time thinking about food (mainly baked eggs and polenta) I have approached the stove only to taste what others have cooked for me. While that's fine and dandy, I do miss fending for myself, and I'm so looking forward to next week when the shock of adjustment fades and I will no longer end my days so depleted.<br /><br />Thanks for bearing with me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPewNbOWnf3VNxAZBhTKFQIiDQ7609Id9NkluuYzVsr0ODaibWLXXnese7gPSmCIw-1qWlq8fU5NBHDlhvnGj5x4kq9ifmADgDYJxSp8odUnyKFcjSjQBcIDu3U71bjdeY9GIk0H8G6NA/s1600-h/IMG_2127.JPG"><br /></a>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2157994231344512269.post-12539235895853657542010-03-08T23:06:00.009-05:002010-04-18T19:25:10.142-04:00A knish, the most delishI said goodbye to Montreal on Saturday, an unusually spring-like day, the kind that wheedles out dogs and babies and makes you wonder where all these people hid all winter. It was a kind that made saying goodbye difficult. I had racked my brain for things to do on my last full day. What did I love most about the city? What would I miss most? Not for lack of loving or for potentially missing, but I could think of almost nothing. I felt uninspired, or just full, as if I had extracted everything from the city that I could, as if there were nothing left for me, no more that I could possibly take.<br /><br />That was, of course, until I drove away, seemingly abandoning the optimism of spring. Fleeting satiation gave way to a hazy realization of untapped potential.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvGkkWe562X7QANr6Fi1L_FwFp6aYRTZBBTaq_1wzkmepc68u-nSyyp8bK5B6gb5qX6Qs635m9waKl2prxJzROsqGS0i9DjNprEws_8324yqAd9ELXOrueOSgOHAQ-WN45vTgR3Vv1oY/s1600-h/IMG_0210.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvGkkWe562X7QANr6Fi1L_FwFp6aYRTZBBTaq_1wzkmepc68u-nSyyp8bK5B6gb5qX6Qs635m9waKl2prxJzROsqGS0i9DjNprEws_8324yqAd9ELXOrueOSgOHAQ-WN45vTgR3Vv1oY/s320/IMG_0210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446491881394450578" border="0" /></a><br /><a name='more'></a><br />Reservations and good riddance have gone, replaced now with only affection, but I still cannot help but compare my lives in Montreal and New Jersey - the discrepancies in independence; in my way of getting around; the sidewalks, or lack thereof; the dishes, always clean in New Jersey, and the three people I share a house with, those at neither place better than the other, just different, so different.<br /><br />A very welcome change, though, is my eased access to a new fixation of mine: knishes. The starchy pockets seem to inundate the City's streets these days, partnering with street-side hot dogs, and beckoning you from deli windows. I longed for a knish upon returning to Montreal from my last New York visit, and although I've heard that the do exist in Montreal, they didn't exist in my part of the city, and they certainly didn't exist on any street corners.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdiUZwPNDyPDIjzYnknPn2hmJqLFAXxUXJv3r0eVUIX-wuRMnP7Vf3aIojtDUx-HFftvVllKQd-Ro4RO2nOQ-ixJeU09S0oquitj3XhnKc5Ot5vmuyJtCs1P1KCF6d-pR6J5hH5H4zrs/s1600-h/IMG_3532.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizdiUZwPNDyPDIjzYnknPn2hmJqLFAXxUXJv3r0eVUIX-wuRMnP7Vf3aIojtDUx-HFftvVllKQd-Ro4RO2nOQ-ixJeU09S0oquitj3XhnKc5Ot5vmuyJtCs1P1KCF6d-pR6J5hH5H4zrs/s320/IMG_3532.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446488084776103874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZynzdhd7LXToOydVbcsRqwwdeK3m7f_IxsAKehsB3s4Cmn2POa-M-dWV-W_m4zTDtU061zja8HsDcFr-6moL12zI8WqNOJC4qarNykZJDXKKgrCc7_pVBgLYilhSczaDGkxqm0bAXqkU/s1600-h/IMG_3537.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZynzdhd7LXToOydVbcsRqwwdeK3m7f_IxsAKehsB3s4Cmn2POa-M-dWV-W_m4zTDtU061zja8HsDcFr-6moL12zI8WqNOJC4qarNykZJDXKKgrCc7_pVBgLYilhSczaDGkxqm0bAXqkU/s320/IMG_3537.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446488079348487506" border="0" /></a><br />On a Sunday afternoon with absolutely nothing to do I took the craving into my own hands, raided the potato-onion cabinet, and spent only a few hours making something that pretty much hit the spot. This recipe is basic, not because my favorite knish is potato (because it's not; kasha is, hands down), but to the fact that I refused to leave my house that lovely Sunday. I'd love to hear suggestions or alterations, because it's been a long time (frankly, far too long) since I've become intimate with a genuine knish. Having bid my farewells to Montreal, I'll be making sure it's not too long before that changes.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Potato Knishes<br /><br /></span>6 potatoes*<br />1/4 c oil<br />1 tsp baking powder<br />3 c flour<br />1/2 c cold water<br />2-4 tbs butter<br />1 tsp salt, plus more to taste<br />pepper to taste<br />1 medium-sized yellow onion, chopped<br /><br />Bring a large pot (big enough to fit your potatoes) of water to boil. Use a vegetable peeler to remove the skin. Cut the potatoes into large chunks to help them cook faster and then place the boiling water. Cook for 15 - 20 minutes, or until they are soft. When the potatoes are done cooking, drain them, and return them to their cooking pot. Mash them well with a potato masher until they are smooth and creamy.<br /><br />Remove 1 cup of potatoes to use with the dough. In a large bowl combine the measured potatoes with the oil and 1 tsp of salt. Combine with a fork until creamy. In a separate bowl, whisk the baking powder in with the flour. Once combined, add about 1/3 of the flour mixture to the potatoes and oil and mix. In portions, add all of the flour as best you can. The mixture will still be dry and clumpy. Make a well in the middle of the bowl and pour the water into it. Knead the dough with your hands until it comes together to form a firm bowl. You can add a little more water, cautiously, if the mixture is too dry, or more flour if necessary also. Place a wet tea cloth or paper towel on top of the dough and let it sit for thirty minutes.<br /><br />Meanwhile, melt 2 tbs butter over medium heat in a saucepan or pot large enough to fit the mashed potatoes. When melted, add the chopped onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are soft but not yet brown. When cooked, turn off heat, and add the potatoes, mixing well. Taste and add more butter, salt, and pepper.<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Flour a flat surface and a rolling pin. Divide the dough into four parts, and begin with one. Roll it flat to about 1/4-inch thick. For a square knish, trim all four sides of the dough with a pizza cutter or knife to form a rectangle. Place about two tablespoons of potato filling (depending on the size of your rectangle) in the center of the square. Fold both long sides up, covering at least partially the filling, and push them closed. Finish by folding over the short sides and lightly pushing closed, forming a pocket, and covering the filling completely. If there is excess dough you can cut it off and add it to another dough pile. To form a round knish, cut out a large circle using a knife or pizza cutter. It does not have to be perfect. Fill the center with about two tablespoons of filling, depending on the size of your circle, and fold the sides up, pinching the border if necessary to create an open pocket.<br /><br />Place knishes on a baking sheet and cook for 20 -25 minutes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*I used mostly white, but threw in a sweet potato and some squash that I had lying around. Although I cooked them together, I made each mash separately. </span>jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12472484238703667253noreply@blogger.com2