The type of cookie you'll make twice

Though 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.


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.

These may be perfect for Passover, but I'd gladly eat them year-round.

When 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.

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.

Working woman

Gosh! 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.

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.

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.

Thanks for bearing with me.

A knish, the most delish

I 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.

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.

Two jobs, and one wonderful dinner

Happy March!

Montreal is looking more like April than its usual blustery brand of March. The only remaining snow are the banks crusted into nooks where sunlight cannot reach. People are walking the streets in sweatshirts and sunglasses.

Yet despite this wonderful yet curious turn for the best I woke up yesterday in a bit of a funk. I had neglected to turn the "on" button for my alarm when setting it the night before and therefore woke up a mere fifteen minutes prior to my anticipated departure time. And this was not just on any old day, but on my first day on a new job - as a waitress in a graduate student restaurant-bar on McGill's campus.

No, this isn't exactly what I wanted to be doing, but with my nebulous plans this job seemed like it would be a-okay. Until I walked in, with a puff of optimism, and I realized it would be just that, just okay, just passable. I think the deflate I felt was actually detectable. I'm back. Here. Again. It was actually my first time there exactly, but I had spent my summer working in a similar environment, an experience I now fondly think of as amusing. Walking into the basement restaurant, grim and shabby, the dull routine of it all, the rush, the fabricated importance, and the aching feet I came to dread over the summer seemed all too imminent and unbearable.

I turned on my perky-eager face, looking for the good in my scary boss, irritated and unhelpful, and made it out of there thirty bucks richer and otherwise not so much worse off. A really wonderful thing happened next, though. I was offered a job, eh, an internship, but still, a paying position, one that doesn't make me recoil, and one, I think, that will be very good for me.

This is, of course, good. The job excites me, the prospect of something new inspires me. But it is also bittersweet. So very not long after I left, I will be returning to New Jersey. And so very not long after I became settled again in Montreal, I will be saying a final adieu to the city and the people I love here.

The night I broke the news was filled with relief, quiet excitement, and a very successful dinner. As the apprehensions of actually leaving begin to sneak into my consciousness I'm wishing that every night would be so lovely and easy.


Penne with White Beans and Sage

I owe the pureness of this meal to my grocery shopping boycott. Trying to save money, I hadn't gone in about a week, and refused to once I learned that I would be leaving town shortly. The result, you see, was serendipitous. Concerned the dish would be plain, I overcompensated with olive oil. Adding glug after glug of olive oil until the beans seemed right, I didn't actually measure the amounts. Because the ingredients are few it's important to use quality; you will taste every one. I had sage leftover from the butternut squash risotto, and I found it to be particularly appropriate, but a number of fresh herbs could also do the trick.

2 cans white beans
about 1/4 c - 1/2 c olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
4 branches of sage leaves, chopped, about 4 tbsp
1 lb penne rigatoni pasta
salt and pepper
freshly grated Parmesan

Bring salted water to a boil and cook the pasta al dente. Meanwhile, chop the sage leaves, twisting a bunch together and slicing thinly, and mince the garlic. Drain and rinse the beans.

Heat a large frying pan over low heat. When hot add a few drizzles of olive oil, enough to generously coat the pan, and then the beans, stirring to coat all well in oil. In a minute or so add the garlic and sage, mixing well. Keep the mixture heating over low heat, adding olive oil in drizzles occasionally until the beans are hot and flavorful, and the mixture has become slightly thick. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Drain the pasta when it has cooked. Return it to its cooking pan and drizzle with olive oil or melt 1tbs butter to coat lightly.

Serve in a shallow bowl, adding pasta, then a generous spoonful or two of the bean mixture. Drizzle a little olive oil and serve sprinkled with Parmesan to taste.

Serves 3 -4.

Another trick I learned at the farm

I've been trying to write a post about this risotto for days. Nothing I think of seems appropriate.
The recipe is inspired by a dish that the volunteers cooked at the farm, a squash "risotto" made with your regular run-of-the-mill white rice and a homemade vegetable stock born from otherwise unusable scraps. I must admit that I actually had no part in the risotto's creation; I was a mere but keen spectator, one who obsessively scratched down the recipe and photographed it, before sampling and offering my greatest praises.

Before this adventure last week I had never made risotto, never been inspired to. In fact, I had rarely eaten it. I recommend doing both, though. Risotto is rich and satisfying, and I love it for its versatility and inherent simplicity. Even on the farm, when our resources were limited, our squash boiled, and rice so completely unspecial, the dish was impressive.

The flavors of roasted squash and sage are sophisticated, yet the process for combining them here is straightforward. Take this recipe and substitute almost any seasoning or vegetable addition. Peas and mushrooms also create a satisfying combination.

Toasted seeds make for a resourceful hors d'oeuvre, and a happy memory of cooking on the farm's temperamental stove, when dinners were always a toss-up, but never a disappointment.



Roasted Butternut Squash Risotto and Toasted Squash Seeds

1 medium-sized butternut squash
6 c chicken or vegetable broth
1 medium onion, chopped
1 tbsp unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice
1 tsp minced garlic
5 tbs grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1 tbsp chopped fresh sage
salt and pepper

40 - 50 minutes before planning to start the risotto begin to roast the squash. Preheat oven to 450°F. Halve squash lengthwise and remove the seeds, but do not throw them out. Cut the squash across into slices, about 1 1/2-inch-wide, and season with salt and lightly with olive oil. Place the slices skin side down in a shallow baking pan or cookie sheet in the middle of the oven until they are soft, 40 - 50 minutes.

As the squash is roasting, clean and dry the seeds. Sprinkle salt, pepper, and other spices if you like. Toast them in a frying pan over medium to medium-low heat drizzled with olive oil, stirring occasionally so the seeds do not stick. They are done when they are lightly browned or begin to pop.

When the squash is finished, set aside one slice per plate that you will serve as a garnish. Keep these slices warm. Remove and discard skin from remaining slices and cut into 1/2-in pieces.

Bring broth to a simmer in a large sauce pan. Cover and let simmer as you cook.

Meanwhile cook onion in butter in a heavy pot over medium heat, stirring until softened, about 6 minutes. Add rice and garlic, and cook, stirring about 3 minutes to toast the rice and blend the flavors.

Stir in 1/2 cup simmering broth, or one ladleful, and cook stirring frequently with heat at medium until the liquid is absorbed. Continue simmering and adding broth 1/2 cup at a time, stirring constantly and letting each addition be absorbed before adding the next, until rice is creamy-looking but still al dente, about 30 - 40 minutes. The rice should look gooey and thick, like a creamy soup. The key is to stir constantly so the liquid does not boil. It is okay if you have leftover broth.

When the rice is cooked stir in squash pieces with cheese, sage, and salt and pepper. Continue stirring to blend flavors. Do not hesitate to thin the risotto out with leftover broth with necessary. Serve immediately, topped with shaved slices of Parmesan.

Serves 4.

My hat, it has three corners

My second year of university was the first time I made hamantaschen on my own. My roommates and I hosted a Purim party, baking dozens of cookies and requiring our guests to attend in costume if they wanted to sample. I hadn't dressed for Purim since I was little, when I wore the typical costumes of princess and the dreaded Haman. That year, when I was nineteen, I wore the Raggedy Anne costume my mom sewed for me when I was eleven.

The party was wildly successful. In the hours before our guests arrived no less than six lovers of hamantaschen packed into my yellow kitchen. I remember little but the mess, mixing the dough in a massive plastic red bowl, and my dear friend Sophie - whom I hardly knew then - brewing the poppy seed filling on the stove.


I had never fathomed of making the poppy seed filling from scratch. Left to my own devices - clueless as to where one could buy the filling, or even buy poppy seeds for that matter - I would have stuck to trusty apricot, always a pleaser. But Sophie's assured assembly has forever inspired me. Not a Purim goes by when I don't make my own.


My roommates and I thought that every Hamantaschen had been devoured that night. Months later, though, on the morning that we all moved out, after we sort of scoured the kitchen and moved out the table and couch we kept in there, a sole triangular cookie surfaced on the floor, completely intact and looking as tasty as ever. I like to think that someone stashed it in a secret spot, saving it for later. I know that's a whimsical notion, but the cookies, they're that good.

Hamantaschen

This isn't the same dough that I first made years ago, but it's one that I have used since and have come to love for its balance between bready and light. Using whole wheat flour isn't vital, but adds a certain texture and color that I appreciate in a hamantaschen. Don't skimp on the orange juice and zest, which create a refreshing tang and complement just about every fruity filling I can conceive.

1 1/2 c all-purpose flour
1/2 c whole wheat pastry flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 stick unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into chunks
1/2 c sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp grated orange zest
1/4 c orange juice
filling of choice - apricot and orange jam, prune butter, and poppy seed are traditional

In a medium bowl, sift together dry ingredients the flours, baking powder, and salt.

In a larger bowl cream the butter and sugar using a hand mixer until they are light and fluffy. Add the egg, vanilla, zest, and juice and mix until combined, using either a wooden spoon or the mixer. Add the dry ingredients little by little and mix until just combined. Cautiously add a little water or orange juice is the dough is too dry. The dough shouldn't be sticky, but it should hold together and feel smooth. Form the dough into disks and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate for at least 3 hours before rolling.

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

On a lightly floured surface roll out one disk of dough on to about 1/8 inch thick, keep the other refrigerated until ready to use it. Using a cookie cutter, drinking glass, or jar (I used a Bon Maman jam jar) cut out about 3-inch circles. Keep the scraps covered and refrigerated until you're ready to use them again.

Fill the circles with about 1 tablespoon of whichever fillings you have selected. Fold up two side, pinching ends together, and then the third to make a triangle shape with a pocket in the middle. Transfer gently to a baking sheet. Bake until golden, 12 -15 minutes.

yields about 3 dozen

Poppy Seed Filling

1 c poppy seeds
1/2 c milk
1/2 c honey
1-2 tbsp lemon zest, and several drops of lemon juice to taste
1/2 c golden or sultana raisins, optional

If using raisins, soak them in water overnight. The raisins are not necessary but add texture and sweetness. If you're feeling extra industrious, combine the soaked raisins with the poppy seeds in a small blender and blend briefly or mash them using a mortar and pestle until the raisins have broken down.

Combine all of the ingredients in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Cook at a simmer for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally until the liquid has boiled off. Let cool before filling the cookies.