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entertaining 101

Published December 14, 2010 bread, crackers & sandwiches , pig slop 6 Comments
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I threw a dinner party for the record books last weekend. In hindsight, I should have seen the writing on the wall from the get-go. I broke my cardinal rule and got a late start cooking. But it was one of those days at work when nothing was going right and everything was taking twice as long as it should. So I literally sprinted to the kitchen, just a couple of hours ahead of the guests.
Evidentially my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day karma carried right on over into the kitchen. It took me two attempts (yes, two) to realize I was feebly trying to crack hard boiled eggs into the mixing bowl instead of soft. Once I finally got my hands on the right carton of eggs though, there was no stopping me. I got so carried away with my success that before I knew it, I had aded too many whites to the coconut macaroons. As if to somehow compensate for this, I left out the salt entirely. My carrots that were supposed to be chilling in an ice water bath to prevent sogginess ended up sitting out at room temperature all day.
Just forge on, I told myself. And then, I dropped a bottle of red on the tile floor. A ceramic floor shows no mercy – ever. I’ve even managed to break enamel cast iron cookware on our floor (twice). By the time I got the majority of wine mess cleaned up, my husband Mark was home. “One more thing,” I called from my unplanned bath, “and we’re calling out for pizza.”
I should learn to listen to myself better. Especially in times of duress.
I had somehow managed to take a quick break earlier in the day to get the naan –  that soft, oven-baked Indian flat bread prepped and rising. Midway through my workday, I remembered with a jolt that naan was to accompany the menu of spicy chile-cilantro grilled chicken and curried rice. I went downstairs to the kitchen and got it going with what I thought was going to be perfect timing. But it was particularly cold out, which means I felt the need to keep the house particularly warm. Which means the naan rose particularly fast. No worries, I thought. I’ll just punch it down again. Striving yet again for the perfect timing that would allow me to pop the breads into a 500ºF oven just minutes before sitting down at the table, I decided to give the dough a little goose of warm air by sliding the covered bowl gently behind the wood stove.
You know how sometimes things happen so fast you don’t actually know how they transpired? It was all in the timing. Mark stepped out on the deck to check the grill. I popped upstairs to get some extra stemware out of storage. Enter Mae West – our dog. With unprecedented deftness, she ate the entire bread bowl full of rising dough. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure I was more distraught over what this was going to mean for the dog than I was about there being no naan for dinner. But before I had time to really mull it over, our guests arrived.
Our friend Linda, bless her heart, had her phone out before we could even finish telling the tale. She was calling her brother-in-law veterinarian in Reno, NV. David got the specifics, asked a few pertinent questions, and then advised that we induce vomiting. I got Linda set up at the bar taking drink orders while Mark, Mae West, and I proceeded out into the frigid darkness with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a turkey baster. We were only mildly successful with our attempts and West spent the remainder of the evening outside on the deck with a sort of woeful look on her face.
The beauty of having true-blue friends over is that they’ll excuse just about anything. And that they did. Dinner got on the table at least 2 hours later than planned. I rummaged through the freezer and found an assortment of odds and ends bread products to serve. The grilled chicken (thankfully) was glorious. The thick chile-cilantro marinade formed a crunchy, spicy crust that was a perfect warm-up for a cold night. The shredded carrots rallied, got themselves dressed up in a tangy sauce with dates and pistachios and seemed no worse for the wear. Everyone claimed to like the “extra chewiness” of the macaroons, but really I think they were just being kind.
The dog came in as our friends departed and headed straight upstairs to bed. We all survived, I sighed, crawling underneath the quilts. I drifted off and awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of someone doing body slams against the floor. I wearily checked on the dog and came to the stellar conclusion that she must be highly uncomfortable.
It wasn’t until a few hours later when we were all up and about that we discovered the pooch was down and out drunk. She’s a big girl, but apparently not big enough to stave off the effects of a pool of fermenting yeast in her belly. (It was then that I remembered adding an extra hefty pinch of yeast to the dough – skeptical about its freshness.) Mark carried all 67 pounds of her down the spiral steps where she then proceeded to walk headlong into the wood stove. Back to the scene of the crime. We tried to get her quiet and comfortable – her poor head bobbing and weaving, even as she laid still. We got a local vet on the phone over coffee and learned she’d just have to sleep it off. Which is about what I felt like doing.
Disappearing Naan (based on a recipe from Julie Sahni)
1/2 cup yogurt (plain and preferably made with whole milk)
3/4 boiling water
1-2 tablespoons honey
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
1/4 cup butter, melted
2 teaspoons fresh minced garlic
1 teaspoon dry yeast
3 cups flour (I like using 1 cup white whole wheat and 2 cups white)
2 teaspoons fresh minced garlic (optional)
Oil as needed 

Whisk together the yogurt, water, honey, and salt in a large bread bowl. Beat in the egg and melted butter and mix throughly. Sprinkle in the yeast. Give the yeast about five minutes or so to activate and bubble, and then stir in the flour. I use a firm plastic spatula to work in the flour. The dough is quite sticky at first. I keep kneading with the aid of the spatula blade until a less sticky dough ball begins to form. I then lightly oil my hands and switch to kneading by hand (in the bowl) until a smooth ball forms. All in all about 15 minutes. Lightly oil the bowl, cover, and let it raise undisturbed in a warm spot (free of dogs) until doubled in size – about 2-4 hours. You can punch the dough down and give it a shorter second rise if need be.

Punch down the dough and then gently knead for another few minutes to loosen it up. If you are using garlic, knead it in at this stage. Divide the dough into 8 equal portions and roll out each piece into about a 7-inch oval. Arrange in a single layer on 2 baking sheets and bake in a 500ºF oven until they begin to puff and brown – about 4 to 5 minutes.

Remove and brush with melted butter if desired. Serve quickly!

Naan is great with curries, tandoori dishes, kebabas, and soups. It’s also quite tasty for breakfast with a smear of butter and honey – especially the garlic naan.

 

dark days

Published December 10, 2010 dark days , from the lake , garden fare , pig slop 4 Comments
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My friend Julie and I recently decided to participate in the fourth annual Dark Days Challenge – which calls for us to prepare one fully locally derived meal per week from now until mid-April. We are indeed facing some dark days ahead. And thinking about food, where it comes from, how it is raised, and fun ways to cook what’s available locally is a sure way to distract me from the grey and darkness. Plus, Julie is a pro at this. A few years back, she engaged her family of four in six months of eating EVERY meal local. So I know I can turn to her anytime for inspiration and advice.

Here’s my set of self-determined rules. “Local” for me means anything grown or raised within a 50-mile radius. I gave a bit of thought to my radius and settled on a distance that I could self-propel myself. I have to admit that biking 50 miles to retrieve a fresh chicken is not exactly on my list of things to do, but if push came to shove, I could. Although I might have to spend the night at my destination before biking back – or at the very least stay for lunch!

My exceptions are olive oil, coconut oil, some spices, vinegar (although this has inspired me to make my own, but it won’t be ready in time), and butter (again, I have plans to churn my own using cream from our local dairy, but it will be Christmas time before I can borrow my grandmother’s old butter churn from my mom. In the meantime, I’ll continue using a fantastic hand rolled butter produced in Richland Center, WI – some 200 miles straight south of me.) And even though I know I could forego fresh lemon juice one night a week, there are times when I might give in. For me, a squeeze of fresh lemon is often the crowning touch that turns a good dish great. Were I to go completely local in my eating, I would go to great lengths to maintain an indoor lemon tree in my northern Wisconsin home. I am an occasional home brewer, so there will certainly be a batch of porter fermenting soon to help see us through the winter. I buy my grains from Northern Brewer in St. Paul (230 miles) but I suspect the grains’ actual origin is even a little further west than that (I’ll check). If other exceptions come up along the way, I’ll be sure to note them.
I’ve participated in a handful of local eating initiatives and for me the key is to focus on the things I CAN find locally and not dwell on the things that I can’t. Having to really think about where the food I am cooking has come from raises an awareness that I appreciate, and one that I too often take for granted. I feel incredibly fortunate to live in a midwestern, rural area and still have access to an amazing array of beautifully and happily produced food. In addition to the pounds of berries and vegetables (frozen and canned) and root crops from our garden, I know I’ll be able to find: fish, pork, chicken, beef, lamb, cheese, milk, cream, sprouts, kimchi, sauerkraut, maple syrup, honey (sort of a given), pop corn, wild rice (although it was a poor year for ricing and supplies are meager), wheat berries, and whole wheat flour. And I’m looking forward to a winter of discovering even more. Here’s a recap of our first two Dark Days, local meal. I’m happy to share recipes if anyone’s palate is piqued – just drop me a note.
Dark Days m.1
Broiled Lamb Chops
Lamb chops from Morning View Farm (37 miles), garlic (our garden), olive oil, lavender pepper, salt, and butter (Richland Center, WI)Sauteed Potatoes
Potatoes (our garden), butter (Richland Center, WI), oil, salt, pepper, spicy micro greens from Paradise Meadows (12 miles)

Warm Beet Salad
Beets (our garden), feta cheese from South Shore Chev (30 miles), spicy micro greens from Paradise Meadows (12 miles), vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper

Dark Days m.2
Trout sautéed in Brown Butter
Lake Superior lake trout (caught around the Apostle Islands, probably within a 20 mile range), butter (Richland Center, WI), garlic and shallots (our garden), topped with spicy micro greens from Paradise Meadows (12 miles)

Wild Rice Stuffed Squash
Sweet Dumpling squash (our garden), wild rice (50 miles give or take a few – hand harvested by friends near the Bayfield County line), feta cheese from South Shore Chev (30 miles), dried apples (our land), turkey broth (homemade with garden vegetables and a local turkey), scallions and garlic, (our land)

no going back

Published November 28, 2010 pig slop , sweets 1 Comment

I am not a shopper. Black Friday came and went, my checkbook no worse for the wear. Last week, however, was another story. I sort of went on a bender. It all stated with my ice scrapper. I had gone out to finally liberate my car from the season’s first accumulation of ice and snow. And as if to emulate my feelings on that nippy morning, my favorite 3-inch triangle shaped ice scrapper shattered into about thirteen pieces when I touched it to the windshield. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

When I do shop, I prefer not to do it online, but sometimes, when you live in a town with a population of 600 on a peninsula in northern Wisconsin, it’s just easier. And this was serious. My winter unpreparedness had reached a critical peak. I went straight in and started shopping. It was either that or a plane ticket to Jamaica.

Here’s what came of it:

• An ice scrapper for each car, and although not quite as cool as my triangular model, they are at least made by a small U.S. company. As long as I was outfitting the cars, I also bought new snowbrushes. Whoever designed the two we have been limping by with has clearly never been through a respectable snowstorm. The new ones are made in Canada – a safe bet.

• New snow boots. Last April my ten-year-old Columbias literally broke in half. At the time I could think of no better way to usher in spring than to throw them ceremoniously in the trash – all with a satisfied smirk. I haven’t thought about them since. Until now. So four trial pairs of boots went into my Zappos cart. I don’t know how Zappos does it, but they have something really big figured out with online retailing. I love them (so don’t anybody go and tell me something I wouldn’t want to know about them). When all was said and done, I ended up sticking with the same model of Columbias, even though they had to go and mess with the overall styling of them.

• A small space heater that I hope will keep our little shed functioning as a make-shift root cellar until winter finally wins the war. And when it’s done with that chore, I know I will fire it up in my office on those few days each winter when the passive heat from the downstairs wood stove simply does not make it all the way up to my keyboard.

• Four new pairs of fuzzy pink socks. I don’t know – something about putting on pink socks makes me feel better on cold mornings.

• A pair of bomber mittens. For the past week, my fingers have gone numb on my afternoon walks wearing what I thought to be suitable mittens. I am ecstatic to report that my hands actually broke into a sweat on my last hike. My hands just don’t do that. Ever.

And, while the credit card was hot, I made one last minute, impulse purchase. Even though I have put myself on cookbook probation (due mainly to space limitations) I went ahead and shamelessly ordered a copy of Amanda Hesser’s The Essential New York Times Cookbook. I actually thought about being good and handing the book over to Mark without even cracking the spine so he could wrap it up and get a jump on Santa. But that motion lasted all of about 3 seconds. One peek and there was no going back. Which has not a bad way to spend a blustery Thanksgiving weekend. Wow. Hesser has created a truly astonishing recap of 150 years of New York Times recipes and food history. The only hard part has been deciding what to try first (all signs point to a winter of good cooking ahead). I settled on a chocolate chip cookie recipe that originated from Ms. Hesser herself. I thought I was convinced to try the much talked about David Leite chocolate chip cookie first, but Amanda’s description of a flat, chewy, salty, and chocolaty cookie swayed me. And I’m so glad it did. Get in line David.

Flat and Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies

As with many of the recipes in the book, Hesser proceeds this one with a great story. The moral of which is to be sure you use Diamond Crystal kosher salt, which is far less salty than other brands of iodized salt. I was so intrigued by the salt factor of these cookies that I gave my final two trays a sprinkling of coarse salt before putting them in the oven. My only regret was that I waited to try this until the end. I highly recommend it.

2 cups flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 scant tablespoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt
1/2 pound unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups (12 ounces) chopped bittersweet chocolate (chunks and shavings)
coarse sea salt

Sift together the flour, baking soda, and salt

In the bowl of a mixer fitted with a paddle, beat the butter and sugars until fluffy – about 3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, then add the vanilla. Add the flour mixture all at once and blend until a dough forms. Fold in the chocolate. Refrigerate the dough until chilled, preferably overnight.

Heat the oven to 325º F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Roll 2 1/2 tablespoon lumps of dough into balls, place 3 inches apart on the baking sheet, and flatten to 1/2 inch thick disks. Sprinkle the raw cookies with a pinch of sea salt. Chill the remaining dough between batches.

Bake until the edges are golden brown, 14 to 16 minutes. Let cool slightly on the baking sheet, then transfer to a rack.

pulling trump

Published November 23, 2010 pig slop , sauces, salsas, preserves 4 Comments
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I have sort of a guilty, tenuous relationship with cranberries. I like them – quite a bit actually. The problem is that just about the time I learned to appreciate cranberries for something more than a red glossy tube that comes sliding out of a can, my father decided to get into the tart cherry business. Never one to do things in a small way, he set to planting tees – and lots of them. He had designs on becoming the Tart Cherry King of southeast Minnesota. Life can be sadly unpredictable though, and regrettably, he did not live to see the word “king” associated with his name. He did, however, manage to leave a legacy of tart cherries behind him. The months of June and July typically turn into one big red blur of a cherry harvest for my mother. Friends come. Family comes. Neighbors come. Restaurateurs come. Friends come again. And still, after all that, my mom generally maintains a freezer full of cherries.

Needless to say, I sort of have unlimited access to a lot of tart cherries. And I love them. To me, they are the perfect juicy blend of sweet and sour. This is where things get dicey with the cranberries. It has gotten to the point that when I come across a recipe involving cranberries, I almost inadvertently substitute the word cherry for cranberry. It’s easy – try it. “Cranberry hazelnut granola,” “cranberry upside down cake,” “cranberry almond muffins.” See? I mean it’s not that cranberries don’t sound good, but tart cherries? Now we’re talkin’ about something. And so it was no different with my favorite spicy cranberry chutney recipe. I think I made it one year using cranberries before the tart cherries pulled trump.

The original recipe came via my friend Julie who must have heard a Thanksgiving piece on NPR, because it came with a note that it is Susan Stamberg’s favorite cranberry side dish (unless Julie is holding out on me, I don’t believe she’s ever had Ms. Stamberg over for Thanksgiving dinner). Like a lot of recipes, I’ve adjusted it here and there – and in this case made a substitution of a homemade tart cherry sauce for the can of cranberry sauce originally called for. I highly recommend seeking out some frozen tart cherries, but if unlike me, you feel obliged to remain steadfast and loyal to the cranberry, the chutney will be almost as good. But not quite.

Guilty Garlicky Tart Cherry Chutney

16 oz frozen tart cherries
3/4 cup honey
1 rounded tablespoon cornstarch dissolved in about 1/4 cup of cold water

1 tablespoon of ginger – grated (a microplane works great for this)
1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
4 tablespoons honey
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp salt (or to taste)
ground white pepper (to taste)

Put frozen cherries and honey in a heavy sauce pan and bring to a gentle simmer. Let the cherries cook and bubble, stirring occasionally, for about 15 – 20 minutes. While they cook, periodically take a fork to the cherries and mash them up to your desired consistency. Stir in the cornstarch slurry and cook a for a few minutes longer until slightly thickened. Remove from heat.

In another sauce pan, combine ginger, garlic, vinegar, honey and cayenne. Bring to a simmer, and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally for about 15 minutes or until there is roughly 1/4 cup of thick liquid left.

Add in the cherry sauce, salt, and pepper. Mix and bring to a gentle simmer fro about 5 -10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed, adding a touch more honey, salt, or pepper if needed. Cool, store and refrigerate. Serve at room temperature.

Don’t just limit this to holiday feasts! This chutney is great in sandwiches and with all kinds of meat – pork, chicken, turkey, roast beef. It is also quite lovely with a smear of goat cheese on a cracker.

A very Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

hot pop

Published November 19, 2010 pig slop , snacky-snacks 2 Comments
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When it comes to popcorn, I’ve always been an Orville Redenbacher kind of girl. I think it was an early association I formed with my grandpa, whom I shared many a bowls of popcorn with, and who – coincidentally – also happened to be named Orville. I’ve tried my fair share of bulk co-op popcorn over the years too, but I often find myself reverting back to Orville’s famous gourmet popping corn. It still thrills me to open that vacuum-sealed jar. I can’t, however, say that I notice much of a taste difference between the two (sorry Orville). As long as there is a full jar of popcorn on the shelf, I’m satisfied.

Satisfied, that was, until one night last winter when my friend Danielle came to dinner. She brought her husband Jon along too, but almost as importantly, she brought us a jar of her uncle’s homegrown popcorn. It was a striking mix of ruby red and golden yellow kernels. I put it on the pantry shelf and it seemed to positively sparkle next to the neighboring jar of Orville Redenbacher’s.

It was so pretty that I actually put off popping it for quite some time. But when I did, I was forever changed. The popped kernels, albeit slightly more petite than Orville’s, were light and crisp with a freshness that I am sure I have never experienced. And the taste. It tasted like, well – corn. Sweet and creamy and crisp all at the same time.

I managed to stretch out the contents of the jar through the winter – supplementing with Orville’s and selfishly saving the good stuff for nights I knew my husband would be away. And in January when the garden seed catalogs started pouring in, I curled up on the couch and got serious. I settled on Pennsylvania Dutch Butter Popcorn. I am frequently swayed by the word “butter” in descriptions, and this was no exception.

And so this past summer, for the first time in my 17 years of gardening, I dedicated a corner of our plot to popcorn. I planted three four foot diameter circles two weeks after the sweet corn went in to avoid cross-pollination. I had a few setbacks over the summer, including a raccoon incident on a weekend we left town, and several discouraging remarks from friends saying they had tried popcorn in the past, but never found our growing season to be long enough. But I kept the faith and tended my circles. I shored up the breach in the fence, and was graced with a long, sweet fall. Shortly before out first frost on October 29, I harvested one full jar of corn. Still not entirely convinced of my success, I put a handful of kernels straight into the Whirley Pop. And sure enough, it popped! And the taste? Even better than I remembered. I’m already scheming how to fit more popcorn circles into next year’s garden.

I prefer to pop my popcorn in hot coconut oil and top it off with nothing but a sprinkling of Penzy’s Garlic Salt. But I also have a favorite honeyed-cayenne popcorn that I like to make for special occasions. It’s a great appetizer to serve at dinner parties – a little unexpected, but still sophisticated. In fact, I think it would make a lovely Thanksgiving Day hors d’oeuvre. Snoopy would be so proud.

A few notes on the recipe. I adapted this years ago form a recipe I clipped from Cooking Light. The original recipe calls for pure maple syrup, but since I have more bees in my possession than maple trees, I tweaked it to use honey. Both are quite good though. Omit the water if you go the maple route. I also increased the amount of corn for a better popcorn to syrup ratio. You can vary the amount and type of chili pepper. I have settled on 1/4 teaspoon cayenne as my favorite. It makes a fairly spicy snack, but the honey balances it perfectly. Use less pepper for a tamer treat. A rounded half cup of kernels yields about 12 cups of popped corn. I always toss a little extra in the popper just to be sure, and am generally left with some to snack on while I cook. Depending on your popper, you might have to pop in two batches. This recipe is easily halved, but the full recipe is a nice amount when there are a few guests mingling about. It also stores for a week or so in an airtight container.

Honeyed Hot Pop

10-12 cups popped corn (popped in just a hint of oil)
butter for the bowl
1/2 cup honey
1 tablespoon water
1 tablespoon butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or less)

Rub a bowl large enough to hold the popped corn lightly with butter and add popped corn.

Heat the honey, water, butter, salt, and cayenne over medium heat in a small heavy sauce pan. Stir until everything is just combined and then let it come to a boil. Let the mixture boil without stirring for 2 minutes. Pour the hot syrup over the popcorn and stir to coat.

Line 2 heavy rimmed baking sheets with parchment and spread the popcorn between the two pans. Bake in a 300º F oven for 15 minutes, flipping and rotating the two pans halfway through. Remove from oven and let cool completely. The popcorn will crisp up as it cools.

pinch me

Published November 10, 2010 pig slop , sweets 3 Comments
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It’s National Vanilla Cupcake Day. I know this because not one, not two, but three different people have e-mailed to tell me so. Is this some sort of sign? I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I guess it really doesn’t matter, because I just happen to have a vanilla cupcake recipe that I am smitten with. So much so that I really don’t have eyes for any other.

A few years ago, my husband Mark and I took and impromptu trip to Savannah, Georgia to fend off the end-of-winter-blues. We spent a sun drenched week lounging in the lush public squares in the historic district – there are 21 of them, and I’m pretty sure we hit them all.

Midway through the trip we also made an excursion to the weekly farmer’s market. I believe we bought a hunk of local cheese and a baguette to round out yet another perfect afternoon spent relaxing in front of an azalea rimmed fountain. I also picked up a post card from the bread stand at the market. It was a photo of an old fashioned pink ballerina cake topper, advertising the Back in the Day Bakery – and it caught my attention. I stuffed it away in the book I was reading and didn’t think of it again until our last day in town. We were facing the standard “what to do with the last few hours before you have to catch a cab to the airport” dilemma. And then, I remembered the bakery.

There was a small map printed on the back of the post card and it showed the bakery residing just beyond Forsyth Park at the south end of the historic district. Having walked the entire week, this seemed like an easily attainable goal. Unbeknownst to us, however, the scale of the map changed somewhat upon leaving the historic district. We walked, and walked, and walked – to the point where sheer determination alone to find it set in. Plane? What plane?

But we eventually reached our destination, and the minute I crossed over the threshold, I knew I was at home. It was everything you would imagine a place called “Back in the Day…” might be. The decor, the details – it was all so entirely perfect. We ordered cupcakes and coffee and settled in at a small table to take in the atmosphere. And then – much to my delight – the bakery owner, Cheryl, came out from the back and introduced herself. I don’t know, maybe it was me going gaga over everything in the display case that clued her in. Or maybe she overheard me proclaiming to Mark that we should seriously consider relocating to Savannah so I could get a job at the bakery. Either way, here’s where the story gets especially good. As if chatting with her about baking and the bakery business wasn’t enough – she left me with her vanilla cupcake recipe. Pinch me! It was one of the most delightful cupcakes I had ever enjoyed and I was thrilled to have the recipe. Perhaps it was the marathon walk to get to them, but having made them several times since, I think they can hold their own just fine.

One of my favorite things about this recipe – besides the obvious outcome – is the unusual prep. She lets the mixer do the sifting and there is no creaming of the butter and eggs involved. It all gets added straight to the flour. I usually make my frosting a light shade of pink as a nod to my first “official” Old Fashioned, Back in the Day cupcake. This is a fairly large recipe. I typically halve it and end up with about 14 or so standard cupcakes, or 48 two-inch mini cupcakes. What follows is the full recipe – after all, it IS National Vanilla Cupcake Day. Go a little crazy.

Old Fashioned Cupcakes

1 3/4 cups cake flour (not self-rising)
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 sticks unsalted butter, cut into cubes
4 large eggs
1 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325º F. Line cupcake pans with paper liners; set aside. Combine in a bowl both flours, sugar, baking powder and salt. Mix on low speed until combined for about 3 minutes. Add in cubed butter, mixing until just coated with flour. Add eggs 1 at a time until combined. Slowly add milk and vanilla to batter until completely mixed scraping down the bowl as you mix. Scoop batter into baking cups filling about 2/3 full. Bake until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean, 17 to 20 minutes (mini cupcakes – which I am especially fond of – require less time). Cool and decorate with Old Fashioned Frosting.

Old Fashioned Frosting

2 sticks butter, room temperature
8 cups confectioners’ sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract or other flavoring

Cream softened butter and add 4 cups sugar, milk and vanilla. Beat with paddle attachment until smooth gradually add the rest of sugar to reach your desired frosting consistency.

gussy up!

Published November 8, 2010 garden fare , garlic patch , pig slop 1 Comment
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It might be time for an intervention. I planted another bed of garlic yesterday. It was a small bed, but just the same, I agreed to be done planting two weeks ago. My lunch is what got me into trouble. A quick meal of fusili tossed with the season’s final tray of roasted tomatoes, parmesan cheese, and a handful of garlic sautéed in butter. But it wasn’t just any garlic. It was a smooth Italian softneck that really shines as the star of simple pasta dishes. And for reasons I’m not at all certain of, I didn’t set much seed aside for my initial planting. Luckily I realized the error of my ways in the nick of time. I went out to the shed after lunch to rummage through our eating stock and found just enough plantable size cloves to put in a few rows. But that was it. No more. To distract myself from any further temptation, I devoted the rest of the afternoon to bringing in the last of the carrots, parsnips, potatoes, and beets.
This is the time of year when choosing between which of the root vegetables to prepare is still new and exciting. Young love. I treasure it, because I know the burden I’ll feel come February when I have to hack into yet another winter squash. But when that stage hits, I’ll turn to my garlic to help pull me through. Nothing dresses up baked squash, mashed potatoes, or roasted beets better than some caramelized garlic squeezed over the top. I just put a handful of peeled cloves in a little foil packet with some salt, pepper, and olive oil drizzled over the top and let them roast alongside the chosen accomplice. It seems to make everything more bearable.
Not that I wait around for the doldrums of winter to start roasting garlic, mind you. Fall officially kicks off around here with the first plate of roasted heads. The simplest method is to slowly roast whole heads in a 325º F oven until garlic is soft and aromatic – anywhere from forty five minutes to an hour depending on the garlic. The garlic will effortlessly squeeze out of its papers onto bread, pasta, crackers, baked potatoes and anything else you happen to have at the table. Prep for this is quick and easy – just thumb most of the outer papers off of whole heads, remove any dirt from the root end, and then use a sharp knife to trim the very tops of the bulbs off, leaving the tips of the cloves exposed. Put the heads in an appropriately sized oven proof dish with a lid (foil will do in a pinch), drizzle some good olive oil over the heads and sprinkle with coarse salt and pepper. It’s hard to go wrong.
But sometimes I like to gussy it up a bit. This is how I served tonight’s garlic, with a humble parsnip pie to accompany it. A glass of Sangiovese, some Tetzner’s cinnamon ice cream for dessert, and our good friend Jim to share it all with made it a November meal to be proud of.
Fancy-Pants Baked Garlic
whole heads of garlic
butter
vegetable or chicken stock
wine (I prefer to use white, but since we rarely drink it, I often use red)
coarse salt
fresh ground pepper
bleu or feta cheese
Clean most of the outer papers off of how ever many whole heads you’d like to bake and trim away any dirt from the root end. Use a sharp knife to trim the very tops of the bulbs off, leaving the tips of the cloves exposed. Put the heads in an appropriately sized oven proof dish with a lid and add a little broth and a splash of wine. You want enough liquid in the dish so the heads are about half covered. Dot each head with a small pat of butter, and sprinkle with coarse salt and pepper. With the lid on, bake the garlic in a 325º F oven. As the garlic roasts, periodically baste the garlic heads, spooning the broth into the center of each head. When the garlic is soft and aromatic (about a forty five minutes to an hour depending on the garlic) remove from the oven and crumble a handful of good bleu or feta cheese over the heads. Replace the lid and let it sit for about 5 minutes. Serve the garlic, broth and all, with plenty of good crusty bread. Be sure to soak up some of the luscious broth along with the garlic. This makes a great appetizer or side for any fall or winter meal. Any left over heads (yeah, right) can be refrigerated and added to soups or sauces for extra flavor.

carve-off twenty ten

Published October 31, 2010 pig slop , snacky-snacks 2 Comments
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My father took pumpkin carving seriously. From an early age, my brother and I were raised to give sincere contemplation to each year’s awaiting canvas. Sketches on paper, revisions if necessary – this was not something to be taken lightly. As we got older though, things started to get a little more competitive. Somewhere along the line “official judging” became an integral part of the process. My father frequently won. I remember the year he invited an outsider to judge – someone “impartial,” he said – wanting to claim his victory fair and square. And for a while, he had us, when his skinny oblong pumpkin with nothing but a single cyclops eyeball was crowned the winner. Only later did it slip that our guest was a minimalist architect – a fact that only our father was privy to.

He pulled plenty of other shenanigans – like disqualifying us for using “illegitimate” tools. He was a firm believer in carving with a standard chef’s knife. None of these fancy tools that come in pumpkin carving kits, no apple corer implements to make perfect circles, no x-acto knifes or special blades. My husband Mark is famous for the year he took his pumpkin out onto my parents’ front porch and, in an act of defiance, carved it up with his chainsaw. I think my father might have actually conceded the prize that year.

Yes – what started out as good old fashioned family pumpkin carving somehow became an institution that extended well beyond my youth. I even went so far as to send in my contenders via mail on the years I was far away from home. These days I carve in fond memory of my father, smiling with the knowledge that I am surely committing some violation that he can do nothing about.

On any given year, our garden usually yields about six to eight pumpkins. And even though there are only two of us, we seem compelled to carve every last one. We generally start a week or two before Halloween, and slowly stage a small welcoming committee outside the front door. And with the arrival of each new recruit comes a fresh bowl of seeds. I’m pretty sure that roasted pumpkin seeds would make my top 10 list of favorite things to eat.

Generally I soak them in a bowl of salt water – either over night or while we’re carving, depending on the timeframe. Then after draining them and drying them out a bit, I spread them on a baking sheet, drizzle some olive oil over them and add a hefty sprinkling of Penzey’s garlic salt before popping them in a low oven to roast for an hour or so until they are good and crunchy and nicely browned. Then, lookout. I have been known to eat an entire pan of seeds in one sitting. But last night, I decided to branch out. As I was rinsing the last of the pumpkin glop from the seeds, I happened to glance at a recipe for spiced pecans that I had clipped from the latest Bon Appétite to try, and I thought – why not? I tweaked it a bit – added some olive oil, reduced the sweet, and adjusted it to work with the seeds. The result was sort of a spicy pumpkin seed brittle. Very addictive, but a little more savory than my usual seeds. Which means I only ate about half of the pan in one sitting.


Spicy Pumpkin Seed Brittle

2 cups raw, cleaned, mostly dry, pumpkin seeds
1/3 cup honey
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 – 1/2 teaspoon ground chipotle pepper

Heat the honey, oil, sugar and chili powder in a saucepan large enough to also hold the seeds. Warm the honey mixture, just until sugar and chipotle dissolve. Stir in the seeds, remove from heat, and stir well so all the seeds get nicely coated. Spread the seeds onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Slow roast for about 2 hours in a 275º F oven, stirring every 30 minutes or so. When the seeds are done to your liking, remove from the oven and sprinkle with salt while still warm and sticky. As the seeds cool, they form a shinny brittle. After a few minutes, peel up the seeds with a spatula and roughly break them apart into a bowl. These would be great with pre-diner cocktails.

oh yes mustard!

Published October 27, 2010 pig slop , sauces, salsas, preserves Leave a Comment
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I sent my husband out the door this morning with a shopping list that had a rough total of about $87. Eighty seven dollars worth of mustard, that is. Yes, mustard. He is going south to Milwaukee, which means he’ll pass through Madison, which means there is no excuse not to stop off at the National Mustard Museum in downtown Middelton. But I should back up. Until recently – say with the last six or so years – I have not particularly liked mustard. I always kept the obligatory jar of Dijon in the fridge for dressings and marinades, and when forced to, I’d eat it if it came pre-applied on a bratwurst, but really I went out of my way to avoid it. My childhood memory of that strange smelling, yellow sauce really stuck with me hard.

Enter Delouis Fils Dijon ‘a L’ancienne’.  Not coincidentally, about six years ago I was visiting my friend Laura who then lived in Mount Horeb, WI – the former home of the Mustard Museum. It turns out that there isn’t all that much to do in Mount Horeb, so a tour of the Mustard Museum made the cut. I must have been in a particularly open-minded mood because for whatever reason, I voluntarily chose, by my own free will, to taste mustard. Several of them. And one in particular – the Delouis Fils Dijon ‘a L’ancienne’ – won me over. I left with three jars of it. Its taste is smooth yet its texture rough – I suppose “grainy” is the technical term.  It isn’t sharp. It isn’t smelly. The flavors meld together and melt in your mouth. I didn’t know mustard could do that. Ever since then, my idea of a good lunch often involves a baguette, some good hard cheese, sliced onion and a jar of Delouis Fils Dijon ‘a L’ancienne’.

And evidently, that was my jumping off point. The list I handed over to Mark included three jars of my standby, two jars of Saucy Sisters Golden Honey Russian Mustard, a garlic mustard from Obester Winery, several jars of Dijon, and a new one that I’ve been dying to dip into  – Aunty Lilikoi’s Passion Habeñero Mustard. The name alone makes it a worth try, but something tells me the fruitiness of the passion flower combined with the heat of the habeñero will be stupendous as a salmon rub. Cell coverage was dicey when Mark checked in this afternoon, but I thought he mumbled something about an amazing new walnut Dijon to boot.

Rest assured I am not purchasing upward of a hundred dollars worth of mustard just for us. This trip is kicking off our holiday shopping – what Christmas stocking is complete without a little jar of pungent bliss? And those cute hexagon jars of spicy, Russian honey mustard make the perfect host/hostess gift. My go to appetizer in a pinch is thick Bavarian pretzels with a perky mustard. So you see, it’s good to have a few jars on hand.  All I can say is thank goodness  I’ve come to my senses. Literally, in this case. Luckily I seem to be making up for lost time just fine.

Here is my favorite mustard sauce to spread on salmon fillets about 10 – 15 minutes before grilling. I can’t wait to try it with the Aunty Lilikoi’s. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Mustard Sauce

Combine and heat gently:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1 tablespoon honey
2 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon minced garlic

tomato bliss

Published October 24, 2010 pig slop , sauces, salsas, preserves 3 Comments
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The garden has set  a new record. It’s the 24th of October and I’m still (gleefully) processing tomatoes. Canned, roasted, frozen, dried, you name it. I’d say I’m almost tired of them, but I know better than that. In the height of the tomato frenzy, my friend Michael came for cocktails, bearing with him our regular delivery of fresh goat cheese and milk. If I recall, that week’s delights included feta, chev, and queso fresco. Michael hand crafts these amazing cheeses with milk from his herd of 20 some dairy goats in Herbster, WI. I am plain giddy to have this incredible cheese and milk produced just up the shore from me. But, back to the tomatoes. Since September my kitchen has been a war zone of chili peppers, tomatoes, and tomatillos. So the rows of salsa laden jars lined up like soldiers and the pressure canner canner on the counter sparked an unusual cocktail conversation topic for us – botulism.

I love my Montgomery Wards, No 7-16 Magic Seal pressure cooker. I consider it one of my prized possessions – which I have my mother to thank for. She scooped it up for a song at an estate sale years ago. I’ve never been a fan of the vinegary tasting salsa that boiling hot water baths yield. Which is where my love affair with the Magic Seal comes in. It absolves my salsas of vinegar and lemon juice – and hopefully botulism. The problem is that it is nearly impossible to find salsa and chutney recipes developed specifically for pressure canning. Which has left me to crossing my fingers and winging it. Armed with the 1950’s era recipe book that came with my canner as my guide, I have created a handful of recipes that I feel fairly confident will not kill anyone. Still, Michael brought that little lingering question of doubt that lurks in the back of my mind to the forefront, forcing me to scour the internet once more for some “approved” pressure canning recipes. Turning up empty handed yet again, I put the latest batch of salsa away in the pantry with a slightly raised eyebrow. But they have to go somewhere, I rationalize.  I need the counter space for the next basket of tomatillos waiting to be turned into salsa verde.

My favorite, and less riskier way to make use of these late season tomatoes is roast them.

Slow Roasted Tomatoes

I cut the small to mid-size tomatoes in half and quarter the larger ones. I put them in a single layer, skin side down on a heavy baking sheet. I then drizzle them with olive oil, followed by a second drizzling of honey (probably a couple of tablespoons of each I’d guess). Topped with some sea salt, ground black pepper, and if I’m feeling really fancy, some fresh thyme leaves scatted about. Then I roast them pretty much all day in a preheated 200ºF oven. I check on them everyone and a while, but for the most part I just let them be. Once they look gooey and caramelized (anywhere form 4 to 8 hours) I take them out and let them cool before bagging them for the freezer. Not of course without eating several spoonfuls fresh. For an even more savory tomato treat, I accidentally discovered the merits of baking them on a roasting sheet that had previously cooked the Sunday morning bacon. Oh my. These gems got a special asterisks on the freezer bag and will be used to flavor rich soups and stews this winter. The rest of them will go on pizza, into sauces, or be eaten on a good chunk on bread with a smear of that delightful chev.

And although it is probably a little late in this year’s season for canning, here are two salsa recipes – one tomato based and the other a tomatillo hot sauce – that I have made and pressure canned (without incident!) for years. But since I am not a USDA food science specialist, and nor can I find any concrete information to back up my recipes, I can’t in good conscious tell you to do the same. I can say however, that these are perfectly safe for the freezer! But for those of you with pressure canners who know what you are doing, I’ll just mutter under my breath 15 minutes at 10 PSI. I stress that any sort of canning (hot water bath or pressure) is not something to take lightly. Being quick, sterile and conscientious is critical at every step. Don’t mess around. Period. I highly recommend investing in a copy of the Ball Blue Book – a thick magazine like book available for about 8 bucks. In addition to loads of recipes it has very thorough instructions for both hot-water and pressure canning.

Thirteen Pepper (plus one more) Salsa

10 pounds of high quality tomatoes
1 pound onions
3 tablespoons salt
13 serrano peppers
1 small habeñero pepper
1 bunch cilantro, rinsed and dried

Bring a large stock pot of water to boil. Carefully drop in the tomatoes and let simmer for about a minute. Pour off water and let the tomatoes cool until you can comfortably handle them. Slip off their skins, remove any core and cut the tomatoes into fairly large chunks. I do this right over a colander so any excess seeds and juice drain away. As the colander fills up, drain off as much juice as you can and empty the tomatoes into your cooking pot (I use a stainless 6 quart). Once all the tomatoes are chopped and in the pan get them simmering gently, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, chop the onions and add to the tomatoes along with the slat. Continue to let everything gently simmer, stirring occasionally. I use my trusty Cuisanart food processor to chop my peppers. I remove the stem with a knife and roughly chop them before whizzing them up – seeds and all. If you prefer a more mild salsa, you might want to remove the seeds and ribs from some or all of the peppers and omit the habeñero. I would recommend donning gloves for this job. Pulse the peppers to your desired size. A spoonful of tomatoes from the pot will help this process if you want to get the pepper chunks particularly small. Add the peppers and chopped onions to the tomatoes and simmer until you reach your desired consistency. Depending on how much time I have I will sometimes cook them down a bit for a thicker salsa, or, if I am short on time, I settle for a slightly thinner salsa. Both have their merits. Bring the mixture to a good boil and stir in the chopped cilantro just before putting it in jars (or freezer bags). Yields about 6 to 7 pints, depending on how far you cooked it down)

Dragon’s Milk Hot Sauce
(also known as “AH·HOO·AH” Sauce – a sound that my father coined and is often times involuntarily emitted through one’s lips after eating)

3 pounds high quality tomatillos
2 – 3 medium onions
4-6 cloves garlic
1 small organic lime (juice and zest)
15 hot peppers (I use a variety – jalepeños, orange thai, chillipeños, hot wax, etc.)
5 – 25 habeñeros
1 tablespoon salt

Peel the husks from the tomatillos and arrange them in a single layer on one or two baking sheets. Roast them in a preheated oven at 325ºF for about 25 minutes. I like them oozy and a little bit charred here and there.While the tomatillos roast, you can begin preparing the peppers. (Again, remove the seeds and ribs if you like, but bare in mind that you are making hot sauce after all). Using a food processor or blender, whiz the garlic, lime juice, lime zest, and peppers together. You can also puree the onions in this mixture, but I prefer larger pieces of onion in the finished sauce, so I add them directly to the cooking pot. Once the tomatillos are roasted you can begin dropping them into the puree and pulsing to your desired consistency. I like a fairly smooth hot sauce. The tomatillos will be hot and juicy, so take care not to get spattered. Start transferring the mixture to your cooking pot (I use a stainless 6 quart) when the processor gets full. Once everything is processed to your liking and all in the cooking pot, bring it to a simmer. Add the onions if you haven’t done so already. Bring it to a nice hot boil before jarring (or freezing). Yields about 5 to 6 half pints (since this is hotter and people generally tend to use less of it, I preserve it in smaller portions)

* You can also turn this into a more mild mannered tomatillo salsa by cutting way back on the hot peppers. I think the habeñeros contribute the best flavor, so I would use 4 or 5 seeded peppers total.

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