Unbirthday

Today may or may not be my birthday.

I haven’t decided yet.

I’m not generally known to be the most gracious about these things, but at the moment I’m not in my usual habit of finding the mossiest rock to crawl under and hide for the day.  I may even leave my cell phone on and the landline plugged in.  Progress.

My usual loathing of birthdays isn’t some vainglorious mourning of the passing of youth, an emo-esque reflection of the inevitable decay of age, or any such self-indulgent dribble (I save THAT for this blog).  Believe it or not, I don’t like attention.  Particularly unwarranted.  It was my mother that did all the work, so generally if accolades are to be handed out I think she should be getting the lionesses share of them.  Does this mean she gets a card from me on my birthday?  Hell no.  I don’t do cards.

Also this wasn’t some sort of spontaneous revelation at a ridiculously petty age (like say, 19) that I had gotten “old”.  I dreaded the birthday parties of my childhood equally, even though I wasn’t necessarily in possession of the tools to identify the “why”.

My “why” is somewhat clearer, and so is the realization that there’s a certain amount of “suck it up, princess” that goes a long way in these matters.

So, in true birthday fashion, I’m taking liberties today because it’s convenient to do so.  There’s no full-on new recipe being shared today, but rather a simple premise, and a callback to an earlier post.

My friend Tony had mentioned going to a potluck dinner and taking along…wait for it… ganache covered Rice Krispie treats!  Have you ever?!  I hadn’t.  Although I haven’t yet made them, it hardly seems a stretch of the imagination that they’ll be nothing short of orgasmic and coma-inducing.

If you don’t know how to make Rice Krispie treats (*tsk tsk tsk*), the first thing you want to do is go out and buy a box of the cereal, and a bag of marshmallows, and then follow the recipe that’s on the cereal box.

Now, I recommend you go here and scroll down for the ganache recipe.  

A few options are before you at this point.

You could:

a)    place cut squares of krispie treats on a cooling rack and drizzle them lightly with the ganache.

b)   Dip one end of squares into the ganache for more coverage

c)    Before cutting the squares, pour the ganache over the top, creating an ‘icing’ layer (not sure how well this one would stick, but I just like having three options)

As I said, I haven’t made these yet, but I do plan on making them for a few friends who are coming over on the weekend.  There was no point in making up a batch and having them just hanging out for a few days.  They are to be my treat on the weekend, not my guilt through the week.

I haven’t decided on the Drizzle, Dip, or Dump option, yet, but there will be photos to follow, so you'll find out which path was taken.

Just as my Mom is deserving of the credit for my birthday, it’s fair to say that Tony is to credit for introducing me to these.  So, Happy Unbirthday to the three of us!

All Hail the Queen!

The first book of hers I owned.  Life changing.

They say pasta originated in China and was brought back to Italy by Marco Polo’s expeditions.  Can you imagine if that restless Venetian had chosen to go west instead?  What would he have brought back?  Boiled mutton from England?  Hardly inspirational.

What did result from the introduction of pasta to the Italians can only be described as history-changing.  Hearty plates of high-piled noodles, infused with the aromas of garlic, peppers, cheeses, and of course, tomatoes.

Unfortunately later restless souls “discovered” the New World, settled here, and some centuries later saw fit to bastardize those holy pasta traditions.  (Seriously: noodles in a can?  Oy!)

As a child I would often wake early.  I would grab my box of Lego, and plonk myself in front of the TV, waiting for the morning cartoons to kick in.  I would find myself watching “Biba’s Italian Kitchen”, and even though I didn’t understand many of the ingredients, I just knew I wanted to be in that kitchen.

Biba Caggiano became the Italian mother I never had, and a role model for this then-budding foodie.  She upped the game completely.  Suddenly I knew there was a world beyond canned tomato-based spaghetti sauces.  Italian food meant so much more than pizza.  I know how trite that sounds, but for the limited ingredients available to our small town at that time, Biba’s show was like the arrival of a fantastic new Messiah. 

Except for when she cooked with rabbit.  Never could wrap my brain around that.  Poor Thumper.

So, today’s post is a shameless plug for all things Biba.  I’m certain I’ll be writing about one of her recipes on here in the future, but for now I think it’s only fair to just endorse the whole shebang.

I will however give a quick nod to one recipe which seemed completely unlikely, and yet turned out to be one of the most incredible things my kitchen has ever turned out.  Risotto with scallops, porcini mushrooms and saffron (pgs 103-104 in the above pictured bible...I mean book).  Did you think of putting those together?  I hadn’t.

Biba’s food is food to impress.  Yet, despite the intricacy of some of the recipes, it always comes through as unpretentious.  Italian soul-food, as it were.

I don’t know that Marco Polo would’ve had any inkling as to just how incredible the legacy of pasta would become to his own people.  With chefs and cooks like Biba, though, even though they are creating what are now time-honoured dishes within their culture, they come across as whole new worlds.  I don’t mean new worlds as in WRONG worlds, as in a certain contemporary who claims to be reintroducing Italian foods, yet cranks out heresy in the form of “hot dog salad”.  I kid you not…

Be real.

Be well fed.

Be satisfied.

Be Biba.

Chapters

Amazon US

(no, I don't get a kickback from recommending these)

Or if you happen to be in Sacramento, go to the source!

A dumpling by any other name...

I’m usually the first to admit that things are just better deep-fried.  Is it a healthy option?  Uuuuuhhh… no.  But it IS a damned tasty one.

Meat.  Wrapped in pastry.  Deep-fried.  Served with sauce.  Of course I’m referring to the gem of the Asian dim-sum repertoire: won-tons.

I can usually ply myself with a plate of these suckers until I collapse with repletion, a trail of sweet and sour sauce oozing down my shirt, with little more than the sound of my arteries hardening as a soundtrack.

I chose to run in a slightly more responsible direction with it this time, though.  Oh, they’re still deep-fried, alright!  But rather than the “weight” of meat as the filling, I embraced a lighter, nutritious, and (dare I say?) ethical option.

I used Yves Veggie Ground Round but you could just bulk up on the mushroom content, or even break up some firm tofu into bitty chunks (up the soy sauce and other seasonings as desired if using tofu).  Ooooor, yeah, you could use ground beef, or pork, or a mix of the two.  However, I’ve gone through the trouble of titling these VEGETARIAN, so I think it would behoove us all to stick with the veggie options, non?  Oui.

Vegetarian Won-tons

1 package wonton wrappers

340g package Yves Veggie Ground Round (or equivalent in tofu)

6-8 shitake mushrooms (finely chopped)

2 green onions (finely chopped)

1 medium carrot (finely grated)

2 cloves garlic (minced)

1 inch cube ginger (finely grated)

A pinch Chinese 5 spice powder (optional)

About 1 tsp ground black pepper

1 egg (optional)

1-2 Tbsp Soy sauce

1 egg (optional) see below*

Oil for frying 

 

Combine the Ground Round with your chopped and minced veggies, tossing in the black pepper as well as the 5 spice powder if you’re using it. 

Sprinkle soy sauce to taste over the veggies and mix well.

If using egg, crack it in and mix thoroughly.

Refrigerate mix for at least an hour, but it may be made up several hours in advance.

Now comes the fun part (keep in mind “fun” sometimes means “tedious”).  Have a small bowl of water on hand, as well as a baking sheet or large plate lightly dusted with flour.

Working one wonton wrapper at a time, place about 1Tbsp filling onto the center of the wrapper.  Moisten two edges towards one corner (as eloquently displayed by the cutting-edge graphics in the diagram below) of the wrapper, and fold the far corner over the filling, and press along the moistened edge.  

Next, moisten the three points and fold slightly over themselves.  Place folded wonton on floured baking sheet or plate, and repeat a squillion times, or at least until you run out of wrappers and/or filling.

Heat oil in deep-sided pot until bubbles rise easily around a chopstick pressed to the bottom (350-375°).  Drop the won-tons in a few at a time, so as not to crowd the oil.  Fry until golden (a minute or two), flipping and bronzing the other side, as well.

Remove to a bowl lined with absorbent towel, and place in a warm oven while you fry up the rest.

Serve with a dipping sauce of your own choosing.  Sweet and sour, Thai sweet chili, etc.  Surprisingly, French dressing is kinda kick-ass as a dip, too!  In this instance I had shitake-miso gravy, as well as the sauce from the bok choy and oyster sauce I served it with.

Technically, you aren’t obligated to fry these.  I just had a craving for crispiness, and you, dear reader, got caught in the crossfire.  You could pan-fry them, gyoza-style.  Drop them into boiling broth with some green onion slivers for a won-ton soup.  Maybe you just felt like making them, but don’t feel like eating them: freeze uncooked won-ton on floured baking sheet.  When solid, drop into a freezer bag or other airtight container, and save for when the craving does arise.  …and it will…  oooohhhh, but it will…

*Egg can be used for several reasons, and in several different ways here.  It can be a great binding agent for the other ingredients, making the mix easier to work with, as well as holding the filling together while cooking.  In the past I’ve also pre-cooked the egg (as a thin omelette), chopped into shreds and added to the mix.  It has more of a presence this way, but of course, does nothing to hold it together.

I didn’t actually use any egg in this particular recipe, as I was aiming to make a vegan version.  I thought I was successful until I read the ingredients on the wonton wrappers.  Yup.  Egg.

A post without a post

Allo all,

Technically, I'm already overdue for a post for this week.  To be honest, I have nothing to report.  I managed to tweak my neck and shoulder somehow, and as a result haven't been cranking anything of interest out of the kitchen.  Never mind the fact that sitting and typing for any extended period of time is a pale shade of hellish misery.

Rather than insult you with half-assed tales of "How to Make Dinner from Cheese and Crackers", or "Mr. Noodles.  Friend or Foe?" I'll just concede defeat for now, and join you again next week.

Here're a couple things which I hope to be attacking soon, though:

1) Vegetarian won-tons
2) A collaboration with a local chef, tweaking the aromatics of dishes to create new "fusion" concoctions.

A brilliant long weekend to all! XX

…and a little light S&M for dessert

Pardon me whilst I wax nostalgic for a moment.  I have very fond memories of pretty much living on the beach during the summers of my childhood.  My grandparents lived on the waterfront, and my brother and I would spend every chance we possibly could running around on the sandbar which was revealed at low tide, building sandcastles, terrorizing the living crap out of every piece of sea life we came across, and drinking buckets full of lukewarm Tang which my Gramma would bring down in a plastic pitcher.

There are so many smells that I associate with those long lazy days, that it’s hard to choose a favourite.  Even the stranger ones seem to hit a happy place in my brain: the aforementioned tang of Tang, the saline waft of hot sun on rocks, the sweatiness of creosote on the pilings which lined the front of my grandparents yard, an occasional lilt of wild tea roses, and the omnipresent mingling of dry tree needles, moss and sun-scorched grass.  Then, at this time of summer, there would be the Dominator/trix of all the other smells: The ripening blackberries.

My brother and I would scour the beach for the best, most untouched patches of the blackberries, cramming our faces until our cheeks and chins were stained crimson, and we pooped purple for a week.  We took few precautions towards the thorns, and barely noticed the shred marks, which made our skin look like we’d tangled with a herd of particularly temperamental felines.

So, you can imagine my delight the other day while walking home with my groceries, and that familiar sweetness plucked at my nose.  Baskets of fresh local blackberries had made it to one of my local markets.

Needless to say, I picked some up, and brought them home to mingle with some fresh-from-the-yard blueberries which were just waiting for a purpose.

Thus S&M Crisp was on the dessert menu for that evening.  So titled because the berries were black and blue, and also as a small homage to those summer days long since past when my brother and I would endure excruciating pain for those moments of blissful berry-induced nirvana.

S&M Crisp

Preheat oven to 375°

Filling:

·      Blueberries and blackberries.  Yeah, ummm…I really don’t know a specific quantity. I conferred with my Mom on this one, and she’s in agreement that it's up to you.  You could use enough berries to make up anywhere between 2 and 4 cups.  Depending on the pan you use, and how thick you want the fruit layer.

·      1-2 Tbsp cornstarch

·      2 Tbsp sugar.  You may need more sugar depending on the sweetness of the fruit.

 Toss the fruit with cornstarch to coat, and then 2 Tbsp sugar.  

Crust:

·      3/4 c brown sugar

·      3/4 c flour

·      3/4 c oats

·      1/4 c softened butter (maybe a Tbsp or so more for blendability)

Smoosh crust ingredients together in bowl until blended.  I just use my hands.  Way easier to knead it together than have a brain aneurism with a spoon or spatula.

Bursting berries, ochred oats and failed photo focus

Sprinkle pieces of crust mix on top of prepared fruit, and chuck into preheated oven for 30-40 minutes.  Remove when crust is handsomely golden.  It’s also a good idea to place a cookie sheet underneath if you're using a shallow pan, as the fruit juices can blurp over the sides.

 

Okay, so I took the easy way out and bought the berries rather than put myself through the iron maiden of a blackberry patch.  However, this is my mothers recipe, and since I haven't given her credit for it until now, I think that's enough of an exercise in potential masochism to make up for it.

My friend Manuela was on hand to partake in the devouring of this little pan full of happiness.  She later recreated this at home, creating a vegan version by substituting a soy butter for the real butter.  I think the bible speaks of butter omission as one of the greater sins, but for vegans and/or the lactose intolerant I guess it's good you have non-cramping options.

Photo and vegan alternative courtesy of Manuela

Insert random fig pun here: ___________

Appeasing the sugar-craving dessert demons, as well as maintaining variety can be a juggling act.  It’s usually best to stick with the tried and true rather than chance “mixing it up” and end up being disappointed, and sending your already overtired husband out to pick up a Twix or Haagen Daaz (I’ve heard stories about this happening).

While flipping through Nigella’s “Forever Summer”, and contemplating writing a West Coast version (working title options: “Barely Summer”, “Never Summer”, “It Still Ain’t REALLY Summer, but Screw it, I’m Gonna Cook Like it is!”), I came across her recipe for “Figs for a Thousand and One Nights”

I was intrigued.  Not so much by the title (although lovely), or the preparation (although simple), but rather by the fact that I had a container of figs in the fridge which I’d purchased in one of those spur of the moment “Oooo!  Fresh figs!” instances.  Had it not been for Madame Lawson, and the timely stumbling upon of the recipe, I’m quite certain the plastic clamshell holding the figs would’ve soon proven to be their coffin.

Additional interest was piqued by the presence of orange flower water in the recipe.  Few things put me in mind of Morocco quite so completely.  Okay, maybe standing in a sauna with exhaust blowing in my face while being harassed to “Come in!  Just browse!” would place as a close second, but since the sauna seems to be on the fritz these days I’ll just stick with the flower water.

As you probably guessed, I didn’t follow the recipe quite to the prescribed letter.  Primarily due to the fact that I didn’t have the EXACT ingredients on hand, so I ad libbed.  C’mon, I had orange flower water.  I deserve points for that alone!

Here’re the two ingredient listings, so you can compare how completely unprepared to properly make this I truly was.  Please note I admit to my shortcomings at the end, but not a moment before.

Nigella’s Recipe

·      12 black figs

·      50g unsalted butter

·      1 tsp ground cinnamon

·      1 Tbsp vanilla sugar

·      1 ½ tsp rosewater

·      1 ½ tsp orange flower water

      To garnish

·      500 g mascarpone cheese

·      100 g slivered pistachios

My recipe (not that I’m in disagreement with Nigella.  This is just what I had on hand)

·      8 green Calmyrna figs

·      3 tbsp butter

·      ½ tsp cinnamon

·      what the hell is vanilla sugar?  I used 1 Tbsp sugar with about ¼ tsp vanilla extract

·      2 tsp orange flower water

      To garnish (mixed in a bowl)

·      ¼ cup cream cheese

·      ½ tsp icing sugar

·      few drops Grand Marnier

Nigella said to preheat a grill or oven to the highest it will go.  I wasn’t quite ready to bring the house temperature up, so I just turned on the broiler.

Start out by cutting the figs into quarters, but not all the way through.  Open and place in a baking pan.

Over low heat, melt the butter and add the cinnamon, vanilla, sugar, and flower water.  Stir and pour over the prepared figs.

Nigella says to “blister under the hot grill for a few minutes and then serve” a couple figs per person, with a dollop of mascarpone (fancied-up cream cheese), a drizzle of the syrup from the pan, and the pistachios (errrr… I put a sprig of lavender in the picture.  That counts, right?!)

Admission of Defeat?

No.  FAR from defeated.  End result: it truly does taste incredible, and completely reminiscent of repasts taken in the cool shade of our riad's balcony. However, I found there to be some textural issues.  This is most likely to do with my own choice of alterations to the recipe.  Things I would do different in future are as follows:

           I.     I would be more inclined to try and cook the butter & sugar mix into more of a syrup before being drizzled over the figs.  It didn’t pan out so well in my instance, but it could well have been because of the additional moisture and alcohol of the vanilla extract.

         II.     A hot oven is probably better than under the broiler.  The tips were browning long before the rest of the figs seemed to be affected.  Also the syrup really hadn’t had a chance to carmelize (see point I).

Just buy some damned pistachios, or toast up some almond slivers.  The little extra some-sorta-sumthin that the presence of either nut would’ve lent the dessert can’t be overstated.

Croutons. So much more than garnish.

Sometimes it’s the simplest thing that makes all the difference in the world.  The barista getting your latte just right.  Finding the bag of crackers you’ve bought has perfectly toasted edges on every single one (happened to me recently, and my toes are still wiggling).  A plate of French fries served to just your particular liking (I like ‘em crispy, FYI).

A couple years ago while out with friends we’d ordered a large Caesar salad to share around the table.  Don’t get me wrong, the salad itself was lovely, but it was the croutons which stole the show.  Perfectly golden (hm, seems I have a toasting fetish), crisp on the outside with a delightful squish of chewiness inside (insert Duncan Hines “Crispy Chewy” jingle here).  This became a long-standing staple of our visits to this particular venue.

Recently we returned to the restaurant, ordered the salad, casting glances to one another and whispering “Ooooooooh, the crooooutons!”  Salad arrived.  The croutons looked…different, somehow.

The croutons tasted different, somehow.

Somehow, the croutons were different.

And not as good.

So yes, the task fell to myself to replicate the celebrated croutons of yore. 

God may be in the details, but a wicked crouton is all in the bread.  After much experimenting (okay, so I only did it twice) I found that using stale bread, as most recipes advise, actually produced a less than perfect crouton.

Start out with a good loaf of bread, or even some buns.  Don’t go for one of those grocery store loaves of French bread which have a consistency closer to cotton candy than bread.  Get a good, dense, crusty loaf.  Even though you’ll most likely be cutting the crusts off, I have a theory that there’s some sort of genius that takes place in the baking of the bread.  If it’s got a good crust then it’s most likely sealed in a bunch of the moisture which would be otherwise evaporated in the cooling of the bread.  Seems to make sense.  Right…?

My best results were with a trio of Portuguese buns which I’d cut the crusts off of.  They were only a day old, and I repeated the recipe with the same buns a day later, but they’d already lost too much moisture.  The latter batch were unappealing, explode-in-your-mouth, shards of dessicated shrapnel.  Oh, they were tasty shrapnel, for sure, but texture is everything.

This makes enough for one large salad, with some extras left over for munching on whenever you walk through the kitchen.

Croutons

• 3 Portuguese buns, crusts off and cubed, or enough bread to equal about 3 cups cubes
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 Tbsp olive oil
• 2 Tbsp butter
• Salt and pepper 

*Note the tea towel handwoven by my cousin.  Jealous?  Yeah y'are.

Preheat over to 400°

In a large skillet, or even a deep pot (I use my wok) melt the butter in the olive oil over med-high heat.

When butter is melted, add the garlic and fry gently for a minute or so. 

Add a pinch of pepper, stir in, then tumble the cubes of bread into the pan, quickly stirring and tossing to coat evenly.  You’ll probably notice that it’s almost impossible to get the oil mixture on everything, but that’s fine.  When you bake them in the oven it will allow the bread more time to distribute the oil throughout.

Next, adjust seasoning, tosstosstoss, then dump the oil-coated bread onto a baking sheet.  Use a couple cubes of bread to wipe the skillet/pot/wok/whatever clean of any remaining oil and garlic.

Set the sheet on the middle rack of your preheated oven for 8-10 minutes.  About half way through the baking time give them a quick toss/sheet-shake to allow even browning, and oil absorption.

When handsomely bronzed, remove from the oven, and drain on paper towel to remove any excess surface oil.

Serve with salad, soup, or by the bowlful while writing a blog… just an idea…

Eating the crumbs is expected, but not mandatory.

Hope you enjoy!

*Hey!  Have you liked me on Facebook?  Click it…  go ooooooon…