Give Me Banana Bread or Give Me Death

...although I'd prefer the bread.

In fact, I've chosen banana bread over death in the past.

Apparently the best banana bread to be had is available from Julia's Best Banana Bread on Maui in a tiny village off one of the most perilous and nerve-wracking stretches of road anywhere in the world.  We got surprisingly close to the village once, but the final stretch of road before getting there raised enough red flags to get us to turn back.  A narrow, one-lane road, with blind hair-pin turns along the edge of a cliff with a sheer drop-off on one side, and a soaring rock wall on the other.  The VW at the bottom of the cliff sitting as an explicit testament to the potential severity of the situation.  Since we were in a rental car we figured it may be most prudent to actually be able to return the vehicle.

Still Julia's beckons.  One day, little bread, one day...

In the meanwhile, in my quest to get as close to the best loaf possible without risking life or violation of an automobile rental contract, I stumbled across this blog.  The recipe seemed simple enough, boasts as being "the best banana bread ever" (Hear that?  EVER!!!), so I gave it a whirl.

I don't doubt the superiority of Julia's bread, but until I have tangible proof, I have to say this stuff is currently sitting in first place.

Still curious?  I direct you now to the Foodess for what I'm titling "Possibly the best banana bread ever but then again I've valued my life over adventure in the past and haven't tried Julia's yet".  You may amend the title as you see fit.

www.foodess.com/2010/09/the-best-banana-bread-ever/

Bisque Rip-Off

Going out to restaurants is something of a double edged sword.  One side of the blade indicates I don’t have to cook (YAY!), and the other allows me a way of peeking into what other people are doing in the kitchen.  Perfect fodder for shamelessly stealing inspiring new recipes.

Also, it can sometimes be the most unlikely item which ends up making the most pointed impression. (See post on mashed potatoes)

For example, while recently on vacation on Maui, the hubby and I went to Mama’s Fish House.  For those unfamiliar with the genius of this place, let me say a) it’s pricey, and b) it’s totally worth it!  (Gin lovers take note: Their Pau Hana cocktail has become one of my needful things)

Anyways, they often serve a small amuse bouche.  Usually a shotglass of a soup not found on the menu.  When we visited them it was a fish stock-based corn bisque.

*Digression:  how much do I love the French?  “Amuse bouche”?! “Bisque”?!  Damn!  They know how to market an otherwise uninteresting something to full effect!  Technically, an amuse bouche is little more than a trial sample, and a bisque is soup blitzed beyond recognition in a blender.  Somehow saying “Would you like a sample of blendered corn soup?” doesn’t incite the same “je ne sais quoi”.  And there they go again…

Digression over, and now back to the task at hand. 

So yes, one of the stars of the experience was the bisque.  Amidst a cornucopia of macadamia-crusted albacores, passionfruit-sauced cephalopods, and coconut-rolled crustaceans it was blender soup which stole the limelight.

Corn Bisque

·      1 carrot, diced

·      1 leek, pale green & white bit only.  Cut into rings and soak to remove dirt. Drain.

·      1 stalk celery, diced

·      3 ears corn, kernels sliced off cob.  Or about 3-4 cups frozen corn

·      4 cups fish stock (I totally went with a store-bought frozen version)

·      1 small sprig fresh rosemary.  Only have dried?  Don’t bother.

·      3-4 tablespoons olive oil or butter

·      Salt & pepper

Heat oil or butter in a heavy pot over medium-high heat.  When melted, toss in first three veggies and a pinch of salt.  Stir to coat thoroughly, and sauté for about 4 or 5 minutes.

Add corn and rosemary, and sauté for an additional 3 minutes or so.  Don’t worry if the veggies are still firm.  Next we cook the crap out of them with the stock.

Add stock and cook the crap out of the veggies.  By which I mean bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, and cook at a simmer for about half an hour.

Remove any woody stalks from the rosemary, and puree the soup in a blender (in small batches if needed) until smooth and creamy.  

Return soup to pot and heat through. 

Adjust salt and pepper to taste, and serve.

As you can see in the picture up top I garnished with a sprinkle of paprika and a sprig of parsley.  To be honest I only did it for the sake of this pic.  I then poured it out of the fancy bowl, and back into the un-fancy small cauldrons which hold substantially more slop.

Unlike many of my other attempts at recreating other recipes, this one was surprisingly close to the original, or at least made a strong enough good impression to not simply be a pale reminder of the original.  As I’ve said before, if you have a good stock, then it’s hard to screw up a soup.  Consider that a challenge if you like.

Cauliflower Fritters

It finally happened.  

I found a way to cook cauliflower that doesn’t involve drowning it in sauce.  My usual approach would be a cheese sauce, or even a curry.  It’s not that I don’t like cauliflower, but to be honest, it bores the living hell out of me.  It’s like broccoli called and told you his albino cousin was coming over, then the cousin shows up and has no pop-culture knowledge, and proceeds to sit in the other room, make it smell like farts, and watches reruns of ‘This Old House’.

My friend Dan was talking about these the other day.  The recipe itself comes from Malta, and more specifically Dan got it from the lovely Liz on Youtube, who puts aside the BS and pomp for the sake of making REAL food, REAL good.  The proper name of it is something along the lines of frituli ta pastard, but I can’t seem to find anything online to allow me to confirm or deny that.  Unfortunately I was unable to come up with a suitable Shakespearean pun a la “hoisted with his own pastard” by the time of posting.  But I know, dear reader, that you’ll see that the thought was there, and hopefully come to a puntastic ending of your own accord.

Oh, and parents take note: This just may be the way to get cauliflower down your kid’s throat without wooden wedges and a catapult.  Umm… you’re welcome.

There’s definitely room for add-ins in this recipe.  Bacon, potato, spinach, etc.   I suspect a handful of sharp cheddar would be pretty brilliant, as well.  Of course, I heard bacon and decided “I’m making THAT!”

Makes 5-6 patties

1 head cauliflower, florets cut off

1 large clove garlic, minced

3-4 Tbsp fresh parsley

6 strips bacon, cut into bits (optional)

1 egg

Semolina or cornmeal (NOT flour)

Salt & Pepper

Olive oil for frying

Bring a pot of water to a boil.  Add the cauliflower florets and cook until tender.  Drain, and set aside to cool.

Meanwhile, cook bacon, drain excess fat on paper towels, and set aside.

When the cauliflower is cool, mash thoroughly with a potato masher.  Note: a potato ricer is damned near useless.  Yes, I tried.  It squeezed water out quite nicely, but didn’t actually “mash” per se.  You aren’t going to achieve the same smoothness as mashed potato, so just mash until the pieces are small, crumbly and of uniform size.

Using a sieve, press as much of the liquid out of the mashed cauliflower as you can.  Alternatively, you could squeeze it out handful by handful, discarding the liquid as you go.  Don’t worry too much about pressing every last drop out.

Add in egg, parsley, garlic, bacon, salt & pepper to taste, and mix well.

Form handfuls of the mix into small patties and dust with the semolina.  In the video Liz explains how this is the key to a proper, crispy crust.

Heat a small amount of oil (1-2tsp) in a skillet over med-high heat, and fry patties until golden, flip em, and fry again.

One of the great things about these bronzed beauties is they don’t require a sauce or condiment.  I have it on good authority that they work well as a cold snack, too, but I can’t imagine they’ll ever be hanging out long enough in my house to find that out.

Minus the bacon, these have the potential to be a great, low-fat, and tasty side dish or appetizer. 

My qualms with the cauliflower as a somewhat somnolent ingredient have been put aside.  We’ve found something new in common.

Which just goes to show: if a relationship isn’t working, you CAN change the other party, and your bliss shall be complete.

Squash: so much more than a weird sport

Tis the season for members of the Marrow family to start showing up in the grocery stores.  Acorn, spaghetti, butternut, Turk's Turban, pumpkin, and gourds out the wazoo.  I often find myself stocking up on various squash with the best of intentions, but more often than not they become ornamentals.  Condemned to become the centerpiece of a rotting, impromptu cornucopia amongst appliances and unopened mail on the counter.

This year will be different, I swear.

I solemnly vow to buy squash as needed only.  I shall purchase with purposeful intent, and a recipe in mind.  I shall not say “Oooo, that’s pretty!” and bring a miscellaneous weird gourd home and permit it to decompose on a random surface in the kitchen.

In this moment I grow.

I recently picked up the book ‘Moro East’ by Sam and Sam Clark.  I’ve ogled their books often in the past.  Their recipes celebrate Mediterranean foods, with particular focus on the Moorish influences. 

‘Moro East’ also reads as something of a requiem.  The Clarks were part of a gardening community on one of the garden allotments in London’s East End.  Sadly, despite the fact that the land had been bequeathed to East End families “in perpetuity” back in 1900, they were bulldozed in 2007 to become part of the lands used for the 2012 Olympics.

So much for perpetuity.

You can read more about the loss of these properties, as well as the displacement of an entire community here.

Within the pages of ‘Moro East’ there’re recipes based on ingredients harvested from the garden allotments, the people of varied ethnic backgrounds who contributed to the community, as well as people the Clarks have met on their travels.

This past week I zeroed in on two recipes in particular.  Pumpkin Pisto, and Roast Chicken with Sumac.  I’ll focus on the Pisto, though, as it was by FAR the scene-stealer!

As per usual, I made several significant alterations and additions to the recipe.  Since this was to be the only accompanying dish to the chicken, I wanted there to be more veggie variety, so I added carrots, yam, tomatoes and eggplant.  Here’s the recipe as I made it, with a strong nod to the original in ‘Moro East’.

 Harvest Veggie Pisto

·      About 6 tbsp Olive oil, more as needed

·      1 onion, diced

·      1 red pepper, seeded and diced

·      2 cloves garlic, sliced thin

·      1 acorn squash, peeled, seeded and cut into chunks

·      1 large carrot, peeled and cut into large chunks

·      1 yam or sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks

·      1 eggplant, peeled and cut into chunks*

·      1 -1 ½ tsp finely chopped fresh rosemary

·      1 or 2 bayleaves

·      1 tbsp oregano (preferably fresh, but I used dried)

·      About 1 ½ cups tomatoes, diced

·      ½ -1 tsp ground cumin

·      A few grates nutmeg (teeny pinch)

·      Handful (total) chopped cilantro and parsley

·      1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

·      Salt & pepper

In a large saucepan (I used the base of my Ikea tagine) over medium heat, sauté the onion with a pinch of salt in olive oil for about 15-20 minutes.  Stir and cook until beginning to caramelize. 

Add the red pepper, and continue to cook for another 10 minutes or so. 

Add carrot, yam or sweet potato, garlic, bay leaves, and rosemary, cooking and stirring for a few minutes until all ingredients are evenly mixed.

Next, add the squash, reduce the heat and cover.  Allow to simmer about 10 minutes, before adding the tomatoes, eggplant, oregano, cumin and nutmeg.  Mix well, cover and allow to cook a further 10 minutes until the veggies have softened.

Toss the cilantro and parsley over the vegetables, sprinkle the balsamic vinegar over and stir gently until evenly dispersed throughout.

Adjust seasoning as desired, and serve.

*Often eggplant can be somewhat bitter, and it’s recommended to sprinkle cut eggplant with salt and allow the bitter juices to be drawn out.  I didn’t find that was necessary with this recipe, as the sweetness from the other ingredients defeated any bitterness which may have tried to rear its head.

Getting Over "Under-the-Weather"

Wow, I ought to consider turning pro at posting about not posting.

This past week had its challenges.  Our cat (the part-Siamese who sometimes shows up in the background of my photos) became seriously ill, and my world came to a screeching halt.  Making meals fell by the wayside, which was just as well because I had no appetite.

Umpteen taxi trips to the vet later, and she's back at home, wide awake, demanding of both food and attention, and generally back to the Divine Incarnation of Feline Loveliness which we know and adore.

Some would say "It's just a cat", but I don't buy that at all.  All of the beasts who take up residence with me do become family.  It's like with anything, really: if you say "It's just..." then obviously it's meaningless to you, and you're better off without it.

I tend to take the same approach with food.  I know I've mentioned before how insane I may be about sourcing out the best ingredients I can find, but it's because I DO care.  About myself, my husband, and repercussions to the world around me based on my own choices.

In the midst of my cat's convalescence, my friend Manuela sent me a link to this article about accommodating both sides of this "argument" when it comes to food.  The brilliant minds of New York-based food clique Studiofeast conjured up a dining experience which observes both sides of this "duality".  The vegetarian diner gets their meal representing their own dietary belief system, and the carnivore gets their carnage, yet the meals look the same.

If only all the worlds problems could be solved with such an act of compromise...

Leftover Hangover

So, I've been a bit of a slug lately as far as the kitchen activity goes.  My motivations have skipped between the painfully lazy to the barely edible.  I won't pretend I've made anything of consequence, or try and sell you on some experimental recipe that is better left to line a litter box.

However, when last we chatted, I was in the middle of trying to reconcile my attitude towards birthdays.  My own, specifically.

This year I took matters into my own hands and put the invite out to a few friends to come over, eat, drink, be merry, etc.  I foolishly said "It's caaaaasuaaaaaalll.  Great if you can make it, no woooorrriiiiies if you can't..."

I now know those words are stupidity incarnate.  Not because I blame any friends who weren't able to join (they were only following instructions, after all), but because I'm a complete over-preparing psychopath, who, without any set numbers, prepared enough food as if EVERYONE were attending.

Wrong.

Yes, I ended up with a Pharaoh's tomb worth of leftover food in the aftermath.  What does one do when one has buckets of chorizo and enough cheese to constipate a polar bear?  Mac and cheese, of course.

Once again, I direct you to Fine Cooking for their classic/basic recipe.  There's so much room for add-ins and substitutions that it's the ideal way to clean out your fridge when one finds oneself with a small Parisian marketplace worth of cheese and meat on hand. 

Oh, and the breadcrumb crust?  Not optional.  So good!

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!