Feeds:
Posts
Comments

apartment 4F

It’s well past midnight and I’m sitting in a boxed-up apartment, unable to finish packing and unable to go to sleep. The bookshelf is empty, the furniture sold or given away, the art propped against the wall. It must sound funny to you that I’m about to wax nostalgic about an apartment that I’ve lived in for a mere handful of months. But I will. And I hope you’ll indulge me.

4F is Julie‘s apartment and has always been a vortex of social gathering. It’s located in a complex of buildings spanning three square blocks and surrounding an outdoor space, now more concrete than green, that we came to call Melrose Place for its centrality to dozens of friend and the high probability of running into one of them on the way home. 4F faces that urban courtyard of sorts and from its fourth floor perch, you can take in the comings and goings. Julie’s place is where we gather for shabbat. For leftovers. For birthday partying. For pre-partying. For hey-I-made-too-much-soup-so-come-over. For I’m-coming-into-town-and-need-a-place-to-crash-tomorrow.

I moved to New York after graduate school knowing no one. 4F is where I made most of my friends.

This time around, after five years in Boston, I took over Julie’s lease for a few months. That was in October. When I carted my suitcases of clothing and boxes of too-heavy pots into 4F with an air of uncertainty about the future – my future – I felt welcomed immediately by the comfort of Julie’s home.

The lease ends tomorrow and Julie came over this morning to pack up more of her stuff. In between knocks on the door and visits from neighbors, I slid a batch of granola into the oven.

Maple pecan granola

I’ve  been slow to jump on the homemade granola bandwagon. That all changed when, just a few days into the new year, I went to dinner at Eleven Madison Park – a  restaurant about as far a cry as you can get from granola’s hippy-dippy connotation of my youth – and they sent me home with a jar of their house-made cereal. The next morning, I showered EMP’s granola over plain yogurt, tasting the embodiment of hospitality as dinner extended to breakfast and the meal continued from the restaurant into my own kitchen. I was hooked.

Maple pecan granola Maple pecan granola

The scent of maple and toasted pecans linger as I continue to sit here – so well past midnight that it’s more morning than night, really. I have a jar of granola ready for Julie to pack up when she comes by tomorrow. I mean today.

As for 4F, it’ll be in good hands. My friend Jessica is moving in later this month.

The old joke goes that that Jews say goodbye without  leaving and I’m no exception, so rather than letting this elegy to an apartment go on and on, I’m gonna ghost.

Maple pecan granola

This recipe is a hybrid of  Eleven Madison Park’s granola and Megan Gordon’s general granola guidelines. The flavors are inspired by the most breakfast-y scones I’ve ever made. I recommend throwing a big handful atop a bowl of plain Greek yogurt drizzled with maple syrup. Also, it’s not so bad with vanilla ice cream. Just in case you were wondering.

There is a fair amount of salt in my granola, which may not suit everyone’s taste, so I’d suggest starting with only 1 teaspoon for your first batch. If you like your granola clumpy, don’t stir it while it’s cooking. And if you like it really clumpy, add an egg white to better bind everything together. 

Makes about 6 cups

- 3 C rolled oats

- 1 ½ C chopped pecans

- ½ C sliced almonds

- ½ C pepitas (pumpkin seeds)

- 2 T flax seeds (mix of dark and light)

- 1 – 1 ½ t salt

- ⅓ C brown sugar

- ½ C maple syrup (Grade B)

- ⅓ C olive oil

Prep. Preheat oven to 300ºF. Line a large baking sheet with parchment.

Mix. In a large bowl, mix together the oats, nuts, and seeds.

Warm. In a small saucepan set over low heat, warm the sugar, syrup and olive oil until the sugar has just dissolved, then remove from heat.

Mix again. Fold the liquids into the mixture of oats, making sure to coat the dry ingredients well.

Bake. Spread the granola in a thin layer on the baking sheet. Bake for 35-40 minutes, checking and stirring the granola every 10-15 minutes. It’s ready when the oats have darkened to a golden brown and the mixture is no longer sticky. As the granola cools, it will harden.

Store. Allow the granola to cool to room temperature and transfer to an air-tight container. It should keep for about 10 days.

Today, we’re taking a short trip back in time. And forward in time.

When I made my first tentative steps towards moving back to New York, I spent a lot of time feeling around. Where did I want to live? Two short Brooklyn sublets and I decided to return to my trusty old Upper West Side neighborhood. (Exploring Park Slope and the neighborhood was fun, but I just felt too far from my posse of friends). Where did I want to work? What did I want to do? Those questions are much harder and I’m still working them out.

But one of the best experiences I’m having is working with Einat Admony, chef and owner of Balaboosta and Taïm. I first saw Einat on Chopped years ago and a few months later found myself spending a lot of time in the West Village just a few blocks from her first falafel bar. Aside from the crispy green falafel repeatedly voted as best of New York, Taïm’s fries with saffron aioli are divine. Fast forward to last year, right around this time, when I finally met Einat at a cooking class up in Boston. When she asked for volunteers, I (of course) jumped in to help grill and dress and plate. We chatted after class and a few months later she invited me to her birthday party.

Not surprisingly, when I moved to New York, she was one of the first people I called as I was getting my bearings. I started working alongside her, writing and photographing recipes (like this grilled eggplant with Asian tahini sauce) and completing other special projects.

Einat typically works out of the restaurant, riding in from Brooklyn on her pink Vespa. A white helmet parked on the windowsill is a sure sign that she or her husband and business partner Stefan is inside. The round table in the back is where we set up camp. It’s typically scattered with Macs, papers, and menus. Guy, Balaboosta’s Executive Chef and Einat’s close friend, might bring out 3 spoons and a small bowl filled with sauce, the spoons superfluous as we each stick in a pinky to taste. It needs something – more anchovy? a squeeze of lemon? And then we improve it until it’s just right.

I love spending full days observing and sometimes participating in the lifecycle of a day in a restaurant from pre-service to post-service and everything in between. My favorite part of those days is seeing the goings on behind the scenes.

Bala chairs in the morning

Bala Einat phone tryptich

Taim Mobile 2

On Mondays, someone climbs up the ladder to write the weekly specials in chalk on the blackboard. Then the team, forks in hands, gathers around that table in the back and we’re introduced to these seasonal dishes developed in the kitchen only hours earlier. Chef presents each dish and explains its ingredients and preparation. We dig in, some scooping up a bit of everything in one bite, others dissecting piece by piece to better understand how everything fits together. We discuss how it tastes, what drinks would pair well, how to describe it to diners.

I treasure these restaurant days and I think this is the direction my new life might be headed.

So, it’s fitting that the first real thing I cooked when I came to New York was a soup from Einat’s cookbook Balaboosta: Bold Mediterranean Recipes to Feed the People You Love, released late last year. I cherish this cookbook – you can read more about it here – and have been cooking my way through it, recreate some of my restaurant favorites. When a particularly cold spell drifted through the air in mid-October, I made soup.

Butternut squash and saffron soup (Einat Admony/Balaboosta)

No surprise that it’s a butternut squash soup – I tend to make a new one each winter (well, except for the winter of 2010/2011 which had a lot of travel and only one soup, mushroom). This one starts with a classic mirepoix of carrots, onions, and celery and is flavored with saffron and thyme. What really makes it special though is a dollop of thickened yogurt sprinkled with za’atar, a spice mix containing hyssop, wild relative of thyme. These finishing touches really bring everything together.

Butternut squash and saffron soup (Einat Admony/Balaboosta)

Before we get to the recipe, here are a few articles that I’ve recently read that I think you might enjoy.

Artisanal toast? Yes, according to this article. Less about food, more about people.

From the first of the year, Jacques Pépin’s recipe for onion soup without beef stock, a sure hangover cure.

For once, the hospital industry may be a model for Wall Street as companies start to limit working hours. But the “I worked that many hours, so you should work that many hours” mentality is hard to break down no matter where you are.

Also, here’s a glimpse of the area between my bed and the window that I use for photo shoots. So you can have a behind-the-scene glimpse at my work too.

Butternut squash and saffron soup (Einat Admony/Balaboosta) - taking a step back

Butternut Squash and Saffron Soup with Za’atar

Adapted from Einat Admon’s Balaboosta: Bold Mediterranean Recipes to Feed the People You Love. Einat calls this soup “marak ketumim,” orange soup. Don’s skip the Greek yogurt (though you can use sour cream instead) and za’atar which contains hyssop and complements the thyme in the soup.

Serves 8 – 10

- 1 medium yellow onion

- 1 large leek

- 8 cloves garlic

- 5 pounds butternut squash

- 5 large carrots

- 5 celery ribs

- 1/4 C olive oil

- 1/4 C sugar

- 1 T kosher salt

- 2 t freshly ground pepper

- 8-10 C water

- 3 fresh thyme sprigs

- 1 fresh rosemary sprig

- pinch of saffron threads

- Greek yogurt

- Za’atar seasoning

Prep. Finely chop the onion, leek, garlic. Peel the squash and cut into 1/2-inch chunks. Peel the carrots and cut them and the celery into 1/4-inch pieces.

Saute. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and sauté until golden brown, about 7 minutes. If the edges of the onion turn deep brown, no worries  – it will give the soup even more flavor. Add the leek and garlic and sauté for another 5 minutes. Add the squash, carrots, and celery. Place a lid on the pot and allow the vegetables to cook for 20 minutes.

Stir. Add the sugar, salt, pepper, 8 cups of water, thyme, rosemary, and saffron. Stir to combine all the seasonings and bring to a boil. Then lower the heat and simmer until all the vegetables are so soft that you can press down on them with a spoon, about 30 minutes. If the soup is too thick, add up to 2 more cups of water as it cooks.

Puree. Remove the pot from the heat and allow the soup to cool for 10 minutes. Remove the stems from the thyme and rosemary. Puree the soup directly in the pot using an immersion blender or in small batches in a blender.

Serve. Taste and adjust the seasoning, then transfer the soup to another pot and reheat slowly before serving. Ladle the soup into individual serving bowls and add a dollop of Greek yogurt on top and a generous sprinkling of za’atar.

It’s just a day into 2014 and I already have a recipe to share. It’s a housewarming recipe, the recipe that finally helped me feel like New York was my new home. Is my new home.

Kitchen Shelves

A few months ago, I subleased my apartment in Cambridge and moved down to New York with no plan other than to follow a dream and see where it takes me. After wandering from temporary apartment to temporary apartment, I landed in a friend’s place to finish out her lease. I slowly moved in, both physically and psychologically. I needed two trips up north to fill the closets and round out the kitchen, and there is still a lot that I’ve left behind. When my father visited just before Thanksgiving, he installed shelves and I finally felt like I had a place to call my own. A place to hang my hat. Well, to hang my pots and pans at least.

I’ve slowly returned to cooking and baking, even adapting (sort of) to not having a dishwasher other than my own two chapped hands. I’ve made soups and vegetables (recipes soon, pinky swear) and have managed to take photos in the small, so very small, area between the bed and the window on a cutting board precariously perched atop a moving box.

Harissa chili

On the last Friday of the year, I invited a crowd for shabbat dinner.

I borrowed a table and extra chairs. Ran to the store for a last-minute scroll of craft paper when I couldn’t find a table cloth. Trimmed roses and, with branches of eucalyptus, arranged them in a stumpy vase. Circled the table with plates and glasses and silverware. Lit candles. And, having prepared everything the day before, relaxed for a few moments before the first knock on the door.

Within minutes, everyone arrived and I made the rounds with introductions. We poured wine, blessed bread and passed bowlfuls of steaming chili. Conversation flowed easily in every direction.

After the last hug goodbye, I sat down on the sofa and drank the last few drops of red right out of the bottle. I smiled and flopped into bed. The dishes could wait.

So long, 2013. You’ve been good to me. 2014, I can’t wait to get to know you.

morning after

Harissa chili

This recipe is adapted from the spicy chili in Einat Admony’s Balaboosta. (More on Einat and her cookbook soon.) To make my life easier, I used cans where I could: canned kidney beans instead of dried, canned tomatoes instead of fresh. I also replaced merguez sausage with lamb because it’s easier to find. The heat in the chili comes from the North African spice paste harissa. Since the spiciness of harissa can vary, use a light touch initially — you can always add more later. I like to serve this on top of wheat berries (I cook them according to these guidelines from the Kitchn), but you can use brown rice, barley, farro, or your favorite grain.

Serves 4-6

 

- 1 lb ground beef

- ½ lb ground lamb

- kosher salt

- freshly ground black pepper

- 3 T olive oil

- 1 ½ C finely chopped yellow onion (about 2 medium)

- 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

- 2 T tomato paste

- 1 t sugar

- 1 28-oz can of chopped peeled tomatoes

- 2-3 T harissa (depending on how spicy it is)

- 1 t ground cumin

- ¼ t chipotle powder

- about 4 C water

- 2 15.5-ounce cans kidney beans, rinsed well and drained

- 4 scallions, thinly sliced on the diagonal

Sauté. Heat a large heavy-bottom pot over high heat (no oil) – it’s ready when you drop a small piece of meat in and it sizzles very loudly. If the pot isn’t hot enough, you’ll end up boiling your meat instead of sautéing. Add the beef and lamb to the hot pot and sauté until browned. Season with a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Drain off any excess liquid, but leave all the good browned bits. Remove the meat and set aside.

Sauté again. Heat the olive oil in the emptied pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and sauté until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another minute, making sure not to burn it. Stir in the tomato paste and sugar. Add the tomatoes and cook for another 5 minutes. Stir in 2 tablespoons of harissa (you can add more later), cumin, chipotle, 2 tablespoons salt, ¼ teaspoon pepper, and water.

Simmer. Add the beans and bring the chili to a boil, then reduce the heat to very low, cover the pot, and simmer for 2 ½ to 3 hours. After the first 30 minutes, taste for spice, stirring in extra harissa if you’d like more of a kick. Check the chili periodically, and if it looks dry, add some more water.

Serve. Scoop into bowls and sprinkle with sliced scallion.

***

I’m sort of in love with these carrots and parsnips (modified from this recipe). I hope you’ll indulge me a couple of photos.

Rainbow carrots and parsnips
Pomegranate-roasted carrots and parsnips

I’ve been called a lot of names, but “a Christmas miracle” is a new one for me.

And yet, there it was last week on my computer screen when I told my cousin Judy that I’d be able to drive out to Pennsylvania for her twenty-fourth annual Christmas Eve party. With geographic distance and a rapidly growing clan came the need for holiday celebrations that once fit around a (very long) table to separate into two. I hadn’t seen Judy’s side of the family in years, and when I walked through the door, a cheer erupted, followed  by hugs and kisses all around and a running squeal from my little cousin Clover.

The family was gathered around the kitchen counter, and someone quickly offered a stool and pushed a glass of wine into my hand. There was a round-robin of catching up until the cries of the kids could no longer be ignored and we all dove under the tree to dig out our gifts. On the pine needle-strewn floor, I found a bag with my name filled with a kaleidoscope of kitchen tools. Over cake, Clover and I assembled glow-in-the-dark necklaces. 

Bedtimes drew near and the crowd thinned out. As we approached midnight, just a few of us remained. Over the last drops of wine, we packed food into containers and neatly fit them into the refrigerator like a 3D Tetris game. And then the real catching up began. There were stories about my father as a kid, about lives reinvented, about family members I’d never had the opportunity to meet. Apparently my great-grandmother Lillian used to watch TV with a blanket around her legs because she didn’t want the anchorman to look up her skirt. Classic. Just classic.

I woke up the next morning in a red and green haze. I hadn’t heard Santa overnight, but I had no problem blaming him for the few  forkfuls of cake that disappeared before I got the coffee brewing. Judy, her husband Michael, and I shared a lazy morning and then I showered (in a tinsel-bedazzled bathroom) and got back in my car to drive home.

lately

Hello, hello!

Yesterday was the shortest day of the year, and today was the warmest it’s been in months. I was driving about this afternoon, popping over to Crown Heights for a little barbecue and a few pretzels, and as I headed home in traffic and the sky darkened into night just a few minutes later than it did yesterday, I shot a few photos.

Here’s to longer days. And more sunshine. 

Manhattan Bridge N train

Apparently, the North Pole is somewhere on the Upper East Side. Where? Not sure.

North Pole

There’s a green market outside my apartment every Friday. You can never have enough apples.

apples

Or cranberry applesauce
cranberry applesauce

And then there’s Cuban artist Alexandre Arrachea‘s No Limits exhibit – The Sherry Netherland in Union Square

Union Square

I’m having fun being back in New York.

ps – Did you notice that it’s snowing on my blog? It starts every year on December first and continues until I’m not sure when. Love it.

pps – Want to make your chocolate chip cookies exactly the way you want them? Here’s a start. To make my own recipe even better (crispy crispy crispy), I should try 100% white sugar, melt the butter, use only baking soda, just barely mix all the ingredients together, and let the dough rest overnight before baking.

kitchen rummaging

A few weeks ago, I found myself face-to-face with my twelve-year-old self.

A friend asked me for a few hours of emergency babysitting, and I rushed over to take care of her son. I checked in on the little guy and, reassured by his rhythmic breathing and his little wrinkled hand wrapped around a blanket, I did what every good babysitter does. I sussed out the snack situation. I set my computer and books down on the sofa and turned to the kitchen to rummage.

The counter was littered with bottles and formula. From the fridge, I grabbed a pear. Sinking my teeth into the crispy fruit to free up my hands, I reached for the cabinet above the sink. Cheerios. I filed the cereal in the back of my mind in case I got desperate.

Then I pulled open the freezer. Jackpot! A ziplock back of chocolate chip cookies. I snuck out one  golden craggy biscuit, carefully re-sealing the bag and returning it to its niche. I lifted the cookie to my teeth and broke off a cold piece with a satisfying snap.

Chocolate chip cookies

And with that one frozen bite, I was transported to the kitchen of my childhood.

I’m not sure when or how it happened, but at one point I took over the cookie-baking duties in my house. With the rare exception of an odd batch of peanut butter cookies with their tell-tale fork-made cross-hatch design or snickerdoodles rolled in cinnamon-sugar and tangy with cream of tartar, chocolate chip cookies were the darling of the Squires household. And I was  happy to comply. Whenever I baked, my chocoholic father showed his appreciation with a trail of crumbs from the cooling rack to his favorite chair in the living room.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe - Betty Crocker

When I made cookies, I was a one-kid production line. For efficiency’s sake, I calculated and jotted down on page 136 of our Betty Crocker cookbook* how much margarine (we didn’t use butter) I needed for a double chocolate chip batch: exactly 5 sticks and 8 teaspoons. We had two ovens – one below the stove, and the other above where most microwaves are installed these days. I used both of the ovens simultaneously, rotating three cookie sheets at a time (the top oven only  had a single rack). I had four sheets to work with, so there was always one dotted with raw dough ready to replace the one the buzzing timer told me was ready. 

I tried to keep everything moving like clockwork, but the cooling process was a bottleneck and my system typically broke down around the ninth dozen when I’d have a backlog of cooling cookies. My father tried to help, grabbing as many plaint, still-warm cookies straight off the sheets as he could.

At the end of the cookie-baking marathon there would be, oh, about 150 cookies. Yup. One-five-zero cookies. Once they were fully cooled, most of them went straight into bags and straight into the freezer where, weeks later, I might find a sweet dozen between packages of frozen broccoli, or behind a carton of sorbet, or in the ice-cube maker. If my father didn’t find them first. 

* I’ve written about chocolate chip cookies in the past here and here, substituting another recipe when I couldn’t find the Betty Crocker one I grew up with. About a year ago, I finally found poor old page-stained, spine-cracked, well-loved Betty while I was rummaging through the pantry at my parents house. Seems I like kitchen rummaging. I scanned the cookie recipe and one for pancakes as well.

Chocolate chip cookies

Chocolate Chip Cookies

This recipe is adapted from page 136 in Better Crocker’s Cookbook, circa well before I was born.

These cookies are really flat and crispy. If you prefer ones that are thicker and chewy, add 1/2 cup of flour and replace half the butter with shortening. I used a mix of milk and dark chocolate chips just to shake things up a bit.

Makes 6-7 dozen

- 1 1/3 C butter, room temperature

- 1 C granulated sugar

- 1 C packed brown sugar

- 2 eggs

- 2 t vanilla

- 3 C all-purpose flour

- 1 t baking soda

- 1 C dark or semi-sweet chocolate chips

- 1 C milk chocolate chips

Prep. Preheat oven to 375ºF and position the racks int he top and bottom third of the oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Mix. Mix together the room temperature butter, sugars, eggs, and vanilla. I used the paddle attachment on my stand mixer, but growing up I mixed everything by hand. Stir in the remaining ingredients with a spatula.

Scoop. Drop dough by rounded teaspoonfuls two inches apart on the lined  baking sheet(s). You can use two spoons, a spoon and a finger to nudge the dough onto the sheet, or a small cookie/ice cream scoop. The cookies will spread a lot, so make sure you leave enough room between them.

Bake. Bake in the middle of the oven for 8-10 minutes or until light brown. After the first four minutes, switch the sheets top and bottom and rotate them front to back for even baking.

Cool. Let the cookies cool on parchment on the baking sheet for 2-3 minutes until they firm up enough to keep their round shapes. If you try to lift the parchment and the cookies  wrinkle and squish, leave them on the tray for another minute. Slide the parchment off the sheet and allow the cookies to cool until you can easily slide them off the parchment straight onto a cooling rack. If you’re going to freeze the cookies, let them cool completely before slipping them into a zip-top bag. Otherwise you’ll end up with a big frozen cookie lump. Which isn’t always bad thing. If you don’t want to share.

dessert first

Hello, December. Hello, snow.

December snow

Hello, birthday.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Yup, December is birthday month over here. The official date is the 8th, and my friends and family made this past weekend wonderfully special. There was dinner and a spa and dinner again. And a few more things to come. As I said, it’s birthday month on my blog.

That chocolate cake up there? It’s a birthday cake. But it’s not my birthday cake; it’s Alyson’s. And I made it one year and ten days ago on the dot.

In case  you don’t remember, a few years back, Alyson and I went to Vienna where I dragged her from cafe to cafe in search of the best sachertorte.  From one side of the city to the other, we chased this dense, slightly-dry, not-too-sweet, layered chocolate cake whose richness can only be tempered by a large scoop of whipped cream. 

From the day my plane touched down back in Boston, that sachertorte haunted me. Within days of my return home, I started my search for a recipe. First there was Austrian chef Wolfgang Puck’s version and one from Kaffehaus, a cookbook of cakes from central Europe. Then a high school classmate sent me a German recipe that her husband swears is authentic, and that the daughter of a colleague translated for me. Just before summer, I clipped a recipe from Food & Wine and found this dreamy video of sachertorte being made (watch it if you think chocolate is sexy) and its accompanying recipe.

I tucked away all of the recipes and waited.

As Alyson’s birthday approached, I studied each set of instructions and devised a plan of action. I created a spreadsheet comparing each of the recipes I had collected: quantities of ingredients, number of cake layers, amount of apricot filling. (I know, I know. A spreadsheet? I know.)

Armed with way too much information, I decided to go with the recipe that had the highest bittersweet chocolate-to-sugar ratio, only two layers, and a hefty dose of apricot.

I cooked from sunrise to sunset on the day of Alyson’s birthday. In addition to sachertorte, I banged out challah, a roast, kale salad, and pomegranate carrots.

But here’s the deal. Since the torte was dairy, and dinner was meat, we ate dessert first. And then after dinner, we ate a second dessert.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

PS – I hear that the best sachertorte in NY is at Cafe Sabarsky. Guess where I’ll be later this week. Who wants to join me?

Sachertorte

As I mentioned above, I adapted this cake from five different recipes and most closely followed the one  from the most unlikely of sources. A sachertorte is definitely a special occasion cake: it takes about 4 hours to make (much of it cooking and cooling time) and you have to use and wash your stand mixing bowl three times.

Make sure to serve with barely-sweetened whipped cream. 

Serves 8-10

For the torte:

- 10 oz bittersweet chocolate (70% cocoa; I used Callebaut)

- 8 eggs

- 1 C sugar

- 2/3 C unsalted butter, softened

- 2 t vanilla extract

- 1 1/3 C all-purpose flour

- 1 1/2 C apricot preserves (I used Hero brand)

For the chocolate ganache:

- 2 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter

- 8 oz semisweet chocolate, chopped (I used Callebaut)

- 2 T light corn syrup

- 1 t vanilla extract

For the whipped cream

- 1 C heavy cream

- 1 t vanilla extract

- 1 1/2 T confectioner’s sugar

Prep. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Butter and flour a 9-inch springform pan.

Melt. Finely chop the chocolate and melt it in a double boiler (I set a metal  bowl over an inch of water in a pot) over medium-high heat. Set aside.

Separate. Separate the eggs (this is easier to do straight from the fridge).

Beat. Beat the sugar and butter in a stand mixer until creamy. Add the egg yolks one at a time, blending after each addition. Add the vanilla. Fold in the flour and melted chocolate (don’t bother cleaning the bowl you melted the chocolate in; you’ll need to melt some more chocolate later). Transfer the chocolate batter into another bowl, clean and dry the mixer bowl well and then beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form. Fold them into the batter in several batches.

Bake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. (Clean the mixer bowl because you’re going to need it one more time.)

Cool. Let the cake cool in the pan for at least 30 minutes.

Puree. Pour the apricot preserves into a small bowl, microwave them for 10 seconds, and use an immersion blender to smooth into a glaze.

Cut. When the cake is cool, cut it in half crosswise, making two layers.

Spread. Brush the bottom layer with apricot, stack on the second layer, and then brush the whole cake with the rest of the preserves. It should look like this.

Melt (again). Melt the butter in a double boiler over medium-high heat. Finely chop the chocolate and add it with the corn syrup and cook, stirring constantly, until the chocolate is melted. Remove from the heat, stir in the vanilla, and let cool. Makes about 1 1/2 cups of ganache.

Pour. Pour the ganache over the cake, smoothing out tops and sides with a spatula. Before the ganache hardens, the cake should look like this.

Cool. Let the cool in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, until set.

Whip. Use a stand mixer to whip together the cream, vanilla, and confectioner’s sugar.

Serve. Serve each slice with a nice scoop of whipped cream.

stuffing

How was your Thanksgiving? Your Hanukkah?

This Thanksgiving, with nine of us around the table, we kept things low-key and didn’t go crazy with the food. I mean, we didn’t even have potatoes, sweet or otherwise.

Now, even with a more streamlined menu, there was still that last-minute scramble as we pulled the turkey out of the oven and realized that we hadn’t cooked the broccoli and brussels sprouts. Actually, we hadn’t even decided how to cook those vegetables. While we let the turkey rest, my mom and I rapidly sliced off florets and halved sprouts, spread them on a few baking sheets, doused with olive oil, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and popped them into the hot oven. You can’t go wrong with roasting.

We started dinner with soup served in mugs. The mugs don’t match the plates. They don’t even match each other. And not in that hip casual-chic kind of way. I love that we start dinner in mugs. It’s cozy – you can’t help but wrap your hands around the warm ceramic, raise it to your face, and blow on the steaming  soup until it’s cool enough to sip, spoons reserved for scraping out the last few drops.

After the salad was passed around, my cousin Ben slipped out to carve the turkey (he’s a turkey-carving whiz) and I grabbed the vegetables and stuffing out of the oven.

We took a dishwashing break before dessert.

The next day, we had turkey for lunch and dinner.

Cornbread stuffing, apple, celery, herbs

Before we get to the stuffing (you know, just in time to start planning next Thanksgiving), here are a few links and thoughts for the week.

Ever put maple syrup in your coffee? Try it. Thanks for the tip, Adeena.

Paula Wolfert – queen of Mediterranean, Moroccan, and clay pot cooking – talks about Alzheimer’s and staving off its progression with cooking. On starting off every morning  with a hulk-green smoothie, filled with anti-oxidants and ingredients purported to improve cognition, she says, “It is tough going because it’s not delicious, it’s nutritious.  My grandmother told me, during the second world war, we were sitting in the vegetable garden: If you want to win a war, you’ve got to be willing to fight.”

A new-to-me blog, Apt. 2B Baking Co. More photos than words, Yossy Arefi, makes cakes and cookies that make me want to go out and buy pounds and pounds of butter. How about a meyer lemon and grapefruit bundt? Yes, please.

And now, the stuffing.

Cornbread apple stuffing

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen’s Apple and Herb Stuffing for All Seasons. I substituted corn bread (this recipe, which is based on Elisha’s recipe) for the hearty white bread that Deb recommended. I doubled this recipe for Thanksgiving, and our family of nine had enough leftovers for days.  When I reheat the stuffing, I sometimes pour a little liquid over top – water works just fine – to keep it from drying out in the oven (or microwave). 

Make or buy cornbread a day or two in advance if possible so you can pull it apart and dry it out; otherwise, toast it in the oven for 10-15 minutes. If you do want to make your own cornbread, I’ve modified my go-to recipe to reflect the quantities for this stuffing. 

Serves 8-10

- 1 recipe cornbread (below) or 6 cups of cornbread cut or torn into cubes and crumbs (approximately an 8X8 pan)
- 1 large yellow onion
- 2 large stalks celery
– 1 large or 2 small firm, tart tart apples, such as Granny Smith
– 5 T olive oil, divided
- 1 t chopped fresh thyme leaves
- ½ t kosher salt, plus more to taste
- Freshly ground black pepper
- ¼ C roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley
- 3 sage leaves, minced
- 1-2 C turkey, chicken or vegetable stock or broth
- 1 large egg

Dry. Cut or tear the cornbread into small cubes or crumble into large crumbs. Let the bread dry out for a day or two before proceeding, or spread it out in a single layer on a large baking sheet and bake at 350°F for 10-15 minutes until pale golden. Keep your oven on.

Sauté. Finely chop the onion, celery, and apple. Heat 4 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add onion, thyme, salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper and cook until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add celery and cook for 2 more minutes. Then add apple and sauté until a bit tender, another 5 minutes.

Mix. Place dried-out cornbread in a large mixing bowl and scrape contents of the skillet on top. Whisk together egg and 1 cup broth and pour over. Stir in parsley and sage. Dig your hands in and mix everything together. The bread should hold its shape but be wet enough to squish when you squeeze it. If the bread seems a bit dry, pour another half cup of broth over it. If it’s still dry, pour in the last half cup. Let the bread soak for half an hour in the refrigerator.

Bake. Use the last tablespoon of oil to grease a 9-inch square baking dish (or another equivalent pan) . Spoon the bread mix into the dish. If  you toasted the bread earlier, your oven should already be at 350°F; otherwise, turn it on. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until brown on top and no liquid appears if you insert a knife vertically into the center of the stuffing pan and turn it slightly. Serve immediately, or reheat as needed. If you do reheat, you might need to add some extra liquid before popping into the oven for 10-15 minutes. 

(Non-dairy) skillet cornbread

Slightly modified from this recipe, which is based on this recipe

Serves 6-8

- 1 ½ C flour
- 1 ½ C fine cornmeal
- 2 T sugar
- 1 ½ t salt
- 1 ½ t baking powder
¾ C corn kernels (I use frozen and thaw them before use)
- 1 ¼ C water
– 4 T oil (canola or olive), divided
– 2 eggs

Preheat oven to 450ºF. Place a large oven-proof cast-iron skillet on the middle rack.

Mix. In a large bowl, mix together flour, cornmeal, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

Purée. Place the corn, water and 2 tablespoons of oil into a blender (or food processor) and puree for about 2 minutes until it’s smooth and no corn pieces remain. Add the eggs and continue to blend everything together. You’ll end up with a light yellow liquid that’s a bit thicker than whole milk.

Wait. Wait until the oven is hot before adding the wet ingredients to the dry.

Stir. Add the wet ingredients to the dry. Stir until all the ingredients are incorporated (don’t over-mix), scraping the bottom and sides of the bowl to make sure you don’t miss any flour.

Swirl. Take the skillet out of the oven (it will be very hot) and pour in the remaining 2 tablespoons of oil, swirling so that it coats the bottom and sides of the skillet. Pour the batter into the skillet – is should sizzle as it hits the hot pan.

Bake. Bake for 20-25 minutes. Serve warm right out of the pan. If you’re making stuffing, let the cornbread completely cool, then cut or crumble into pieces and allow to dry out overnight or in the oven, as detailed above.

what I’ve got

In the middle of long chains of emails titled “Thanksgiving menu,” my aunt Leslie started a new subject: “Holidays”

She wrote, “I was thinking…just a suggestion…that in lieu of gifts for any of these occasions*, we consider making contributions to worthy causes.”

My uncle Michael responded: “My first response is not serious — only if contributions don’t have to be wrapped and they can be designated as last year’s gifts**. Seriously, you have made an excellent suggestion which I would support!”

My aunt Linda added, “The money we are fortunate enough to be able to spend on a wonderful family dinner is plenty. Too many people can’t even afford a turkey.”

And then my mother, “In violent agreement. Many good causes for our donations.”

So, while I’m finishing up tomorrow’s stuffing, I wanted to share a few of the causes that my family cares about and supports.

Michael, Linda, and their son Ben volunteer with the Community Food Bank of NJ.

Every year, we buy Thanksgiving pies through Sharsheret‘s Pies for Prevention Event, organized by my friend Adeena and her sister. I wrote about the organization’s work to raise awareness about ovarian cancer and support research.

The ML4 Foundation raises money to research treatments for Mucolipidosis Type IV, a genetic disease that afflicts Eden, my friend’s daughter. This video explains more.

The Wounded Warrior Project honors and empowers wounded service members. My grandfather was in the air force.

My sister helped design and build the Lower East Side Girls Club whose goal is to raise the next generation of ethical, environmental, and entrepreneurial leaders. Also, they have the second largest planetarium in New York City, after the Hayden Planetarium at the Museum of Natural History.

cornbread apple stuffing

In a day or two, there will be better stuffing photos and the recipe. Today, I’m happy with what I’ve got. And that’s pretty good.

* Today is my cousin Zach’s 21st birthday. Happy birthday, kiddo!

** I don’t think I’ve ever received a present from my family on my actual birthday. The day after? Maybe. Months later? Probably. The day before the next birthday? Yup. And we don’t believe in gift wrapping.

By the time Hanukkah rolled around last year, I was all fried out. But when asked to teach a Hanukkah cooking class this year, I just couldn’t say no to latkes.

My friend Frances offered up her large kitchen, so last night I rolled a suitcase filled with ingredients  and utensils and lots of oil into her apartment. While Frances’ daughters finished homework and practiced violin, I got organized. Within minutes, my stand mixer took its place on one end of the black granite counter separating the kitchen from dining room  On the other end, three peelers alongside a bowl filled with apples every hue from green to red. In the middle, a box grater in front of another bowl of only green apples and onions.

One of Frances’ PJ-clad daughters took up residence on a stool and asked me what we were making. Her eyes grew wide when she heard about the cake and applesauce. I thought I’d impress her by saying that the applesauce was going to be pink, but she was decidedly not into that. I want applesauce that’s yellow. Like in the refrigerator. Ok, I said, I’ll make a special plain batch just for you.

As the dozen “students” trickled in, I set them to work peeling apples. Ok, everyone, wash your hands. We’re cooking a lot tonight, and we’re gonna get dirty.

We started with an olive oil cake. We whipped eggs and sugar, measured out olive oil and milk and then a flurry of dry ingredients. I say a flurry, because a handful of us got a dusting of flour. We talked about why we zest citrus (it contains essential oils to flavor the cake), what to do with  orange blossom water (put it in everything!), and what other flavor combinations might be good (lemon zest and limoncello? apple slices with brandy?).

Cake mixed and in the oven, we cut those peeled apples into chunks and picked through a big bag of cranberries, removing any bad ones and dropping only a bouncy few on the floor. We filled a large pot with the pink applesauce ingredients and set it on a burner over medium heat. The last two apples made their way into a smaller pot without cranberries for the yellow applesauce.

Latkes were up. We grated. First skin-on apples, then onions. (Is it a bad sign when  half the class cries? Just checking.) We wrapped the apples and onions in towels, twisting until they released half their weight in liquid. We found the two biggest bowls in the house and filled them with the apples and onions, then topped with grated sweet potato that I had already shredded at home in my food professor. A few eggs, some panko crumbs, thinly-sliced sage, salt and pepper, and two lucky participants dug in elbow deep to mix.

The cake timer went off. A peek at the cake – jiggly in the middle – nope, not ready yet. A quick stir of the sauce on the stove top, the apples had begun to break down, but the berries were still holding their shape.

It was time for the fry. I placed a heavy-bottomed pan on the stove and watched as someone else poured in oil. A thin slick barely coating the pan. Keep going. More? Yes, keep going. More? Yup. Really? Yes. I stuck my finger in the (cold) pan, and the oil reached my first knuckle. Ok, stop. Perfect. We cranked up the heat, and waited.

I tossed  in a few shreds of vegetables that sank to the bottom. Not hot enough. A few minutes later, a few more shreds. A few bubbles. Still not hot enough. A few minutes more, a few more shreds. A burst of  bubbles lifted the shreds to the top where they started to brown. Bingo.

We started a production line. One team shaped the batter into patties, squeezing out any remaining liquid. Another team carefully slid the patties off the edge of a spatula into the splattering oil. I manned the fry station to get things started. Just like pancakes and crepes, the first few latkes were sacrificed as canaries in the  mine of scalding oil until we were able to truly regulate the temperature.

The applesauce was ready – off the stove to cool. The cake was still jiggly – back into the oven.

The latke station was on auto pilot and I finally had a chance to sit, but the natives were getting restless (and my own stomach was grumbling). I pulled out the cake stunt double I had prepared earlier in the day and got slicing. A dollop of cranberry applesauce on the side did the trick.

By then, we had a steady stream of latkes making their way to the table, dodging sneaky fingers.

The cake finally jiggled its last jiggle and was ready to come out. It too disappeared quickly.

Happy Holidays, all!

Sweet potato and apple latkes (Amy Traverso)

***

Still planning your Thanksgiving/Hanukkah menu? I’ve got you covered. How about some sufganiyot? Olive oil gelato? My family will start our meal with spicy butternut squash soup that we sip out of mugs. And this year, I’m making a stuffing using this cornbread and some sort of apple-celery-sage concoction that is still up in the air (maybe something like this?).

And, finally a little reading for those long plane-train-car(-boat?) rides, airport delays, traffic, and times you need to hide from your family.

Did you read the New Yorker’s food issue earlier this month? If not, it’s worth it. Particularly Adam Gopnik on bread and women and Gabrielle Hamilton on family meal.

This video of April Bloomfield making veal shank with the late Marcella Hazan. At 2:47, April says “I like Italian food, Marcella, because it’s so simple,” to which Marcella responds, “Well, we never use too many ingredients.” This reminds me of her famous tomato sauce.

This gave me goose bumps.

And I’d love to find a way to get involved with this.

***

Sweet potato and apple latkes

Adapted from Amy Traverso’s recipe in Leite’s Culinaria. Soft and creamy inside, crispy on the outside, these are my new go-to latkes. 

Make sure to remove as much liquid as possible from the grated ingredients. Roll the grated apple and onion in a kitchen towel (I like flour sack towels) and twist, twist, twist until they are dry. If you were using regular potatoes, you’d wring them out as well, but sweet potatoes have lower moisture content and it’s not necessary.

Regulating the temperature of the frying oil is the moist difficult part. Expect to sacrifice your first few attempts and only make one at a time until you get to the temperature right. 

If you want to make the latkes in advance, cool them to room temperature, then stack them in single layers between sheets of parchment or wax paper, and freeze them in a resealable plastic bags. Crisp in a 325°F oven for 15 to 20 minutes before serving. Top with cranberry applesauce

Makes 25-30 latkes

- 2 pounds garnet or jewel yams or sweet potatoes, peeled
– 3 large (about 1 1/2 pounds total) firm-tart apples such as Granny Smith
– 2 medium onions
– 8-10 leaves sage
– 6 large eggs, lightly beaten
– 1 cup panko – check
– 1 T coarse kosher salt
– 1 t freshly ground black pepper
– Vegetable or peanut oil, for frying

Prep. Preheat the oven to 200°F. Peel the sweet potatoes. Cut the apples into quarters (don’t peel them). Thinly slice the sage. Line a plate with paper towels

Grate. Using the coarse side of a box grater or a food processor fitted with a medium grating disk, grate the potatoes and scoop into a large bowl. Grate the apple and onion and then roll in a kitchen towel and twist, twist, twist until dry. Add the apple and onion to the bowl and toss everything together. Add the beaten eggs, panko, salt, and pepper and toss to mix well.

Fry. Using your hands, make small patties about ¼-inch thick, squeezing out any remaining moisture. Pour ½-¾ inch oil into a skillet over medium-high heat. The oil is ready when the temperature reaches 370°F. If you don’t have a thermometer, drop a small pinch of the latke mix into the oil – if the oil sizzles and bubbles up, it’s ready to start the trial-and-error process of getting the oil just right. Your first few latkes will be failures as you make small adjustments to the oil temperature.  Once you find the your groove, cook 3 or 4 pancakes at a time (do not crowd the pan) until the edges are crisp and well browned and the undersides are golden brown, 4 to 5 minutes. Gently turn and cook until the other side is golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes longer.

Warm. Transfer the pancakes to paper towels to drain briefly, then arrange in a single layer on 2 baking sheets. Keep the latkes warm in the oven while you cook the remaining pancakes.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 184 other followers

%d bloggers like this: