a tiny, unexpected feast: part 2 in which Tiny
Banquet rassles with unfamiliar greens

With the plum tart and marinated summer squash complete, it was time to figure out what to do with the puntarelle.

I had been thinking I would simply chop it up and add it to a fritatta, but I tasted a leaf after I washed it and wow, it was really bitter. Was it supposed to be cooked?

I looked in The Silver Spoon but there was no mention of puntarelle under "greens" or "chicory." (I later noticed that it is briefly mentioned in the section on dandelion greens, but there is no recipe specifically for puntarelle and I'm still not clear on its relationship to dandelion greens). I then went to the Food Network, hoping that there would be a Mario Batali recipe explaining how to use it. There are three, and each one calls for soaking the puntarelle in ice water for ten to fifteen minutes. Grazie, Mario! After its immersion the puntarelle was still bitter but now quite edible.

While my greens were soaking I tried some Manouri cheese, a Greek sheep and goats' milk cheese. It's a bit salty, but less so than feta, and the texture is similar to chèvre. It's delicious and fresh-tasting and would be excellent for breakfast or dessert too, drizzled with honey.



Now that the puntarelle was presentable I got started on the fritatta. (Frittata?) I am hoping that having a food blog will give me a bit more perspective on what works and what doesn't when it comes to fritattas, because at this point I make them often and each one is my new favorite, my new this-one's-the-best-one. They're a great way to use up small portions of vegetables, herbs, and cheeses that otherwise might go bad before they can be eaten, and they taste as good at room temperature as they do warm.

The particular combination of ingredients listed below worked really well together: The bitterness of the greens was well balanced by creamy ricotta cheese and spicy turkey sausage from DiPaola Turkey Farms (available at the Tompkins Square greenmarket on Sundays; I'm not sure of their Union Square schedule), and mint and summer savory are both superb with eggs.

this week's BFF (best fritatta forever)

1 to 2 teaspoons olive oil, plus an additional 2 tablespoons or so for cooking the egg mixture

6 to 8 ounces turkey sausage (not in casing)

6 to 8 eggs

salt, freshly ground pepper, freshly ground nutmeg

1 to 1 1/2 cups chopped puntarelle (arugula, watercress, baby spinach or just about any green that doesn't need cooking would be a fine substitute)

chopped fresh herbs of your choice (I used about 1/2 cup of spearmint ? loosely packed ? and two teaspoons of summer savory)

1/2 cup ricotta cheese (crumbled fresh goat cheese would be a nice substitute)

Preheat the oven to 425° F. Heat 1 to 2 teaspoons of olive oil over medium heat in a 9- or 10-inch skillet with an oven-safe handle and cook the sausage, stirring to break up the meat, until it is lightly browned (2 to 3 minutes). Remove the cooked sausage from the pan and set aside.

While the sausage is cooking, beat the eggs in a medium-sized bowl and season with salt, pepper, and freshly ground nutmeg.

Remove the cooked sausage from the pan and set aside.

Wipe out the skillet and return it to the stove. Add the eggs and cook over medium heat until they just begin to set on the bottom (less than a minute). Using a fork or silicon spatula, pull the edges toward the center of the pan, tilting the pan to distribute the runny parts evenly. Sprinkle the greens, the herbs, the sausage and the ricotta over the eggs and stir lightly. Continue stirring as needed until the mixture is nearly firm (3 to 4 minutes).

Transfer the pan to the oven and bake until the top is set and lightly browned (about 4 to 5 minutes). Serve immediately or at room temperature.


Fresh summer savory.

If you store your nutmeg with a tiny grater
it is no less convenient than the pre-grated kind.

The finished fritatta.
With the marinated summer squash and startlingly good plum part for dessert, this unplanned meal turned out to be a memorable one.

I am not going to show a picture of the finished tart in its entirety because the grated almond paste became, um, less than photogenic while it cooked. Viewed by the slice, its not so bad. The taste, however, was extraordinarily good. The plums remained very tart because I'd used so little sugar; I haven't got much of a sweet tooth at all so feel free to double the quantity of sugar to 1/4 cup should any of you decide to try it, but for me the tartness was perfect. The plums melted into the consistency of preserves, and the almond paste and lavender enhanced their flavor without stealing the show.



Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/08/tiny-unexpected-feast-part-2-in-which.htm
l

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Tiny Banquet goes to Connecticut, makes giant pot
of pink pudding

On Saturday morning Tiny Banquet packed up the car and headed to Westbrook, Connecticut to visit the Chairwoman's parents.

They don't mind if I bring some dirty laundry and stuff.
It was too cloudy to go the beach so I decided to make a recipe I'd been wanting to try, an Italian watermelon pudding called Gelo di Melone from Anissa Helou's Mediterranean Street Food.

Step 1 was to find a ripe watermelon. There were none at the Saybrook farmers' market, but there was a perfect one at Walt's Market around the corner. Reportedly Saybrook resident Katharine Hepburn shopped at Walt's; it's the sort of market anyone would be lucky to have nearby, with fresh produce out front, a good-smelling meat counter running the length of the back of the store, and a small stash of Ciao Bella sorbet in the freezer case.



We didn't pick up anything besides the melon because we had reservations at Café Routier for dinner.

Step 2 was to remove the seeds from the melon. A time-consuming task, but not an unpleasant one.



After that the pudding comes together very quickly: Put about a quart of strained watermelon juice (a 5- to 6-pound melon will give you the right amount) in a pan and whisk in 1/3 cup of sugar and 2/3 cup cornstarch. When there are no lumps remaining, turn the heat to medium-high and bring the mixture to a boil. Let it boil, whisking continuously, "for a couple of minutes." (I let it boil for about 4 minutes).


Take the pan off the heat and add some jasmine water (the recipe calls for three tablespoons, to be prepared by soaking jasmine flowers in water for a few hours) or rose water (which is what I had; I used two teaspoons). Don't worry if the pudding looks thin, it will thicken as it cools. You don't want to let it cool in the pan entirely, though, because you need to be able to pour it into eight serving bowls or cups.

I didn't pour the pudding directly into serving bowls because I planned to leave half of it in Connecticut and take the other half home in my little cooler; I poured it into a couple of tupperware-type containers, and headed off to liberate a private beach from Whitey.


We didn't bother fiddling with the gate but I'd say there's about a 95% chance the security code is
1-2-3-4 ? mighty clever if you're one of the gin-and-tonic-addled locals.

Looking east on Grove Beach.
It wasn't until Tiny Banquet got back to Manhattan and spooned some of the pudding into a dish that I realized what a mistake I'd made: If the pudding isn't poured into its serving dish before it sets, it will never be pretty. I tried to get rid of the lumps with the tiny whisk I usually use for salad dressing, but it only made the pudding lumpy + fluffy.


Hellou says that chocolate chips and candied zucchini (zuccata) are the usual garnishes; the recipe lists these as optional, and calls for coarsely ground pistachios and ground cinnamon.
I used only chopped pistachios.
On Monday night I decided that if the rest of the pudding was to be eaten, it would have to first be made liquid again and poured into serving dishes. I put the remaining pudding into a small saucepan and heated it over a low flame, stirring with a fork every minute or so. Gradually it melted to a semi-liquid state; I took it off the heat before it was completely liquified because I didn't want it to be overcooked. This time I poured it into serving dishes while still hot. Voila! After cooling to room temperature and then spending some time in the refrigerator, the pudding was much more presentable.


The pistachios really complement the delicate flavor of the pudding; I'm not sure how else to describe it other than to say that it tastes summery and pink. Both the watermelon and rose water flavors come through clearly, and the taste and texture are refreshing. It was fun to make and I don't dislike it, but I can't imagine I'll ever have a craving for it in the future.

Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/07/tiny-banquet-goes-to-connecticut-makes.ht
ml

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Is Wednesday too soon to name this week's bestest
sandwich

Brie, mint leaves, and sliced orange cherry tomatoes:

Of course it is still early in the week, and I have not yet returned to Nicky's Vietnamese Sandwiches, the bánh mì place in my neighborhood that I inexplicably did not try until recently.


This is the "Classic Vietnamese Sandwich": pâté, ham, ground pork, pickled carrot, cucumbers, cilantro, jalapeño, and mayo on a baguette.
I really think sandwiches are underrated. The limitations of the form ? a couple pieces of bread + stuff that fits between them ? can inspire creative combinations that maybe wouldn't make sense in another context, they're totally portable, and if you have to eat a meal somewhere slightly dodgy (ahem, a law firm cafeteria) the sandwiches are usually the least-screwed-up option. I suspect someone at Food & Wine agrees with me on this, because their recipe archive includes tons of delicious-sounding sandwiches. Here are a few I want to try:

• Open-Faced Fried Egg, Asparagus and Guanciale Sandwiches ? a Nancy Silverton recipe. The asparagus is cleverly roasted on top of thyme sprigs.
  
  
• Grilled Fontina, Mushroom, and Sage Sandwiches ? these will be good when it's cold enough outside to start wearing sweaters.
  
  
• Summer Squash Sandwiches with Pecorino Butter ? perfect for right now. The recipe does not call for salting the squash in an effort to draw out the water in it but if you were packing these for a picnic that would probably be a good idea. A recipe in one of my previous posts explains how.
  
  
• Bouillabaisse Sandwiches ? halibut fillets, tomatoes, piquillo peppers and shaved fennel with saffron mayonnaise.
  
  
• Seared Pork and Pickled Eggplant Panini ? a witty Italian-ish version of the classic Cuban sandwich from chef Barbara Lynch. The eggplant replaces the sliced pickles, and Taleggio replaces the Swiss cheese.
  
  

Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/08/is-wednesday-too-soon-to-name-this.html

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

the Committee improvises a curry and finds its
knowledge of chile peppers lacking

I have Indian food in mind a lot lately, perhaps because I just started reading David Burton's The Raj at Table: A Culinary History of the British in India. I'm only a few pages into it but it appears to be very well researched and so far I find it fascinating.

I had not considered, for example, that there were already some similarities between Indian cooking and British cooking when the first British ships arrived in India in 1608:

It should by no means be assumed . . . that the first British settlers had considered the highly spiced cuisine of India so very outlandish or strange. In 1612, English cooking had itself barely emerged from the Middle Ages, and was still heavy with cumin, caraway, ginger, pepper, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. Indeed, spices had for the first time become affordable to all but the poor in England, due to the breaking of the Arab monopoly of the spice trade by the Portuguese a century earlier. So the 'dumpoked' (dampukht) fowl that the English merchants were served at their first factory in Surat, stewed in butter and stuffed with spices, almonds and raisins, may have been a recipe that came from the Mogul emperor Akbar's kitchen, but it nevertheless echoed the list of ingredients for an English chicken pie given by Gervase Markham in The English Hus-wife in 1615: chicken, currants, raisins, cinnamon, mace, sugar and salt. (pp. 3-4)

There are lots of interesting recipes in the book as well but on Saturday I found myself improvising a curry while we listened to the BBC broadcast of the last night of the Proms ? the Sir Henry Wood Promenade Concerts. If you are not familiar with the Proms, they are a series of classical music concerts that have taken place since 1895 (and at Royal Albert Hall since the 1940's) and they are greeted with MUCH enthusiasm. Each concert is broadcast live, and on the last night there are also simultaneous "Proms in the Park" in five other locations in the U.K., giving rise to many excited shouts of "HELLO Manchester!" and HELLO Glasgow!" and so forth. The whole thing is really very cute, particularly if you have any latent Anglophile tendencies. I don't think the program varies much on the last night, and everyone sings along and makes a lot of racket with noisemakers, so much so that some of the audience's favorite bits are repeated. It's sort of like a cross between an American 4th of July celebration and the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and naturally such a spectacle is followed by a little self-conscious, amusingly huffy critiquing. According to the BBC's reviews page the London Times was relieved that "[a]t last someone has found a way to stop the Last Night of the Proms seeming so jolly, jingoistic and British," but several commenters disagreed. "As for the 'Hello, Swansea' type nonsense, it's pure Blue Peter which vulgarises the whole broadcast," wrote one. My favorite: "The programme satisfied entirely your gold standard: what will appeal to a Guardian reading woman with halitosis, a pass degree in sociology, and a job as an administrative assistant for a charity. Congratulations Beeb, spot on again."

Well!

Before the curry we had chickpea flour pancakes with not-homemade coriander chutney. These are another Tiny Banquet favorite from Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian; the recipe is also on the BBC's site for Jaffrey's show Flavours of India. The version in the book is made with ground cumin, cayenne pepper and tumeric rather than fresh coriander, chiles, onion and garlic; I also used kalonji seeds (maybe better known as nigella seeds), tiny black seeds that are often described as having an oregano scent. Sesame seeds are really good too. If you are using either type, sprinkle them on the uncooked top of each pancake just after the batter is added to the pan.





For the curry, I started with 1 pound of tofu that had been fried just until crisp on the outside. It really, really works best if you lightly dust the tofu with cornstarch first; that way it doesn't stick to the pan, and it seems to absorb little oil. I toasted 1 tablespoon of coriander seeds and 1 teaspoon of cumin seeds in a pan until they were starting to brown and smell good, and ground them in my spice/coffee grinder with a small handful of raw cashew nuts. I know many cooks insist that you need two grinders, one for spices and one for coffee, but I have just one that I wash well in between uses, and I have never noticed that my coffee tastes like coriander or vice versa.

I chopped a small onion, a shallot, and a clove of garlic, and then had to decide how many chiles to use. Here's where things went amiss. I thought the pepper below was a serrano, which is quite hot, hotter than the jalapeños that I am used to using. Mindful of past dishes that I made too spicy (I once made Marcella Hazan's Swordfish Sardinian-Style with Mint and Saffron with such an accidentally-generous shake of red pepper flakes that everyone was sweating long before we finished eating) and of Ann's recent preparation of slightly-too-hot-but-still-delicious-sounding chili, I decided I was only going to use about three-fourths of it.


After sauteeing the onion, shallot and garlic in a vegetable oil I stirred in the spice and nut mixture and let it cook for a few moments; I then added a small can of coconut milk (5 1/2 oz.), some water, the chopped chile pepper, and about half a dozen fresh curry leaves.


The color was very dull so I also added a pinch of tumeric.

I was surprised when I tasted the curry for salt and discovered that it was not the least bit hot ? and that my single, lonely pepper must have been something other than the serrano I believed it to be. The finished dish was still quite good (and was improved by a last-minute pinch of cayenne pepper), but the Committee is in need of expert advice on these matters.



Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/09/committee-improvises-curry-and-finds.html

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

building a better list:the Committee arrives at
its first meme fashionably late

I was really happy to discover that Ann of the lovely A Chicken In Every Granny Cart tagged me to participate in this project started by Melissa of The Traveler's Lunchbox. Basically, the project is an opportunity for food bloggers to rectify the absurdly general and dull list of "50 things to eat before you die" that was compiled by the BBC, which appears to have been earnestly crafted so as not to arouse many longings amongst prisoners and/or persons residing at polar research stations. Number 5, for example, is "Chinese food." Thanks Beeb; I'll be sure to ask for that next time I order from Grand Sichuan. Those wacky Brits also inexplicably left their own awesomest cheeses off the list ? no Stilton, no Double Gloucester, no Shropshire Blue, and no Cheddar!

As I write this, the improved list submitted to A Traveler's Lunchbox has swelled to an amazing 735 items. Here's my 5:

1. Scrambled eggs made the proper French way. They bear little resemblance to quickly-cooked, typical American scrambled eggs; they are so creamy and elegant that I think they should be considered an entirely distinct dish. Here is a Daniel Boulud recipe for them. It includes black truffles, but if you don't roll that way you can leave them out.
   
   
2. Cultured butter. It has character and a depth of flavor that supermarket butter will never even come close to, and it deserves to be as widely appreciated and in-demand as artisanal olive oil. I am not going to be churning my own anytime soon but Bobolink Dairy has an intesting explanation of how to do so here. They also have adorable cows and some of the best cheeses I've ever tasted.
   
   
3. A hamburger from Harry's Drive-In. Obviously not everyone will get to Colchester, Connecticut in their lifetime, so let's just say a burger like the ones made at Harry's: excellent fresh ground beef, sizzled to a crisp on the outside and just cooked on the inside on a very very hot, preposterously bustling griddle (the photo on the Roadfood site does not do justice to the massive, fragrant piles of burgers, hot dogs, and sliced onions being flipped and pushed this way and that of my childhood memories), and eaten on a paper plate at a picnic table in an out-of-the-way little town.
   
   
   
   Both photos are from the Roadfood write-up for Harry's.
   
4. An American Thanksgiving dinner. It's hard to muster a lot of enthusiasm for this one in August but I can't leave it off my list. I think that the people who claim to not be fans of roasted turkey are doing something wrong with theirs, and I think the essential accompaniments are individually and jointly wonderful. I've noticed a few international readers in my sitemeter (ciao, namaste, etc.!) so I'll explain the components. There should be: (a) A well-browned roasted turkey that was selected with care, preferably ordered from a local farm. When I was little, the week before Thanksgiving meant a ride to Grayledge Farm, where turkeys could be seen wandering around happily doing whatever turkeys do. (I think the farm is in the lower Connecticut river valley - either they keep a very low profile or I'm not spelling it right, because I can't find much information on them). The turkey should be large enough to provoke oohs and ahs, and to provide leftovers for many turkey sandwiches the following week. (b) At least one type of stuffing or dressing. There's a lot of leeway here but I think it should have sage in it. I haven't tried this recipe but it looks like a good one. (c) Mashed potatoes. They should be made with plenty of butter and preferably some family secret to perfect them (e.g., celery salt - so good!), and should not be too smooth if you have a family member who professes affection for lumps (or "potato rocks") in them. (d) A vegetable side dish, or two or three of them - roasted brussel sprouts, roasted parsnips and turnip puree are very nice. (e) Homemade gravy made from the turkey drippings. I've never made this myself because my mom makes an excellent gravy; maybe now that I have a blog I'll finally ask her to show me how. (f) Cranberry sauce. It is somewhat common for there to be two on the table: a homemade version made by simmering fresh cranberries with sugar and savory seasonings, and an ugly, quivering jellied one from a can to satisfy those who grew up with it and developed Thanksgiving Stockholm syndrome. For dessert there should also be (g) at least two pies. Pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie and pecan pie are favorites. Mincemeat pie deserves a larger following, and an apple pie would of course be entirely appropriate.
   
   
5. Spicy chocolate. I am not much of a chocolate fan (my cravings are far more likely to be for something salty, not sweet) but I really enjoy foods that surprise, and the combination of dark chocolate and a small amount of chile pepper is a gratifying one. There are many intriguing combinations I'd like to try ? Vosges Haute Chocolate's Aztec truffle with ancho chili, Woodhouse Chocolate's quatre-épice, Dagoba's Xocolatl bar ? so far, though, my favorite is a chocolate and black pepper cake that was published in the New York Times a few years ago. I've made it several times since then it has always been a pleasure. I have always served it with a lavender crème anglaise from The Gardeners' Community Cookbook and I'm going to keep doing that until I tire of the combination around age eleventy or so, but a berry coulis or simply a dusting of powdered sugar would be great too.
   
   Chocolate Black Pepper Cake
   
   NY Times, Dec. 29, 1999
   
   6 tablespoons unsalted butter plus more for pan
   10 ounces best quality bittersweet chocolate, chopped
   ¼ cup sugar
   ¼ cup honey
   ½ teaspoon kosher salt
   5 eggs, separated
   ½ cup ground almonds
   ? cup flour
   2 teaspoons coarse-ground black pepper
   ½ teaspoon allspice
   ¼ teaspoon cinnamon
   pinch cayenne pepper
   pinch salt, for whipping egg whites
   powdered sugar, for sprinkling
   unsweetened whipped cream, for garnish
   
   1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan.^* In a double boiler, melt butter and chocolate, stirring constantly, just until chocolate is melted. Remove from heat. Stir in sugar, honey and salt, then egg yolks. Transfer to a large mixing bowl. Whisk in the ground almonds, flour, black pepper, allspice, cinnamon and cayenne, just until combined. Do not overmix.
   
   2. In a large bowl, whisk egg whites with a pinch of salt, until they hold stiff peaks. Using a rubber spatula, fold 3/4 of the egg whites into chocolate mixture. Pour chocolate mixture into remaining egg whites and fold gently, just until there are no clumps of egg white. Pour into prepared pan. Bake until firm and springy, 30 to 35 minutes.
   
   3. Remove cake from oven; cool completely on a baking rack. Remove sides from pan, sprinkle lightly with powdered sugar and serve slices with whipped cream.
   
   * Note: I've never used a springform pan; I've always used a domed, oval cake pan with a design on it and have never had a problem with the cake sticking.
   
   

Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/09/building-better-list-committee-arrives.ht
ml

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Helen Gurley Brown's Single Girl's Cookbook: the
first in a series of occasional reviews of out-of-print cookbooks

The Committee recently purchased an inexpensive scanner and is thrilled to pieces with it. The Chairwoman has a bit of a tendency to hoard things and is hoping to throw out some of her stockpile of pretty-or-amusing this-or-that after scanning; so far many things have been scanned and none have gone out the door, but we have high hopes. A less daunting task than actually parting with any favorite ephemera is beginning to log our small collection of out-of-print cookbooks, many of which were selected for their illustrations. Contemporary cookbooks are increasingly filled with gorgeous, well-styled, thoughtfully-lit photographs, but illustrations can be so much more charming, and while they reflect their time they generally don't ever end up looking as dated as photographs can.

Helen Gurley Brown's The Single Girl's Cookbook (Bernard Geis Assoc. 1969) was illustrated by Frank Daniel, who appears to have gone on to illustrate several children's books. Each chapter begins with an illustration of a mod young woman with Twiggy eyelashes, often accompanied by a boyfriend who looks an awful lot like Guy Smiley.

These are, I imagine, the sort of women who were too busy setting their hair and finding husbands to bother reading Betty Friedan. The book is geared towards young women who want to learn to cook not, apparently, because living well is a great pleasure, but because the thought of not being able to compete with other women drives them mad. "Make a lamb stew better than his mother!," HGB promises. "You can, too, because yours won't be so fat." A recipe for boeuf en daube is likewise introduced with the warning that "[t]his stew has undone more men than the Hong Kong virus, only it's a good kind of undoing. It definitely got one girl I know married."

The italics, happily, are not mine. At the start of chaper 1 Brown thanks Margo Rieman, "a cook" who "allowed me to take her wonderful recipes . . . and present them to you in my words, together with a few philosophical thoughts along the way . . . such as, it is better to get hollandaise all over your negligee sleeves than to wear something appropriate to cook in if you are entertaining a man." The words indeed appear to be direct from HGB: loads and loads of flighty italics, flattering addresses to the dear/darling/delightful reader, and uniquely florid hyperbole. I don't mean to grouse about it, though; that's her style and she generally pulls it off.

Well. I do mean to grouse about it a bit, and cringe a bit, but occasionally there's fine advice here:

• "[M]ake friends with a butcher. It's fine to buy your one single-girl lamb chop for Monday's dinner prepackaged from the supermarket, but to cook lyrically for company you need a professional advisor. Most butchers are darlings."
  
  
• "[C]heese is chic." HGB's recommendations for cheese, wine and fruit pairings for dessert hold up rather well (e.g., Gorgonzola, pears and Pinot Noir), and for readers stuck in the boonies she directs them to order from Cheese of All Nations (then located on Chambers Street in Manhattan ? the Murray's of its day?) rather than buy processed junk from the local grocery store.
  
  
• While serving highballs, "[w]atch out for anybody who demands cream soda or clam juice or some other esoteric beverage. You have a nut on your hands and the next thing you know he'll be running his hands over the bottom of your bathtub to see if it's grit-free, or running his hands over the bottom of you or one of your guests . . . ."
  
  
• "Cooking and eating foreign food is the way to great sensuous pleasure with great sensuous men."
  

In case you might not have guessed, a great many pages in The Single Girl's Cookbook explain what should and should not be served to lovers. There are five chapters of recipes and menus for the five stages of a Cosmo-style love affair, which begins with the-batting-of-eyelashes and smoldering glances but ends in disaster ("You Aren't Lovers Yet," "You're in Love," "He's Acting Funny and You Must Win Him Back," "Enough Already!" and "Goodbye Forever, Thank God! Three Dinners and One Revolting Breakfast"), and countless exhortations throughout the rest of the book. From the brunch chapter:

In addition to Sunday Brunch, we've included recipes for three delicious egg dishes to serve during the week to a friend (there's no need going into what sex and you may not even be sure) who stays overnight. If you're both scooting off to work there wouldn't be time to do one of the fancier brunches, but the quickies are delicious. For the almost overnight guest who gets ravenous at three in the morning, you simply serve one of the breakfasts. It's almost morning anyway. And of course you should never send anyone home drunk. Feed him!

There are also several chapters devoted to more prosaic aspects of single-girl living. What should be simmering when you invite the landlord over to see your leaky pipes or peeling paint? Ideally a "Poor Pitiful Ragout," which "will not only melt the man before your very eyes but establish you as the Brave, Strong, Deserving, and Ingenious Girl you are." (Quaint! Is it true that once upon a time a landlord might be torn away from rolling around in his pile of money and hate mail long enough to actually visit a tenant? Rather than sending a mumbling, fumbling super or his creepy, good-for-nothing brother?)


As for what to serve "When the Relatives Descend," it depends how much you like them. For a favorite aunt, two hors d'oeuvres, a roast leg of lamb, creamed spinach, roasted potatoes, and for dessert, ice cream with toasted coconut and Kahlúa. For an annoying aunt who will tell you that you're too thin, your apartment is garish, and your boyfriend's hair is troubling, "garbanzo dip" (a not-bad-sounding hummus, with plenty of lemon juice, garlic, coriander, mint and parsley), a yogurt dip, a big salad with anchovies, a main course of broiled kidneys with noodles, and a dessert of cheese and apples.


I have not tried any of the recipes in this book yet. There are indeed some dreary 1950's hausfrau recipes here; at least two or three of them feature canned soup, and a recipe for "ecstatic hamburgers" relies on onion soup powder for transcendence. There are, however, plenty of dishes that must have seemed odd at the time but are genuine and honest and could be served today without irony. The menu for a "Summer Feast for Married-Couple Friends" ("Here's a dinner with love and kisses for that wonderful couple who comfort you when sick, entertain you when you're lonely, feed you when you're broke, and take you in on holidays. It's frankly fabulous and they deserve it.") gets off to a rocky start with superfluous curried shrimp puffs, but the rest of the menu is quite edible: vitello tonnato, rice salad, green peppers piedmont (cooked in a slow oven with olive oil, garlic, anchovies and tomatoes), braised vegetables Adriatic (in olive oil), bread sticks, and "melon surprise" (cantaloupe hollowed out and filled with Port; I once had a cavaillon melon prepared this way and it was very, very good). The obligatory recipe for Boeuf Bourguignon (see below) is straightforward and would probably taste pretty good, particularly if you updated it with fresh herbs.



And when you're alone? HBG favors blender concoctions for breakfast (various combinations of fruit, powdered liver and raw eggs) and comforting soups and egg dishes to eat in bed if you're moping about something. There is also a short (two pages) chapter of favorite celebrity eating-alone binges. Lauren Bacall would have "[j]ust pickled artichokes. A girl can't get too many"; Julie Newmar would like a dinner of strawberry ice cream, camembert cheese, fresh French bread, chile con carne, "and for breakfast, fresh Beluga caviar." Carol Channing's answer evokes an era before publicists scrubbed all traces of personality from celebrity babblings; she would opt for an idiosyncratic combination of "sweet, earthy things like roast leg of goat, kasha . . . with goat gravy, baked fresh pears with pear juice, homemade candy made with honey and raw sugar, and fresh-pressed pineapple juice!"



My ideal single-girl dinner consists of cheese and bread (recently a bit of walnut bread and Tomme de Savoie), because I am a magnet for lactarded persons and I will never, ever get enough cheese. I may be cursed, really; my mother was struck with lactose-intolerance after giving birth to me. I lived with a man who was also lactose-intolerance for several years and after I moved out, I had cheese + bread + wine for dinner probably at least two nights per week, and I still think I have catching up to do.



Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/10/helen-gurley-browns-single-girls.html

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Committee attends country fair, indulges in
agrarian reverie; somehow manages to return to Manhattan without rabbits & chickens tucked under its arms

As we did last year, we went to Connecticut for the weekend to attend the Durham Fair, an agricultural fair that's been held the last weekend of every September since 1916. According to Wikipedia it is "one of the largest agricultural fairs in the world," but the fair's organizers more modestly refer to it as "the largest agricultural fair in Connecticut." There are competitive exhibits of cows, goats, pigs, chickens, rabbits, sheep, llamas, fruits and vegetables, etc., all lovingly brushed or groomed or scrubbed or polished in hopes of winning a ribbon. Durham is a small, very pretty town about twenty miles north east of New Haven.

There are rides and games, and commercial and crafts buildings where you can buy a super-fantastic squeegee chamois mop-of-the-future, or a kitschy sign for your Winnebago ("A balanced meal is a beer in each hand," and so forth), but the focus is on the animals.

prize-winning pickles




It's hard to decide what to eat at the fair. There are all the usual junky treats, but at the Durham fair about half of the stands are run by local groups (volunteer fire departments, little league teams, etc.), and their food is generally more appealing than that sold at the garish trailers that travel around the country peddling corndogs. There's tons of fried stuff but I didn't see any of the grotesque novelties that I've read are popular at other fairs. Unfortunately most of the things we tried smelled and looked better than they tasted. My roast beef sandwich, for example, was marred by flavorless fake cheese that was inexcusably advertised as "cheddar." The fried dough with tomato sauce was ok; I still can't decide if I prefer it that way or with powdered sugar.

















One of my favorite breeds of chicken, a silver Sebright. They also come in a very chic light brown. I would love to have a few of these in a fancy hen house.







This darling, inquisitive llama sniffed my hair and rubbed her fuzzy nose all over my face and ears. We went back to visit with her again before we left but by that time she was completely asbsorbed in her dinner of fresh hay. Llamas have a very amusing way of munching hay; they have endearing overbites and the bottom of their jaw appears to move in an oval.





Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/09/committee-attends-country-fair-indulges.h
tml

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Committee promises renewed efforts to normalize
relations with Blogistan

Wow, I haven't posted anything in ages. I'm sorry to report that I wasn't preoccupied with something fascinating; I was just working a lot. Probably not a bad thing, since my billable hours hitherto reflected an ambivalence so pure and so true that it remained untouched by greed.

I intended to write a bit about a party I went to but I see now that it was three weeks ago; in blog-time it might as well be last year. Since it was a mostly-bloggers party, it's been amply and ably covered here and here and here and here, and surely a few other places. I will add only that it was really great to meet Ann and her Boy; to make the acquaintance of a witty and delightfully potty-mouthed blogger I hadn't known about and his consort/collaborator; also, to meet a woman with the brilliant idea to begin organizing a dumpling party, all of this at the lovely Electric Stove HQ (thanks again Chris!). Did I take any pictures? Noooooooo. I suppose it's just as well; until I am ready to invest any more of my pennies in a fancier camera I would have had to shout "Sorry everyone, I'm just gonna turn all the lights on for just a minute! Just a minute! Sorry! Almost done!" That's what I do at home, and it kind of sucks.

Anyhow. On to the second part of the round-up I started so long ago.

• Salade Lyonnaise ? I had such a craving for this and besides, it was a good excuse to try my hand at poaching eggs without clunky training wheels. It's far easier than anyone lets on; the only tricky thing is timing everything so that your eggs are hot when you need them to be, but you can make them in advance and reheat them for about a minute in simmering water. (Dab off the water with paper towels, of course).
  
  
  
  There is a salade Lyonnaise how-to video here and it's dull but oddly mesmerizing. The recipe being demonstrated is the only one I've seen that uses just endive and no frisée, but it might be helpful to watch if you tend to forget things while getting your mis en place together.
  
  I basically followed this recipe from Gourmet, although I used thick slices of bacon rather than slab bacon/lardons. I also left out the shallot and simply deglazed the pan with the vinegar to make a dressing because the only shallot I had in the house was a ginormous one and I didn't want to use only part of it.
  
  I have a feeling I am going to be making this salad again at least a few more times this winter; I love eggs for dinner but was getting almost tired of omelets and coddled, and the combination of bacon, a fresh, runny egg and slightly-bitter greens is superb.



• Chicken with shallot, sage and white wine pan sauce with roasted potatoes ? This was so easy that my description of it below can hardly be called a recipe. I was surprised by how satisfying it was; the fact that I used Dines Farms chicken undoubtedly had something to do with it, but I also had low expectations. I tend to either roast a whole chicken, or I make cut-up pieces of chicken on the bone in some sort of sauce, something like this; I almost never buy boneless, skinless breasts, the Mom-jeans of the food world.
  
  
  
  This dinner was sort of Mom-jeans too but it was a very satisfying I-have-to-use-up-that-chicken-tonight dinner and it was very, very easy. I roasted some potatoes with olive oil and rosemary to go with it.
  
  I didn't make any notes as I was cooking so this is from memory: Season two boneless skinless breasts generously with salt and pepper and brown them in olive oil in a good, heavy pan. (Cast iron is ideal; you don't want to use non-stick because you'll need to deglaze the pan). Remove the chicken from the pan when it's nice and brown and set it aside, or, if the pieces are exceptionally thick, put them in a medium-hot oven to finish cooking while you make the sauce. Add sliced shallots (2 or 3 small ones or 1 very large one) to the pan you cooked the chicken in and sautée them until they soften and begin to brown. Then add 1/2 cup of white wine or good dry vermouth (Noilly Prat) to the pan and scrape up the browned bits with a wooden spoon. Add 2-3 teaspoons chopped fresh herbs (I used sage) and simmer until the sauce reduces a bit; spoon over chicken and voila, a boring but very tasty dinner.
  



• Simple salad of bitter greens ? I think I like autumn and winter salads of spicy or bitter greens even more than wispy, delicate spring and summer ones.
  
  
  
  I wasn't going to bother mentioning dressing, particularly since it was in the Times not long ago, but I am constantly surprised by how many people I see buying salad dressing. I hate bottled salad dressing with a passion that I just don't have for other icky processed foods. It never, ever tastes good, and almost all of them, even the upscale ones, seem to have some form of sugar in them. The sugar is what jumps out at me, and I hate it. Blech. Here is my usual vinaigrette:
  
  Whisk together 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 tablespoon walnut oil, 2 tablespoons canola oil, 1 tablespoon white or red wine vinegar, and 1 generous teaspoon of good-quality Dijon mustard. (I am partial to Maille "extra hot"). Stir in 1 small shallot, minced, and season with salt and fresh-ground pepper to taste.
  If you are not going to be using the mustard, a more flavorful vinegar is nice - I like sherry vinegar. The reason for using a mixture of oils is that canola emulsifies better than olive oil but olive oil adds flavor, and walnut oil is overpowering if it's the only oil used. You will have leftover dressing if you're making salad for one or two people; put it in the refrigerator in a tiny container and use it later in the week.
  
  I liked this salad of chicory and toasted pine nuts so much I ate it two nights in a row &mdash the first night with a cup of soup, and the second night with roasted parsnips and potatoes and some of the rosemary foccacia that was hanging around in my "Coming Attractions" section for a while but is just too damn boring to bother with.



• Curried cauliflower soup ?
  
  
  
Like the chicken above this is so simple it can hardly be called a recipe, but it is a very satisfying dinner on a cold night: Wash your cauliflower and cut it up into bite-sized florets. (I used 4 little golden ones from Norwich Meadows Farm; one head of regular white cauliflower works too). In a 4-quart soup pot, sautée one medium-sized onion in 2 tablespoons of olive oil or butter until softed but not browned. Then add two teaspoons of good, fresh curry powder, stir, and cook for another 30 seconds. Add the cauliflower and 4 1/2 cups of water, bring to a simmer, and cook for 25-30 minutes. Puree with a hand blender until smooth, then stir in 1/4 cup heavy cream, season to taste with salt and pepper, and reheat if necessary. You can skip the cream, but only 1 tablespoon ends up in each of the 4 servings you'll get and I think it really improves the flavor and texture.


• Cabbage soup ? Am I the only person in the history of the world who had a moment of nostalgia for hospital food? I had to spend a few days in the hospital over the summer for surgery and the food was, as expected, almost criminal in its lack of flavor and consistently spongy texture. Except for the cabbage soup, which was the first thing that tasted appealing enough for me to have more than a teeny, tiny taste of. It actually tasted good, and its power to revive was compounded by the fact that I'd hardly eaten anything for about two days. It was a very, very simple soup of thinly-sliced cabbage and chunks of grilled chicken, in a chicken broth that shockingly did *not* seem to come from a can, and I began to feel more and more like a human being again as I ate it. My mostly-homemade rendition below (I didn't make the broth) did not have quite the same effect but it was still pretty good.
  
  
  
  3 slices thick-cut bacon (I used this one &mdash insanely good, very hammy-tasting but cooks up nice & crisp)
  1 small onion, thinly sliced
  2 small shallots, thinly sliced
  2 small heads of cabbage, each about 4" to 5" diameter, washed and sliced
  1 large carrot, sliced
  1 potato, chopped into 1" cubes (I used a small Yukon Gold potato; a handful of thickly-sliced fingerling potatoes would be nice too)
  2 fresh bay leaves
  8 cups chicken broth
  
  Cook the bacon over low heat until crisp in a 4-quart soup pot. When it's done, drain it on paper towels and set it aside. (You might as well cook four slices because it is *really* hard not to eat one). Sautée the shallots and the onion in the bacon fat remaining in the pot until they're soft, then add the carrots, potato and cabbage and give everything a good stir. Add the broth and the bay leaves and simmer for 25-30 minutes, or until the vegetables are very tender. Cut the bacon into small pieces and garnish each bowl with a handful. Good for eating in bed if you're not feeling well.
  

Read The Full Article:
http://tinybanquet.blogspot.com/2006/11/committee-promises-renewed-efforts-to.htm
l

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Paella de Pescados y Mariscos con Chorizo (Fish
and Shellfish Paella w/ Chorizo)

My favorite thing about Spanish food is not the paella. Nor is it the Valencia orange, omelette or great variety of delicious tapas available-- though these things are all delightful. My favorite thing about Spanish food is the olive.

This unassuming fruit, a call to peace, is plentiful in the Mediterranean region. Squat trees line roadsides for miles and the bitter little drupe almost appears as a small plum from afar: an iridescent purple as it fades into its ripe green. Harvested with a shake to the tree bough it arrives to us along the culinary path marinated, as tapenade or oil.

In Spain, as you enter almost any food or drink establishment, olive pits abound.

A few years ago, my mother and I planned a quick trip around Spain. A country both of us had always wanted to visit, but never had the opportunity. For me, it was a culinary and ceramic feast I planned around clay factories, orange groves and funky architecture. For my mother, it was a wearing down of her feet stomping through the cities and country back roads with the salvation being sangria and tapas along the way (though she too enjoyed the clay factories and architecture).

On day one, hungry from a morning of walking, we stopped for lunch at a recommended establishment: ?Oh! How disgusting!? my mother gasped as we walked inside, ?this floor is covered in pits!? We shuffled in, unable to understand the debris covering the floor and took a table across from the bar, ordering up a jug of sangria and a seafood paella.

We waited for our food and heard the definite ?pffffmmmp? of a person triumphantly releasing a pit from mouth into air. Our noses turned up in question, we looked at each other, then scanned the restaurant for the perpetrator. There he was, tan and stocky with a perfectly edged beard looming in the shadow: ?pfffmmmp? he turned and released his bleached teeth in a wide grin towards us.

A bowl of olives came to our table along with the sangria. I popped a few olives into my mouth, but finding nowhere to discard the seeds, I held them in my cheek, a squirrel at harvest. More patrons entered the establishment. Soon that pfffmmmp echoed throughout the restaurant, shooting from the trunk of men and women alike, regardless of age, no one seeming to care except for the clueless Americans. I looked at my mom and shot out five pits in bulleted repetition: pffp pffp pffp ffllmp fllp.

We soon realized it was custom in Spain. Olives abound and are ingrained in the culture. A complimentary bowl is provided at coffee shops, bars and restaurants in lieu of bread or peanuts. The more olives I stuffed into my face the more I fell in love with Spain, pfffmmping them out with the best of the locals. (My mother on the other hand, continued her dismay at the littered floors and begrudgingly returned the bare pit to a cupped hand where it delicately dropped to the floor unnoticed by anyone.)

This past July, a college friend married a Spaniard. The wedding was a great bi-lingual affair of misunderstandings and general good humor at each person?s attempt to befriend a person from another country with little to no verbal language skills. Communication fell remarkably well and eventually I got onto the subject of olive pits on the floor.

?Yes!? my new Spanish friend exclaimed, ?it means how good the place is.? He went on to explain that some establishments will even go to the trouble of adding pits to the floor, be it from the mouths of their employees or the previous night?s collection. Pits on the floor is a rating of popularity-- the more pits, the more favored the premises.

Here is a recipe in memory of that first paella and the realization that it is okay to spit out your leftovers in some cultures. And as the season turns, I may even surprise you with some home-marinated olives. Until then, paella it is.

NOTE: Though I cannot remember if the paella I had in Spain was this moist, I enjoy the wet rice base. In this fashion, the rice sticks to everything, including the inside of the mussel and clam shells, forcing you to work for your food: sucking and rotating shells in your mouth to indulge in every bit. D and I found this much more enjoyable, and a more entertaining activity than simply wolfing down the dish without thought. We also felt it made you appreciate the variety of seafood present. I also enjoy eating with my hands, so take away what you will.

This paella is based on a recipe found in the Cuisines of Spain cookbook by, Teresa Barrenechea. It is essentially the same recipe with a few additions, namely peas, onion and chorizo.

This paella is fairly labor intensive, though if you make a large batch and have leftovers for the week it is worth it. We found that it is absolutely necessary to use fish stock and not chicken or vegetable. We felt the stock really enhanced the fish flavor throughout. Also, fresh seafood is essential.

PAELLA DE PESCADOS Y MARISCOS CON CHORIZO (FISH & SHELLFISH PAELLA w/ CHORIZO)
Serving Size= 8 persons. Active time= about 1 hour. Inactive time= 12 mintues.
* 1 dozen littleneck clams
* 2 Tbl coarse salt
* 6 large cloves garlic, unpeeled
* 9 cups fish stock (recipe below)
* 2 pinches saffron threads
* 2 pound mussels, scrubbed and de-bearded
* 2 cups water
* ½ cup olive oil
* 1 large red pepper, seeded and cut lengthwise into narrow strips
* 1 medium Spanish onion
* 8 ounces, about 4 links, chorizo, cut in half
* 1 pound monkfish (or grouper), cut into 2 inch chunks
* 1 pound large shrimp
* 1 pound small squid, whole and rings
* 1-½ tsp salt
* 4 cups Spanish (short grain) rice
* juice of 1 lemon plus extra for garnish

1) Preheat oven to 500F.
2) Clean clams under cold water. Discard any open clams, or those that do not close when touched. Place clams in a large bowl with the coarse salt and let stand for 30 minutes or up to 2 hours. Clams will release sand trapped in shells.
3) Place garlic in a small heat-resistant bowl or baking dish and roast in oven for 10-15 minutes; until skins are browned. (Alternatively, you can throw a whole garlic head in, chopping the top off for easy removal, and use the extra as a spread mixture with olive oil.)
3) In a small saucepan, bring stock to a boil. Add saffron and decrease the heat retain simmer.
4) When garlic is ready, remove from oven (leave oven on). When cool enough to handle, peel cloves and place in blender with ½ cup simmering stock. Process until blended.
5) In a medium saucepot, place mussels (discarding any that fail to close when touched) with 2 cups of water on high heat. Bring to a boil and cook 5 minutes, until shells open. Using a slotted spoon, lift the mussels and set aside (add mussel broth to stock or freeze for later use).
6) In a large paella pan or stock pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add bell pepper, onion and chorizo, stirring occasionally for about 10 minutes, or until chorizo has cooked through and the aromas are strong. Add monkfish, squid and salt, increase heat to medium high. Sauté 5-10 minutes, until monkfish turn opaque.
7) Add rice and stir to blend, allowing rice grains to incorporate into the oils present. Add hot stock, increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Add garlic mixture, stir gently to incorporate and boil for 5 minutes without stirring.
8) Drain the clams. Add shrimp to pot, stir gently to incorporate. Add mussels and clams around the top of the pot. Place in oven (uncovered) for 12 minutes; rice will be absorbed and clams and shrimp will cook.
9) Remove from oven and discard any clams that do not open. Sprinkle lemon juice over top. Cover with lid or towel and let sit for 7 minutes. Serve with lemon as garnish


FISH STOCK
Serving Size= 2 Quarts. Active time= 10 minutes. Inactive time= 20 mintues.
Note: White fish is ideal to use: snapper, cod, hake or bass. Avoid fatty fish, such as tuna, sardines and salmon, among others.
* 2 pounds fish frames and heads
* 1 cup shrimp shells (can clean your shrimp from above and use)
* 1-½ cups mussel broth (see above)
* 1 large Spanish onion, coarsely chopped
* 2 carrots, coarsely chopped
* 1 bunch flat leaf parsley
* 3 Tbl olive oil
* 2 quarts water
* salt/ pepper to taste

1) In a stockpot on medium-high heat warm olive oil. Add fish frames, shrimp shells, onion, carrots, parsley, salt and pepper. Stir until shrimp shells turn pink. Add water and bring to a light boil.
2) Using a slotted spoon, discard any foam that forms on the surface.
3) Decrease to medium-low heat and simmer, partially uncovered, for 30 minutes, skimming foam off as needed. (Do not overcook or stock will turn bitter)
4) Strain the stock and season with salt as necessary.

Head on over to Sweetnick's for today's delicious ARF roundup!

Tags: paella, seafood, chorizo, comfort food, ARF.

Read The Full Article:
http://justbraise.blogspot.com/2006/08/paella-de-pescados-y-mariscos-con.html

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!

Friday Haiku: Tapas

Herbs, garlic, and oilcoating savory olives;Brilliantly simple

Read The Full Article:
http://www.bowdoingourmet.com/?p=202

Add to del.icio.us   Digg this   Post to Furl   Add to reddit   Add to myYahoo!