Archive for January, 2010

Ok, so, I was SUPPOSED to do a Dashi-Off this weekend, comparing homemade and instant versions of kombu dashi, the kelp and dried tuna stock that forms the backbone of Japanese cuisine. Due, however, to my inability to calculate things with any degree of accuracy–I rely on a calculator for everything, and even then Mr. T has to check my math–I had nowhere near the 30 grams of fluffy dried bonito shavings necessary to make the homemade dashi. Whoops. Instead, I just used the instant kind, and lo, the world did not end. I will still do a comparison at some point, but CW seems to be that instant is permissible. So, a lightly fishy, umami-full stock. Now what?

While you can go in nearly any Japanese direction starting with dashi, getting to delicious miso soup is probably the shortest journey. The result is so, so, SO much better than those nasty misbegotten dried soup packets. (Even when using instant dashi–I know, I know… consistency FAIL. Whatever.) It’s a lovely, savory, healthy, restorative little bowl, and can be just the answer for everything between a quick afternoon pick-me-up to the opening salvo of a major production Japanese dinner. Furthermore, the miso paste, wakame, and dashi components last practically forever. While there is a bit of specialty shopping to be done up front, once you do have everything, you’ll never be more than a few minutes away from miso soup.

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I grew up with a deep affection for ricotta cheese, the ‘re-cooked’ byproduct of cheese production.

Wow, doesn’t that sound tasty.

We’ve all had ricotta in things like cannoli, ravioli, and manicotti, but these products are often made with heavily processed, solidified, xanthan gum-injected, astronaut-sealed packaged crap. Not the soft, delicately sublime curds of a fresh, artisanal ricotta.

So, the good stuff. Ricotta is traditionally used in desserts like cannoli, though a handsome dollop of fresh ricotta placed on a fresh mound of pasta is a stunning indulgence.

I’ve never baked with ricotta in a dessert–remember, cannoli filling is not cooked–but this cake caught my eye. It just sounded, well, good. The fact that this is from the kitchen of the endlessly-excellent Babbo Restaurant was, admittedly, also a big selling point for me.

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These burnished little birds are quite fancy. And we like fancy. Scented exotically, if subtly, with soy, ginger, chile, and anise,  they are first poached and then finished off with a blast of dry heat to crisp up the skin. My version is inspired by the Ginger Duck in Amanda Hesser’s lovably twee Cooking for Mr. Latte, but gets nudged back towards its Chinese roots with some judicious additions to the poaching liquid.

Though somewhat time-consuming, most of the work is both dead easy and night-before do-ahead. A la minute, the birds demand only a little baste before a quick spell in a hot oven to rewarm and crisp them up.  This frees up time to fiddle with more complicated sides, but I generally forgo any Herculean efforts as the hens are quite elegantly at home atop a bed of gingery mashed sweet potatoes and a tangle of quickly-sauteed greens or snuggled up with some roasted potatoes and shredded parsnip and carrot.

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I became acquainted with this cake several years ago at the always-excellent Palena Restaurant in Cleveland Park.  Pastry chef Ann Amernick, a D.C. treasure, had this dessert listed on the menu. But by the time we were ready to order dessert (we waited quite some time for a table) they were sold out. Disconsolate, I fumbled across other items on the menu, a bit listless as I was immediately sold on this dessert–jam, lemons…Really, it was exactly what I wanted. Nothing else perked my interest. Suddenly, Amernick emerged from the kitchen, apologized profusely for running out of the dessert, and presented us with a plate of house-made cookies. It was such a nice gesture but I couldn’t get this cake (like Kylie) out of my head.  I asked for the recipe and she said I could find it in a book entitled, “Baking from the Heart,” a compilation of recipes from American bakers. This book predated her most-wonderful, “The Art of the Dessert.”

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Though they probably don’t actually prevent scurvy, I’d like to think these sweet-tart little bites do. *Arrrr* I’ve been wanting to try them out for sometime, having seen the raves Deb of Smitten Kitchen gave them ages ago. Originally from Martha, they’re standard icebox cookies (mix, chill, slice, and bake), that get tossed in powdered sugar immediately after baking for a little extra sweetness and to enhance their tender, crumbly, melting texture. The real attraction of these, however, was the key lime aspect.

I love lime, as does Grampy J, who will be getting most of this batch. I thought, though, that while there was zest and juice in the dough, that was not nearly enough. While lime zest is notorious for its irritating habit of getting all brown and gross when baked or left out to oxidize, I decided that MORE ZEST was necessary, both in the dough and in the sugar coating. I figure more zest in the dough would be fine; even if they browned unattractively, the finished cookies would be tossed in sugar. I was slightly concerned about putting zest in the sugar itself–there was none in the original recipe–and I will admit to having visions of brown, bitter zest and clumpy-lumpy sugar.

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There are times when I must accept something: I’m not Ina Garten or Martha Stewart.
Sure, I’d like to think that I’m capable of turning out 150 individuals breakfast tarts for an area homeless shelter while knitting a Civil War outfit for a premature baby but, hey, I’m not buoyed by a sizable kitchen staff (or ANY kitchen staff) able to prep and prep and prep all day long. Case in point: this past holiday season. I fantasized about channeling Ina and Martha, whipping out varying cookies of different sizes, textures, and flavors; then wrapping them in individual bags and running about town, passing them out to friends:

“You’re welcome. Really, R-E-A-L-L-Y, it was nothing. Just a little butter and flour.”

In reality, it is something.  A lot, in fact.  In the end, there was no time and I knew there wouldn’t be any time until I made it to January, that time of the year where there is nothing but, uh, time.  Time to make these cookies, inclusive of just a few ingredients but a bit labor intensive as the butter is cooked in two stages and “some assembly is required.” Just like Fisher Price.

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Continuing with everyone’s new years obsession with all things citrus, here we have a tasty and refreshing orange salad. Unlike the more savory version that Mark Bittman has on offer this week in the NYT, this version is sweetly dessert-worthy.  While it is, in fact, Moroccan, it could easily conclude a Chinese dinner or shine as part of a brunch. I was first served this by my lovely friend Alissa. It is, like she herself, the essence of elegance. Upon first seeing it, however, I was slightly taken aback–cinnamon-dusted oranges? Really? But the combination really is quite amazingly tasty. I have since seen it gussied up with dates, sugar, pomegranate molasses, liqueurs, and other such things, but I prefer to keep it simple, with just oranges, cinnamon, and a sprinkling of chopped pistachios for color and crunch.

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…Why not a Bacon Old-Fashioned? This recipe is courtesy of PDT (Please Don’t Tell) in New York. Check out the great video they produced, too. I first had this last fall and it was the final cocktail I had after sampling several of PDT’s very fine drinks. Naturally, I was intrigued by the combination of a bacon-infused bourbon, maple syrup as the sweetener instead of a simple syrup and a zesty strip of orange peel in place of lemon. The drink did not disappoint; a bit of boozy-breakfast in a rocks glass with a chunk of ice so big, I think it was a prop in Titanic. Then again, those were CGI glaciers so…ignore that.

“Fat Washing” booze with, uh, fat, is in. The bacon grease is poured into a container along with the bourbon. You let it sit for a few hours and then toss it in the fridge. The fat solidifies and makes removing (several hours later) easy. Voila, bacon-infused bourbon. The drink might sound bizarre but it’s deeply satisfying. Follow the recipe exactly and be sure to use Grade B maple syrup.

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On the rare occasions when I’ve had sunchokes before, I have enjoyed their distinctive flavor; their firmish flesh is sweet up front, and finishes with an artichoke-y tang that wraps itself pleasingly around the back of my mouth. Aka the Jerusalem artichoke, it has something of a sinister reputation for causing gas and stomach pain. According to the indispensable Alan Davidson, this is thanks to the high levels of inulin–a hard-to-digest starch–they possess.

As someone whose digestive system is generally one Milano cookie away from total chaos, this was not thrilling news, and added a new dimension to this challenge: how to highlight the sunchoke without having to consume very much of it? Upon further cogitation and browsing on teh interwebz, I was captivated by the suggestion, made by the lovely Clothilde of Chocolate & Zucchini, of a Spanish tortilla. She mentions in passing that the sunchoke gets on well with the potato, and what better way to showcase it than in a delicious, if fairly bland, tortilla of gently cooked egg, potato, and onion?

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